Endgame (27 page)

So he texted back,
Will you blow me when the house lights go dark
,
Ma’am?

Your career?

She had a point. The theatre would be packed.
The world would know I’m not gay.

Bi?

Only you can claim my ass, Ma’am.

It was nice to banter with her after the stressful afternoon they’d had. After the interview had gone to hell in a hand basket, Charlotte fought for composure. She’d ignored Jake and ended up going for a run alone despite Jake’s protests. If they wanted her, let them come get her, she’d said, but she’d taken her gun.

After the run, she’d seemed a lot clearer. More focused. She still ignored Jake but allowed Aaron back into her world. Granted, it was a cold world with no sex at this point, but he’d take it.

“Really? I can have your ass?” she breathed a moment later in his ear, over his shoulder, her voice seductive and all-American Amanda. “Might be fun to work that in before the power shifts.”

“I was joking, but if it makes you that hot…” He wanted to nuzzle her neck, dip his face down into her cleavage. Damn that blue cocktail dress, sexy, backless, just long enough to cover the gun strapped to her thigh. “Can we leave?”

“No.” She rounded to stand in front of him, just an inch shorter than he in her silver heels. He wanted to make hard, burning love to her later in only those shoes, if she’d let him.

“Jake needs to work,” she whispered.

Jake was their limo driver for the night, hoping to score on some information by hanging with the other drivers while the film ran. Charlotte seemed pissed about that, too. But his Danger Girl had a right to be pissed. If Jake had been in the works to set him up like he had Charlotte, he’d be just as resentful. The endgame party was starting, all because her watch broke. He was confident she’d win. No one was better prepared than Charlotte.

Aaron grabbed two glasses of champagne off a passing tray and handed her one. “Do you drink anything besides tequila? We’ve never discussed it.” At the wedding, she’d made him do a shot before he could dance with her. Liquid courage, he’d guessed. Thankfully, he hadn’t felt the need to drink anything with a proof rating lately.

She smiled and glanced around the room, playing the part of star struck. “I can have a glass, but I don’t usually drink when I’m working, unless it’s part of the cover.”

It hurt to be reminded he was just a job. He snagged some hot munchies off a passing tray and handed one to her. “And when you’re not?”

She scanned a different section of the room and smiled as she sampled a stuffed mushroom. “I like white wine. Not a fan of red, but perhaps California has something to offer that will tickle my fancy.”

That sparked an idea. Aaron tugged her arm, dragging her to a quiet corner. “When this is all over, after you face the bastards, will you go with me to Napa? We’ll hit a few vineyards, find a bed and breakfast. Make love all afternoon.”

“No.”

“No?” Her answer shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. Of course, she’d balk.

“Sex only. Didn’t you get that? There isn’t a ‘when this is all over,’ not for me, not for you.” She smiled brightly as Grant, Aaron’s co-star, slapped him on the back as he passed.

“Besides,” she lowered her voice, “you’re the end of the road for me, punk. You’re my one chance to live.”

He couldn’t let her slip away from him. “When you’re done with whatever they’ve screwed you over with, quit. Come live with me. Be my personal bodyguard if you have to have a title other than my girlfriend. I can pay you if money is a worry. But I want you to be mine. All the time.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I can’t quit, even if I wanted to. But the scariest part of that is you want me to be yours.”

He shrugged and drained his champagne flute, wishing for harder liquor. “So? I want you to be mine. My girlfriend, my bodyguard, my lover, my—”

“Don’t!” Her eyes were wide as she placed her fingertips on his lips, stopping him from saying wife. They both knew it was coming, but he was the only one eager to hear it.

She shook her head. “We can’t discuss this here. But it won’t work. Trust me.”

The lights flashed, signaling time for everyone to take their seats. He smiled, outwardly a perfect gentleman with his girlfriend, when inside she was the woman he wanted to throttle and then fuck upside a wall. Definitely fuck, he was so angry.

“I’m not done with this.” He used the voice that usually swayed her to his side of things, the deep voice that came from his balls.

She sighed. “I know. But you need to be done, because I thought I was very clear, from the beginning.”

“Another session of camp, then, when this mess you’re in has cleared. I’ll write you kinky love letters. Hot texts. We can meet for sex in seedy hotels across six continents.” He felt like a desperate man being lowered into a well, and when he got to the bottom, he’d drown. Only she wasn’t listening to his pleas to stop lowering him into the darkness. “I need more.”

The glare she pinned him with was bone-chilling at best. “What you need is to go sit. Now.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

He put his hand on her back and smiled until his teeth hurt. He filed in behind her when all he wanted to do was run. He didn’t want to be here on a good day, never mind now, when she only served to remind him time was running out. They had until New York. She’d go on to whatever hell waited for her and be miserable. He thought he’d done a fairly good job of keeping her happy up until a few minutes ago. Except for fucking up by letting those jerks drag her on stage. Aaron sighed and slouched in his seat.

Now, he had to watch himself for two hours and seven minutes. Some of it pretty close to naked while the woman he loved sat next to him with a gun strapped to her thigh. He closed his eyes and leaned back as the opening music started, planning on one hell of a nap.

Charlotte leaned back in her chair, glad for the distraction because the punk was going the wrong way in his mind. He should be thinking about what was next—next film, next girlfriend. Not her. Not when her hours were counting down quickly.

She wrapped her arms around her waist and tried to concentrate on the film. How did she tell him that this was a suicide mission? It sounded melodramatic if you weren’t close to the facts. The facts were simple, though. Motherfuckers weren’t to be messed with, and she planned on messing. She didn’t plan on living to clean up on aisle three, either.

Finally, she lost herself in watching her punk do his thing quite brilliantly, though his spy skills left something to be desired. That seventies handhold on the gun, the fake explosives, and Jesus, when you stabbed someone, they didn’t bleed like that. She leaned over at one point and growled, “If I ever catch you sticking a loaded gun into your pants without a holster, I’ll cut your dick off myself.”

“Will you blow me first?”

“Punk.”

And then the love scene arrived, with Aaron’s naked ass on the screen, his lean body even harder and leaner in this film, so buff, his chest unwaxed. God, she wished she’d be around when that hair grew back, so crisp and dark brown, with a happy trail that would lead to the heaven beneath his boxer briefs. She squirmed in her seat and shoved her hands between her thighs, careful of her gun, wishing he’d leap off the screen and fuck her instead of that tramp.

But he didn’t get to fuck the bit of fluff, either, because the bad guys arrived and he yanked on his pants, commando, picking up the gun to shoot—safety still on, stupid punk. She leaned over to crow in delight and realized Aaron’s beautiful eyes were closed. Tight.

“What’s wrong with you?” she whispered.

“I don’t want to watch me doing that.” He waved his hand. “Or any of this. I hate watching my films. Usually, I just stay out in the lobby and drink, or I sneak home. I’ve had my eyes closed the entire time.”

That didn’t seem like Aaron. Not one bit. She had expected him to devour himself, because at times he was so cocky she wanted to smack him senseless. But here he was, shoulders rolled, slouched in his seat, looking like he’d rather have teeth pulled.

“Would you like to leave?”

“Would you let me?” He opened his eyes and looked so hopeful.

“No, but we can go into the lobby. People will probably think I want to fuck you senseless after that love scene. Poor guy. I bet you had a hard-on for days.”

“No.” He leaned and whispered, so softly, “She’s a scary bitch.”

Charlotte closed her eyes on his words. It was so easy to forget he had a past when he was horny as hell with her, so bold and brave. But at times, she would touch him or look at him, and he’d flinch. Maybe that past was a good thing, because he sure as hell took the time to make sure she enjoyed every second in bed with him.

That’s why it was so hard to shut him down in the lobby when he cornered her about the future. He’d been so earnest, so sweet and handsome, wanting more time, more of her. No one wanted more of Charlotte, and if they did, it wouldn’t matter. She had a job to do and the government owned her ass. A future with Aaron wasn’t an option for so many reasons.

But if she had options…did she wish she could be his bodyguard full time? She didn’t know. Aaron full time would be terrifying. She’d be hot and horny all day. People would become complacent around her and not fear her scowl. She might actually get a little dog with clothes, and not kill it when it yipped. She’d be…happy.

Happy terrified her the most.

The film finished, and Aaron rose, relieved. “See why I needed spy camp?” he whispered against her neck as she hugged him in congratulations.

“If I were a horse professional, I’m sure I’d be just as appalled at the film you just finished.” She had to admit, Aaron on horseback was more appealing than Aaron drifting dirt in a sedan as he escaped the bad guys, but she knew little about horses and way too much about spies.

“Appalled? That bad?”

“Wrong word. I’m sorry.” She was saddened that her spy camp would make him even better for the next film. Even more sad that this film was proof she could never be his. “It’s going to be a block buster, love. This is the stuff normal people thrive on. I’ll blow you for being callous, okay?”

“Not in the limo, please.” He looked queasy at the thought, since Jake would be driving.

She laughed. “No worries. I feel the same way. It’s Jake’s thing, not mine.”

“And what’s your thing?”

Endgames. Motherfuckers. Training.
Life demanded she be honest, even if she would leave him tomorrow, to continue her quest. He deserved honest. “For tonight, you.”

His face lit up then, and there was nothing dirty about this grin. It was all boyish, overjoyed Aaron. “Then you’ll tell Chase to go fuck himself and stay. You don’t need to go to New York. Tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

She touched her fingers to his lips, loving the softness under the tips, knowing how gentle yet fierce his kisses could be. “No.”

“No? Chase lied to you, set you up, and is using you as bait for some dumbass thing that could get you hurt in the long run. You’re going to stay for that nonsense?” The steel that formed behind his blue eyes reminded her of Jake’s anger. “You need to tell me why, then.”

“Why? We won’t work. You’re an actor. I’m a…you know. You live here. I live there. And actually, I live in Europe most of the time. You’re a punk. You’re judgmental.”

He growled and tugged her down the aisle, toward the bottom of the theater where people couldn’t overhear. “The truth, Char. Give me the truth.”

“Later.”

“Now. I won’t move until you tell me. Childish, I know. But so be it.”

She sighed, not wanting to do this here, but he was giving her little choice. “Because this mission—” She hated living, so much. “It’s suicide, Aaron. This is what I’ve been training for. I’m going to kill this man, and he’s going to kill me. I’m going to die, and I went into this knowing it was eventual suicide. I can’t guard you if I’m dead.”

She should have just slapped his face. The color drained from his golden skin, and the pain in his eyes grabbed her heart and twisted. He took a step away and stared, as if she had been beamed down by aliens, green and naked. He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, suddenly speechless. He’d never been speechless before.

She channeled the cold, hard, and mean, looked him directly in the eye, and said softly, “Do you understand now?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he finally choked out.

“Don’t ask me again.” She grabbed his hand and led him out of the building, to the waiting limo, steering him to pause for a picture when they were called. He smiled a thousand-watt smile, his hand at the small of her back, every inch the gentleman, the attentive lover. All Aaron James.

But something inside her curled up into a tiny ball as she watched him, that smile never reaching his eyes, his touch on her back now cold and impersonal. Her truth had just killed something sweet and special inside of Aaron Anderson, the man she loved. And that’s what she got for living.

Chapter Sixteen

Aaron sat, stunned in the limo, listening to Charlotte forget she was angry with Jake and tell him all about the film, as if she hadn’t dropped a bomb on his little world. That fucker, Chase, was sending her to die. Just like that, for whatever happened on doomsday, or whatever the fuck she called it. This had to be Chase’s fault, somehow, because the man made Satan look like a cuddle bunny. Jake was just the middle man.

He didn’t believe her, though. This wasn’t the dark ages. A woman didn’t need to go kick ass, take names, and give her life for it. She wasn’t Joan of Arc. She was Danger Girl, and she had two men who were supposed to love her and keep her from dying. Assholes. So much for trusting the ones you love.

“What the fuck, Char,” he finally said when they arrived home. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, her hair still pinned up, the sides tumbling down in these crazy, sweet curls he wanted to tug. “You can’t drop a bomb like that on me in public.”

“I warned you to stop. You pressed on.” She assessed him coldly, as if he were a choice of pencil or pen to write with on a grocery list. “And telling the truth did shut you up finally.”