Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense) (54 page)

This will be one of the easiest jobs I've ever pulled, if everything goes right.

Getting in was easy. I'm here, after all. Getting back out is the problem, since I'm not supposed to be here. It took me a month of scouting to bump into Brenda and learn her story, start working on her, spending time with her, finally convince her to help me out with this crazy scheme. I can talk anybody into anything, if you give me enough time.
 
Right now I need to keep my eyes on the prize.

Not too hard, though. The prize is a diamond necklace currently strung about the pale slender throat of the bitchy heiress, and what a necklace it is. On the street the gold would sell for a few grand, the diamonds maybe twice that. The value of the bauble lies in its history- it's been in her family for four generations, bought for her great grandma by the founder of the fortune Veronica is set to inherit, if she doesn't piss off her grandfather too much with her antics. She has something of a reputation, and a reality show. Thankfully there's no cameras here.

I'm having a bad hair day.

The necklace drapes diamonds and emeralds just above her awe-inspiring cleavage. Believe me, I tried to come up with a plan to get myself in bed with her and then steal the necklace. It would be easier, but crueler. Something about it left a bad taste in my mouth, so I went for Plan B: Fake my way inside, get access to it while she takes it off.

Circulate. Steal a little. Keep an eye on the mark. That's all there is to it. I keep an eye on my partner, too. She's nervous, but she doesn't show it to the guests, even when they slap her ass. A big guy smacks her rump after taking a drink from her tray, and I can see her face twist in anger for just a bare second before slipping back into an almost preternatural calm. The guy that got a handful of her backside has six inches in height and maybe a hundred and fifty pounds on me. Football player, I think. He looks familiar. Brenda scurries away from him as casually as she can. By the time she's out of sight he's already forgotten his humiliation.

Also, I stole his wallet. He didn't even notice me.

Fuck you, mister running back. I have your platinum card.

I almost lose Veronica. She's leaving the damn party, headed up the stairs to the top floor of the penthouse, laughing with another girl dressed in even slinkier clubwear, a black dress that's really just a tube that stretches from her armpits, over an ample bust and down to just barely cover her ass. I get an eyeful as she scampers up the stairs next to the smoothly striding Veronica.

Might be time to make a move.

I slip away from the crowd, tuck my tray under a table and use the dark and smoke and noise to my advantage. There's a corner by the terrace where I can slip out of my crushed velvet. Underneath, a black body glove and some sewn-in pouches for my tools. The hardest part is getting up the stairs, but no one's looking. They all feel safe here.

This is the really fun part.

The door to the suite of rooms isn't locked. I slip in, and don't close it, making no sound as I creep through the room. I've studied the blueprints, and it's a good thing. The room is pitch black, all the lights out except for the glow of a fish tank and soft light from above. The bed is set on a loft above the rest of the suite. The aquarium light reflects on sparkling blue, like a slice of sky laid out on one of the couches. Veronica's dress. I hear a soft sound like a whimper.

Oh. Okay.

Focus, Apollo. You're here for the necklace.

I check the dress first. Her bracelet and ear rings are on a side table. My fingers itch at the sight of them, but it feels petty to take them.

Fuck petty, in the pouches they go. I search slow, working my way across the room…

… I just heard a moan.

I take a deep breath and hold it, waiting for the creak or the cat or some unexpected thing to give me away, but when I reach the top of the steps I realize I don't need to be to so careful. I'm not going to be noticed. Another moan, louder this time.

In a movie, they'd both be buck-ass naked writhing around on the bed, posing artistically to give me a full view of
 
everything. This isn't a movie. The pair are in the bed and covered up with sheets. Veronica is on top of her girlfriend, and while they're not putting on a show for anyone's benefit when she sits up a little I can see that I was wrong, and they're real, and as the man said, they're spectacular. I feel dirty looking, though. I look away, even as they put on a different kind of show. I need to think with my brain and not my balls and have at least a shred of decency. Don't look.

A man must have a code.

There she is, my huckleberry. The necklace, just sitting on the dresser. In the dark, they don't see me. Here, at the very end, my heart pounds, my mouth goes dry, and I move to take it. No sound. If I move to fast, just snatch it and run, I'll give myself away. The master employs discipline, subtlety, finesse. The master lifts the necklace without even the sound of diamonds scraping on wood, curls it in his hand and very securely tucks it into the pouch on his belt, and turns.

From here it's a matter of slipping out the way I came in.

Now, if I wanted to be daring I'd have planted some means to rappel down the side of the building or climb up to the roof, but I'm not daring, I have Brenda for that. Once I'm through the door I gingerly pull it shut, and crouch along the wall. The lights are still low, lasers and party lights and fog making the whole thing too easy as I slip back into my uniform and meet up with her.

"Follow me," she says, grabbing my wrist.

I let her lead the way to the service elevator. Another staff member in a crushed velvet suit with a bored look in his face strides out, and we just walk in. I hit the button and we ride down to the eighth floor.

I can see she's nervous. She's shaking like a leaf. I squeeze her hand, hoping to calm her down.

She gives me that look.

I know she's attracted to me. It's part of how this whole thing works. I've been flirty, but this is work, and after tonight she's never going to see me again.

I had a long talk about this with my father. No attachments, no regrets. She's going to be fine, she will be well compensated for this.

That’s where we're headed now. Two staff members will attract no attention, walking down the hall, but they might heading into a room. So I hit pause on the elevator, and Brenda holds it while I open the elevator roof and pull down the bag I've planted there. She continues to hold the button while I change, slipping out of crushed velvet and into something simpler, just slacks and a dress shirt to cover up my body glove.

Then I hold the elevator for her and turn away.

I spare a look over my shoulder. I have a code, I'm not dead, and Brenda has a nice body. She's not wearing anything fancy under her uniform, just a bra and white cotton panties, but the sight of the way
 
she hunches her back and shyly hides her body from me stirs something down below and I look away, more to preserve my calm than give her privacy. She changes into sweat pants and a long t-shirt and sneakers, and then the elevator resumes its route, with the gym bag now slung over my shoulder.

The elevator stops, and we walk out. She's pulled her hair into a ponytail and is consciously looking away from the security cameras, trying too hard.

No one is going to check, hon. I planned this.

I open the door and motion her inside, close it, lock it.

"Where is it?"

"Calm," I murmur. "Sit on the bed."

She goes over and folds her hands on her knees, nervously watching me pull open the bottom drawer of the TV stand. Hotel rooms, at the most basic level, are all the same. This place charges over a grand a night and to me it looks like a Motel 6 with fancier carpeting. You still have to pay for the booze in the fridge, even. Anyway.

In the bottom drawer is a small bag, like a toiletry bag. An attache would be so cliche, you know?

I drop it on her lap and her mouth trembles as she opens it and pulls out a wrapped pack of hundred dollar bills. Ten grand. It's probably more money than she's ever seen all together in her entire life, and there's nine more inside the bag. Another reason to skip the briefcase: It would be mostly empty, we're not paying her that much. Enough to cover her bills and have maybe sixty left over, enough to make herself quiet comfortable. I let her count and moon over the money while I repack my goodies, most carefully placing the necklace in a prepared box, first checking it for damage. It's as pristine as the day it left the jeweler's grasp.

As I close everything up, she says, "You're going to leave now, aren't you?"

She looks very sad. She has big, expressive brown eyes, and dyes her hair a pretty natural shade of auburn. She's a woman but my brain calls her a pretty girl. It must be the vulnerability. She looks younger than her thirty-six years, doesn't look nearly old enough to be my mother. She looks scared.

Not my problem. Time to go.

"Yeah. That's how this works. I can't be seen around here for a while. Maybe ever."

She nods. I start for the door.

"Wait. I want something else."

"We have an agreement. You got your hundred grand. Wait a month to give your notice, then get out of here like we talked about."

She doesn't say anything. Instead she stands up and slips her arms around me from behind. Her lips are cool, then hot on the side of my neck. Her hand slides down my stomach and I can feel her breath quicken as she feels the muscle, and then her hand slips inside my jeans, and her fingers wrap around my cock.

Oh God damn it.

"Just the once?"

Leave, Apollo. You're on a time frame.

"I brought condoms," she mutters.

Condoms. Plural. Oh, honey.

I yank her hand out of my pants and set the bag down on the table by the door, and grasp her wrist hard. I can feel her fear, as her breath quickens against the back of my neck. A quick visual check makes sure the fucking door is locked.

Then I spin around and crush my mouth against hers. Brenda's eyes are still open. She's genuinely surprised.

"So I get a bonus?"

I lick my lips. She tastes like strawberries for some reason. My hands move to her waist, up under her top. Her skin is soft and warm and her body is supple. She's no model but she's real, and I like real. I'm a very grounded guy. When I pull her against me the feeling of her full breasts pressed against my chest kicks my motor into overdrive and I feel my cock harden. She feels it too, judging by the wide-eyed look on her face. She's got that kind of almost innocent I-can't-believe-this-is-happening look on her face that I do so enjoy, and I savor it as I push her back to the bed. I gingerly lift her bag and set it aside, where she can see it, still bowed by the weight of the money inside.

She's not even paying attention. She's more concerned for my hands. The way she just lets me have her is kind of innocent, in a way. Endearing, and arousing. She doesn't say a word as I slip my hands up and undo her bra, push my fingers under the cups and hold her breasts in my hands. I can feel her heart pounding, little throbs against my fingertips. When I graze my thumbs along the underside of her tits and tickle the sensitive skin under them, she goes stiff and gasps, and I feel her nipples tighten against my palms.

Then it happens. She wriggles loose, and shimmies out of her clothes in a way that's experience, coquettish, and embarrassed all at once. I can see her flinching, trying to resist the urge to cover herself with her hands and arms as she stands before me, and the relief in her eyes as I begin to undress. She's afraid I'll see nothing but stretch marks.

Brenda joins in the undressing, and as I pull my shirt off, she undoes my jeans and pulls them down, and a dizzy kind of joy washes over me as she takes me in her mouth, kneeing in front of me. I don't like making her kneel like that while I stand, so I back up to the bed and sit down and she follows, diving
 
between my legs to suck me so hard it almost hurts, her nervous innocence gone and replaced by the hunger of a woman who knows how she likes it.

A little part of me is saying hey, I could get used to this, but it's my balls talking. I have to keep a clear head. Somehow.

Wow she's good at this.

I mean, very good. I flop back on the bed and she pushes my shaft against my stomach and licks the underside, and sucks on my balls, and makes hungry little noises doing it. She works her way back up and really gets started, using her hands too, and I have to sit up to watch her. She stares into my eyes, and I can see her smiling even as her lips stretch around me. If this is her bonus, I need to start being more generous with all my partners. Her eyes never leave mine, even as I began to pant and sweat beads on my chest. I try to warn her, but the look on her face says everything.

I explode inside her mouth, and it makes her all the more eager, until I'm lying on the bed
 
tingling from head to toe, shocked. She rises, licking her lips, and crawls up onto the bed on all fours, moving over me, her heavy breasts caressing up my stomach and chest as she settles on top of me, and her arms slip around my sides.

She wants to cuddle. Great.

I roll over all at once and she just looks shocked, and squeaks in alarm. I peck her on the lips and then immediately move to suck her hard nipple, and the sound she makes has me hard again already. She grabs my head and holds my face to her chest, and I explore all over with my tongue. From the sounds she's making, I must know what I'm doing. As much as I enjoy the tight hard tips of her breasts, there's so much more to explore. My tongue on the soft skin under and between them drives her wild, and when she bucks under me I can feel how wet she is. It takes everything I've got not to just ram myself inside her and claim her as mine. She's already broken my rule, though. A gentleman sees to the lady first.

Then I'm on my knees between her legs, and I take my first taste of her sex, lightly. She's got a thick bush in her natural color, a honey brown, and it tickles my nose as I run my tongue around her entrance and over the hard, sensitive button that makes her legs jerk when I touch it. I want her even more when her body grips my finger as I suck her clit, and she clutches fistfuls of the hotel bedspread and pulls on them as her legs clamp down on my head.