Code Name: Heist Read online

  But damn if they don’t make my belly flutter. Even has my heart hoping he’ll learn to trust me again one day. That maybe we could get back to the place we once were.

  Saint looks amazing tonight, too. He traded in his trademark suave business suit for a fitted pair of straight-leg pants and a button-up dark gray shirt, appearing very European. He’s certainly turning many a woman’s eye as we walk into the club.

  I haven’t had any time alone with him since our night together after the Dennison heist. He hadn’t called or reached out to me.

  But neither had I to him.

  During the past three days, we’d seen each other twice at Margeaux’s while going over the Throb job with William. When we left those meetings, we’d walked in opposite directions without a word.

  I can’t speak for him, but I kept my distance because we’d been around other people. Each time we’d left Margeaux, William and Neal walked out with us. I certainly don’t want either to realize Saint and I are sleeping together again.

  Or, rather, that we’d had sex once. Whether it will happen again is anybody’s guess, but a girl can hope, right?

  Inside the club, it takes a moment to get my bearings. The music thumps with deep bass, and there are way too many strobe lights flashing. It’s a two-story building with a main dance area on the first floor and a large balcony along the perimeter of the second.

  It’s packed—being one of the more popular nightlife hotspots—and it’s frankly a bit claustrophobic. I’d never gone through a phase where I’d felt like I needed to go out dancing and partying until the wee hours of the morning. But then again, I hadn’t—and still don’t—have friends because of what I do for a living. I’ve always been alienated from normal life.

  Leaning in close, Saint says, “Let’s hit the bar, then go upstairs.” His lips practically touch my ear, but it’s the only way to hear anything over the music.

  When I nod, he leads me to the bar. He orders a gin and tonic for me and a vodka on the rocks for himself. It takes a few minutes, but we scope out the scene as we wait.

  After handing me a drink, he takes my other hand. At the staircase to the balcony, he gestures for me to precede him up, but he never lets go of my hand. We move through a throng of dancers to the railing where we’re able to get a bird’s eye view of the happenings below.

  We’ve never been in this particular establishment before, but the scenery is familiar. William had enlarged several photos taken here, then tacked them on his corkboard. We’d studied them at our planning meetings.

  To our right, down below is the bar.

  Around the perimeter of the dance floor, there are many tables crowded together.

  To the left, there is a VIP seating area on a raised dais, which is cordoned off with velvet ropes. Beyond that is the staircase that leads to the balcony.

  And on the first floor, directly opposite where we are, there’s a small hallway that leads to the two unisex loos on the right side and the owner’s office on the left. At the end of the hallway, there’s an exterior exit door that opens into a small parking lot.

  That’s where we surreptitiously keep most of our attention. Saint sidles in close to me as I lean my forearms on the railing, my drink cradled in my hands. Pressing his hip against mine, he puts one hand on my lower back. He’s close enough he doesn’t have to scream to be heard above the music.

  “I make five security guards,” he eventually says.

  “Same,” I agree.

  It was the first item on our agenda—seeing how easy it would be to identify security personnel. According to William, who has visited the club three times, the guard count ranges from three on a slow night to seven on a busy one. Even though they wear uniforms, they’re still a little hard to spot given the amount of people inside. William had said the guards mainly stuck to their assigned positions. After fifteen minutes of observing them, we concur.

  There’s plenty of movement along the hallway across from us as partygoers go in and out to reach the restrooms. We patiently wait to see if the owner, Jason Brandis, makes an appearance, but it’s not necessary for him to leave his office. The three times William had cased the place, he said Brandis mingled with guests and usually stayed out drinking and dancing with the young women until closing.

  William informed us the man keeps his office locked, but he sometimes goes in there, usually with a young woman—most likely to fuck or do drugs or something of that nature.

  Brandis is the key piece we must figure out because we’re after what he has in his office.

  Which is—presumably—close to five-hundred-thousand-pounds sterling.

  How in the hell William manages to find these marks is beyond me, but he’s a genius at sniffing out people who think they’re safety conscious but actually aren’t. Most will either stupidly not even realize they’ve been robbed—like Dennison—or they’ll be too afraid to report it—like Brandis, who is a dealer with half a million in drug money.

  On William’s last night casing this joint, he’d hired a woman to wrangle an invitation into Brandis’ office for some up-close recon. Before Brandis could get his pants down to demand she suck his dick for some blow, William had created a disturbance in the hallway. A furious Brandis had stormed out of his office to find out what was going on. William’s hired woman had quickly snapped several photos of the office layout, including some close-up pics of the safe Brandis had brazenly left out on the floor beside his desk.

  William and I had smiled evilly at each other when he showed me the pictures. It’s one of the easiest safes to hack. An auto-dialer will get us in and out a lot quicker than I can with manual manipulation.

  “We should test the guards,” I suggest, moving my gaze from one to another. “See what gets them to move off point.”

  “We will,” he replies, sliding his hand from my lower back to my hip. “How about we dance first?”

  Caught off guard, I turn my head toward him. “Pardon?”

  Saint grins. “Come on, Sin. We’re in a nightclub. People are grinding against each other everywhere and you’re wearing a dress designed to give me a heart attack, yet you’re surprised I want to dance with you?”

  I scrunch my nose in confusion, not quite grasping what’s going on right now. In all the time I’ve known him—in all the months and months of our relationship—we’d never once danced together.

  “You’re serious?” I ask, pushing away from the railing. With my heels, I’m almost at eye level with him.

  He snakes an arm around my back, yanking me into him so forcefully some of my drink splashes out. His lips go to my ear, a feat that wouldn’t have been possible if I’d left my hair all loose and wild. “I’m serious,” he murmurs, his breath causing the hair on my arms to rise as his words rumble into me. “I want to dance with you. Want you to rub up against me, tease me a little. And once we’re done here, I’m taking you back to the hotel. And let me just go ahead and warn you now—you won’t be getting any sleep tonight.”

  My eyes almost roll into the back of my head, but I manage to hold on to a tiny piece of my common sense. Putting my hand on his chest, I hold him at bay. “I kind of thought last time was a one-time only thing.”

  “Why? Because I haven’t called you, and I’ve pointedly ignored you when we’re around the others?”

  “Something like that,” I mutter.

  “Doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about you,” he says, his sobering expression conveying exactly how truthful his statement is. “But… it’s complicated.”

  “Yes,” I agree softly, moving in closer to him. “We’re definitely complicated.”

  “Come on,” he says. After swallowing the rest of the vodka in his glass, he sets it on a table. “Let’s go dance.”

  I don’t bother draining my glass. Instead, I take one last sip before putting it next to his empty one. I’ve never been a big drinker. A fuzzy brain isn’t my idea of a good time.

  Saint holds my hand as we make our way do
wn the stairs. He weaves through the crowded dance floor, not stopping until we’re right in the middle. A slow techno song pulses a rhythmic beat, and the laser lights make me a little dizzy. I don’t even know how to dance and I’m not sure what to do, but then Saint’s hands settle on my hips. He leads, his hips rotating back and forth, his grasp urging me to follow his motions. When I curve my hands to his shoulders, we rock and sway against each other.

  Sliding a hand from my hip to my lower back, Saint pulls me in, nestling our lower halves together. As we grind against each other to the seductive beat, I can feel his length harden against me. A rush of power at knowing I’m the cause of his reaction sweeps over me.

  Palm still on my lower back, he drags his other hand up to cup the nape of my neck. As he draws me in until our lips are only inches apart, I anticipate the kiss I think he’s going to give me. Instead, he says, “I do forgive you, Sin.”

  In pure relief, my neck muscles untense and I close my eyes to savor those important words. His lips press against my cheek and we just hold each other, barely swaying to the music. We stay that way for a while, the silence a comfortable one because—right this moment—we’re okay.

  After the song ends, I sigh. Since the stolen moment is over, I say, “Shall we test the guards now?”

  Saint chuckles. “The sooner we get that done, the sooner we can get out of here.”

  Yes, I like that plan. Finish here, go to the hotel, and…

  I shake my head, trying to get it back in the game where it belongs. Smirking, I say, “Here goes nothing.”

  A man and a woman dance beside and slightly behind us. He’s into her, raking his eyes all over her body in a lecherous way. She appears bored as she scans the room, seemingly not interested in him at all.

  That’s my mark.

  Taking a few steps back, I raise my arms above my head and swivel my hips in a way I hope looks like a sexy dance instead of an epileptic fit.

  My backside grazes against the man’s hip. I spin around, shoot him an affronted glare, and push him hard with both hands. When he stumbles, I scream loud enough to be heard over the music. “How dare you grab my arse!”

  Saint takes his cue, charging directly at the guy. “What the fuck, dude?”

  The woman melts immediately into the crowd, but before the guy can defend himself against my claim or Saint’s threatening presence, two guards swoop in to diffuse the situation. I discreetly glance at the guard positioned near the hallway, but he hasn’t budged, which says a lot since he’s closer to us. He let the guards stationed farther away handle it.

  That bit of info tells me it’s going to take something much bigger to lure him away from the hallway near the owner’s office.

  No worries, though.

  I’m positive we can come up with something that will.

  CHAPTER 13

  Saint

  While I normally like to be in control in bed, I don’t mind Sin doing her worst to me. Once in a blue moon, anyway.

  Right now, that involves her riding me hard, that glorious halo of hair bouncing all around as fabulously as her tits.

  Christ… she’s perfection.

  The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known or will ever know. That extends inward as well as out. Despite the fact we make our livings as thieves, she has such a gentle and kind soul. She doesn’t like hurting anyone who might have the misfortune of crossing our paths through our line of work.

  As happens more often than not, we share what seems like a spectacularly singular orgasm amplified by a million. So forceful it sometimes scares the hell out of me because it doesn’t have anything to do with how well we move our hips or where we touch but relies purely on who we are to each other.

  Simply put… it goes beyond the physical. It’s a phenomenon I’ve never experienced with anyone except her.

  Sin is the one and only person for me.

  As if she’s reading my mind, she collapses onto my chest, wraps her arms tightly around me, and fiercely whispers in my ear, “You better not ever leave me.”

  “Why would I do that?” I ask jokingly, my balls still tingling from the aftereffects of what we’d shared.

  “I don’t know.” Her tone is low, almost fearful. “Just promise you won’t.”

  “There’s no need for promises,” I soothe her.

  Lifting her head, she focuses on me, those witchy hazel eyes burning right through me by sheer virtue of the intensity of her expression.

  “I love you, Sin. That right there tells you all you need to know.”

  “Together forever?” she guesses with a slight smile.

  “No getting rid of me,” I assure her.

  Sin’s face softens, her expression contemplative. She slides off me, rolling on her side to face me. I mimic her, propping my head in my hand with my elbow planted in the mattress.

  “What’s up?” I ask, recognizing that look. It means she has deep thoughts brewing. To me, it’s doesn’t seem unusual for couples who shared the deepest of intimacies to talk about serious stuff after.

  Her gaze drops to the small expanse of sheet between us, and she traces an elegant finger along the soft material. “Do you ever dream of a normal life?”

  “Normal? Like going straight, you mean?” I ask. Normal is subjective, after all.

  Her eyes rise to meet mine. “Like having a nine-to-five job, a house, and a dog.”

  I grin. “White picket fence?”

  She doesn’t smile back. “Everything. Friends we could go out with who we can share boring stories about our careers with. Paying bills and taxes. Hell, we could even have something as mundane as an actual checking account at a bank.”

  I can’t help but laugh—not because it’s a silly suggestion, but at the passion simmering in those beautiful eyes. She’s serious about this. And because she is, so am I.

  “I’d go straight for you, Sin.”

  Her entire body goes utterly still. Her chest doesn’t even seem to be moving, meaning she’s holding her breath.

  “If it’s what you want,” I continue. “I’d choose a normal life with you.”

  “You would?” she asks breathlessly.

  “You’re the only person I’d ever do that for.”

  I wake up suddenly, wondering why I’d been jolted from the dream. Everything in it was real. A memory relived, exactly as I dreamed it, but there was way more to our conversation that night.

  Tucked into my body, Sin is deeply asleep by the sound of her breathing. I wrap my arm a little tighter around her and close my eyes, trying to return to the dream again. It’s my last and best memory of what I used to have with Sin.

  That night, we had started making real plans.

  We’d debated about living in London—where she’s from—or maybe Birmingham since my mom had still lived there then. We decided on London, agreeing to try to convince my mom to move there with us.

  Sin’s father, too. Somehow, we’d talk him into leaving his life of crime. We even joked we’d buy a huge house, so we could all live together. We’d even had a discussion about what type of dog we’d get—we’d settled on a Corgi because the queen had one.

  Sin and I had even planned to have kids one day. Never discussed marriage, but not because we were opposed to it. I think we both assumed that would be the normal progression of things.

  Rather, we’d concentrated on what we couldn’t have while leading the type of life we did. Marriage was possible with our ‘employment,’ but doing all that other normal stuff wasn’t realistic. I’d been surprised by how badly I found myself wanting it, but let’s be real… it was because I wanted Sin and I would’ve done anything to be with her.

  I’m not able to fall back asleep, and the dream-like aftereffects eventually wane away. The romanticism and warmth I felt when I’d woken up drift off to leave me awakened to our cold reality.

  I remember how that particular conversation ended that night. We’d decided when we were going to get out of the game. It was going to be after
this last big heist we’d signed up for—boosting that 55 Jaguar D-type. With what we were going to make with our cut, we’d have had enough money to put down a sizable deposit on a house in the London suburbs.

  Except it hadn’t worked out that way.

  Sin had driven away in the Jag while I’d been handcuffed in the back of a cop car.

  I try to push the anger down. I told Sin I’d forgiven her, and I have.

  Guess that doesn’t stop the bruised feelings from throbbing from time to time, probably because it’s tough to realize everything I truly lost. Not just Sin, but that whole fantasy of a new life together, going legit and having things that would mean more than any amount of loot we could steal.

  That normal life had been within my grasp. Doing it with the woman I loved had probably been something I hadn’t deserved, but damned if I hadn’t wanted it with my entire being. The loss of that had fueled my rage for so long. Then when my mother died while I was in prison, my rage exponentially increased.

  It’s amazing to me now that I can even stand to be this close to Sin, knowing what I had and all the things I lost because of her decision that night.

  Still, I manage to squeeze her again, even pull her in a little tighter to me. Despite my pain and losses, I cannot deny how fucking good it feels to be back with her again.

  Only sex?

  That’s what we said, but we both know that’s stupid. What we had was dynamically unique and unparalleled. The only way it could ever be replicated was if we let ourselves love each other again.

  Can I do that?

  I have no clue.

  But a piece of Sin is better than no Sin.

  She shifts in my arms, making a tiny kitten-like sound in her throat. It’s sexy and cute, all at the same time.

  Shifting my head, I bring my lips to her neck—having to nudge that crazy hair aside—and press a soft kiss there.

  She shifts again, rubbing her naked backside on my well-sated dick, then says in a raspy voice, “What are you doing awake?”

  “Dream woke me up,” I say truthfully. I think there’s something about lying naked with a woman that tends to make a man transparent.