On The Rocks (28 page)

And then they’d never see each other
again.

A disgusted growl sounded from the
kitchen.

“I don’t like it either, Rook,” Lennox
muttered, pacing back to the sink. He grabbed some scissors and
sheared off the bottom of a stem. “This is my last chance to win
her over.”

He held up the rose and twirled it between
his forefinger and thumb. “What do you think? Romantic?”

Yawning, Rook flicked his tail and looked
away.

“What do you know, cat,” Lennox mumbled,
shooing him off the countertop.

Light splashed across the front windows, and
tires crunched on gravel. Lennox spun to look out the window,
though he already knew it was her.

That kicked his heart up a notch. Had him
nervous like some schoolboy asking a girl to a dance.

The car door slammed and he rushed back to
double check the table: Food— check. Romantic shit girls liked in
the form of wine, candlelight, and music— check. Hot guy trying
really hard not to make an ass of himself— check, check,
and
check.

Something was missing.

Another slam —the rear hatch maybe?— and his
heart went from casual jog to all out sprint. He glanced down.
Jeans. Bare feet. Panther tatt—

Oh, right. Invisible shirt.

And since this was an attempt to be
something other than a horn-dog, putting on a shirt was a pretty
good idea.

His black tee was flung over the back of the
couch. He rushed over and slid his arms through the holes just as
Kizzie pushed through the door.

A garment bag was slung over her forearm,
and two shopping bags dangled from the same hand. Struggling with
her packages, she looked up at him and paused. Twisted her head
toward the kitchen.

“Have fun shopping?” Lennox asked, his head
only halfway through the hole. He shoved the rest of the way in and
got covered up.

Her gaze came back to his and her brow
wrinkled.

“For you.” He thrust the rose in her
direction. Kizzie took the flower like it was a tarantula.

He dipped to relieve her of her bags and
peeked inside one with two boxes of shoes in it. “Something told me
not to send you shopping by yourself.”

Kizzie stared down at the rose, then at the
table. “What’s all this?”

“I made you dinner. Get the door?”

Rook slipped by her and ran outside. Dog
might be copilot, but Cat was definitely wingman.

“You made dinner?” Kizzie toed the door shut
without looking and finally came into the room. “You can’t
cook.”

“I’m not allowed to cook for you?”

“No, I mean you don’t know how. You told me
so yourself.”

Had he? “I never told you that.”

“Uhh, yeah, ya’ did. Said you almost burned
your apartment building down when you were a kid trying to make
s’mores on the kitchen stove. Marshmallows caught fire, you
couldn’t put it out, and before you knew it the curtains were
going.”

He paused, cocked his head. “I was lying.”
He carried the clothes to her room and placed them carefully on the
bed. Fingered the zipper of the gray garment bag. What did her
dress look like?

“What?” she asked from the doorway. He
turned to see her twirling that rose. She pushed her nose between
the petals and inhaled. “Who lies about almost burning a house
down?”

“I meant I was lying about not being able to
cook.” He stepped forward, needing to get out of the room. People
did crazy things like put beds in rooms and he was trying really
hard to show her something different.

“Who lies about not being able to cook?”

“A man in love—” Her gaze slammed into his
so fast and hard Lennox inched back. Cleared his throat. “—with the
idea of a woman like you taking care of him. I liked that you
cooked for me in Be— back then.”

Kizzie opened her mouth. Shut it.

Hands at her waist, he brushed by her
through the narrow doorway, pausing a brief moment too feel her
supple body against his. In the kitchen, he plucked a glass from
the dish drainer and filled it with water from the faucet. Kizzie
came up behind him and dropped the flower inside.

“I had to learn to take care of myself early
on in life. Kid gets tired of eating dry cereal and hotdogs every
day.” The flower went to the center of the table and he pulled out
her chair.

Instead of taking it, Kizzie crossed her
arms and stood her ground, dark head shaking. “You told me your mom
made you breakfast every morning. You loved when she made French
toast because she’d give you extra powdered sugar. You brown bagged
it to school with a ‘corny note’ and two
arepas
, one of
which you gave your best friend.”

“You remember all that?” Lennox said, almost
too eagerly. But he couldn’t lie, it sent a thrill through him.
Felt good to know she remembered something about him besides
bailing on her in Belém. Maybe over the years Kizzie had had at
least
one
positive thought where he was concerned.

“You told me,” Kizzie inched closer, until
her folded arms were against his ribs, “after your dad helped you
with your homework you’d play catch with some of the neighborhood
kids until it was time for dinner. Everyone always wanted to come
to your house because your mom was the best cook in the world.”

Lennox curled his fingers on the chair back,
gripping so hard the color drained from his knuckles. “What were
your parents like?”

Her eyes went flat and her voice went with
it. “What’d I tell you the last time you asked?”

“They’re dead.”

“Yep. Still dead, Lennox.” She stepped back.
“That’s how that works.”

“But that doesn’t tell me what they were
like. Doesn’t tell me anything. We were together almost a year,
Kizzie, and you never told me anything.”

She hesitated, and he thought for a moment
she’d give him something. “There’s nothing to tell, Tate. I lost
them when I was young. Now back to you. Were you lying then? Or are
you lying now?”

“Food’s getting cold.” He pasted on a grin.
“Don’t let all the hours I slaved over a hot stove go to
waste.”

As he started away, Kizzie’s warm hand
circled his wrist, dragging him back. “Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t want… I didn’t want to tell you my
dad was doing thirty for a murder rap on Rikers, or that my mom was
making ends meet stripping. Most nights, she bailed on me to get
high. Warm and fuzzy, right?” He shook his head. “And I
did
almost burn the apartment down.”

Her thumb smoothed over his wrist, a
soothing touch he wasn’t used to. Especially not from her. And just
as he was getting used to it, it was gone. Kizzie went to the
kitchen to wash her hands.

Heavy wasn’t what he was looking for right
now, but they were talking. He’d take whatever progress he could
get. As she came back over to the chair he still held out for her,
the music on his iPod changed to an upbeat Latin track.

“Remember this?”

Smiling, Kizzie rolled her eyes and groaned.
They’d heard
Tu Amor
so many times during their stint in
Belém it had become their song. Or at least it had for him.

He reached for her hand and hit her with a
smile. “Dance with me.”

“Lennox…” she dragged.

“Come on. Night before my very last op,
chuchu
. Give me a proper send off.” Without waiting for an
answer he turned and went to push the couch against the wall. Ditto
for the small coffee table, leaving nothing but tiled floor and
opportunity.

Kizzie toed off her boots and peeled off her
socks. Shrugged off her coat and he wished she’d keep going with
the strip tease. She strode over to him in jeans and a tank, hips
rocking with each step.

Sent all the blood from his head to his…
head.

Down boy.

“I might be a little rusty.” He held up his
hand and she slid her palm against it.

“You were always rusty,” she said, hooking
her other hand at his neck. “But you were a good sport about it.
Bachata isn’t the easiest to pick up.”

“I’d pick up anything for you,
chuchu
.”

She flashed a look up at him from beneath
her lashes, soft smile melting him.

His palm cupped her back. Her legs arched
and one slide between his. Then their hips were fused like a key
and lock separated way too long.

“Tap on the four.”

“I remember,” he said.

And then they were off.

Side to side, side to side, her pelvis doing
delicious little figure eights against his thigh and making the
erection he’d been trying to fight the undisputed champ. The
direction changed, forward and back now, her breasts to his chest,
her warm feet grazing his.

They separated, came together and separated
again.

“I think you got better,” Kizzie said. Her
chest came back, and then the pause— his favorite part, ‘cause he
stood still while her hips went to town, grinding forward and back,
forward and back, riding his thigh.

He stepped forward, she went back and then
he spun her around. When her hands came to his shoulders again he
said, “I’ve learned a couple tricks since you saw me last.”

The song was way too short for his liking,
but the music gods were on his side. Something slow and hypnotic
started up and he swayed into it, holding her close.

“I haven’t done that in way too long,” she
said. Her hands clutched his shoulders as he shifted her
gently.

“You gotta live more,
chuchu
. There’s
more to life than the job.”

Brown eyes flashed up to his. Something was
behind that look. Something he didn’t know about and since Kizzie
never let him in, he may never know.

But he’d never stop trying to find out.

“You gonna tell me what that means or
what?”

“
Chuchu
?” She nodded and he chuffed a
laugh through his nose. “Once the secret’s out it won’t be the
same.”

“Tell me anyway. Last job together, right?
No more secrets.”

No more secrets.

He wet his lips. “It’s Swahili. For
nipples.”

Kizzie’s mouth popped open and her feet
stumbled over his. Chuckling, he hauled her against his body so her
toes were off the ground. Belly against his. Mouth so close he
could taste her.

He kept the rhythm going.

“
Nipples
? What kind of nickname—”

“I did a stint in Tanzania. Beautiful place.
Beautiful women.” He rocked to the left, then the right.

“So you speak Swahili?”

“
Nionyeshe chuchu yako,”
he said,
head bobbing. “Means ‘show me your nipples.’ Incidentally, I know
this essential phrase in roughly thirty five languages…”

Kizzie threw her head back and laughed, and
the sound resonated in his chest. Deep in his heart. God, he loved
when she did that.

“First time I saw you, you were soaking wet
from the rain.”

“You also thought I was there to strip for
you,” she reminded.

“Can’t blame a man for dreaming, right?” He
turned her slowly, let her body slide down his on the short trip to
put her feet back on the ground. “Anyhow, that’s what I wanted to
say to you at the time. Show me your nipples… How pathetic was
that?”

Lennox took in a deep breath that expanded
his entire chest. “I was an idiot, Kizzie. Sometimes I’m still an
idiot, but I’m not the same kind. I’m a different guy than I was
back then.”

She slowed to a stop, her gaze on his. “We
can’t go back, Lennox.”

“I don’t want to. I want to go forward.”

Then he dipped his head and kissed her.

And Kizzie kissed him back.

XANDER KEYED THE last line of code into his
laptop and ran a test. With his brain exhausted and his options
limited, it took a little doing, but the program was up and
running. Now all that was left to do was get into Abrahan’s office
and access the computer.

Easy work.

“How’s this all work again?” Naima asked as
she came into the small office. She perched on the armrest of his
chair, leaning on him as she looked over his shoulder.

Xander kept his eyes on the screen, watching
the test to ensure there were no errors. “Metis’ll use something
like an onion router. Deep web. Since we don’t know the exact
location, but we know the delivery point, we spoof Abrahan’s IP
address and trick the exit nodes—”

He glanced up. Naima’s eyes had glazed
over.

“Gnomes and fairies magically steal it,
Nai.”

“There we are. Exactly how I figured this
all happened.” She picked up a page from his desk. One of many
blueprints for La Casa Sulle Rocce post-renovation.

Satisfied everything was working as it
should, he disconnected the cable running to the laptop. With a
blue microfiber cloth, he buffed her diamond and gold ring to a
shine and handed it back to her, wishing his plain band was an
option. He hated she’d have to go in. Hated having to risk her at
all, but they had no choice.

“You get it in. I’ll take it from there.
Don’t—”

“Get it wet,” she finished. “I didn’t come
down with the last shower, luv.” She pushed off of his chair and
sighed. “So this is it then. The big dance.”

“Yup. You get to see a prince, we steal
ourselves a NOC list, strike of twelve we all turn back into
pumpkins and mice.”

“Pumpkins and mice?”

“My god, woman, go watch Cinderella.”

She inhaled a shaky breath and blew it out
quickly. “I would, but I’m off to have a nibble and a nap. Can I
get you anything?”

Xander came around the desk and walked out
behind her. “No, I’m good. You go rest.”

Naima disappeared down the hall, headed to
the galley. In the main space on the second deck, Phil sat on the
couch cleaning his weapons. Xander eased down across from him and
picked up a well-oiled Glock. “I’m going in naked.”

The brush stopped the scrubbing action and
Phil shook his head. “Bad idea.”