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“Why did you leave your wife?” Inside Kyra winced at her clumsy delivery. The answer wasn't really her business, yet it meant everything.

Bast didn't squirm or get angry. He just stood there, calm and in control, just like the Bast she knew.

“How do you know she didn't leave me?” he asked.

“As you said before, we know a lot of the same people. They talk.”

His control slipped a fraction as his eyes grew wide. “About my private life?” He threw up his hands. “That's just fucking fabulous.”

To a guy like Bast, all proper and educated, having his sex life blared in headlines and people snickering as they passed around stories had to be a huge blow. She felt for him but she had no idea how to make it better. Not yet. Not while they were apart. But she did know what she wanted. “Also, so we're clear, I don't have any interest in threesomes or sharing you with anyone else.”

He went still. “What if that's my thing?”

“Then I'm not your girl.” Everything, all her plans and how much she ached to be with him, depended on his next response to keep the dreams alive and breathing.

“Kyra . . .” He adjusted his glasses even though they hadn't moved. “Look, we—”

“No. Don't feed me a line.” She rushed to stop whatever awful thing he might say to kill her attraction. “And don't try to scare me off, because I don't think you're interested in threesomes either.”

“That comment makes me wonder how much you know about men.”

“Enough to keep one satisfied.” She waited for the disappointment to skate across his face but his expression stayed the same.

If anything, the corner of his mouth lifted just a bit. “That's quite an answer.”

No name-calling or prodding for information. It was a nice change. The guys she dated before expected her to be virginal yet somehow experienced. To deliver the perfect blowjob yet never have given one before. The sexual double-talk struck her as ridiculous and immature, and she expected more from Bast.

Fact was she grew up knowing while men focused on her body, she could use her mind to wallop them. Her father brought her on jobs back when she was in her early teens and put her in situations she pretended she could handle. Or he did until Wade found out she'd started in the family crime business and threatened to rip their dad apart.

While her upbringing wasn't one she ever would have chosen, she refused to shut down her sexual side now. She didn't have Bast's vast experience, but she'd been around enough to know what she did and didn't like. And how to make a grown man squirm.

Her fingertips traced the line of his jaw. “I could show you what I want from you.”

“In the parking lot?”

“Just a taste.” Whether she could stop there was the real question. Forget the street noise and club looming behind her. She'd been dreaming about kissing him, touching him, for so long she didn't know if she could stop once she started down that road.

“You actually think it will end there?” he asked, sounding stunned at the possibility.

Looked like she wasn't the only one doubting her control. If he could step inside her body and feel the tremor shaking through her, he'd know how much of the act consisted of bluster and spit.

“I've told you my terms. Made it clear the next move is yours.” When his eyes narrowed and his feet started shuffling again, she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. “But I'm thinking you may need an incentive.”

“You are very wrong on that score.”

At least he'd stopped denying. It would be nice if he threw the switch and started acting, but she'd take the lead if she had to. “You're the city's king of negotiation, right?”

He chuckled. “Not the title I'd use, but let's say yes.”

She blocked the sexy smile playing on his lips and the whir of a siren through the neighborhood. “Here's my argument.”

She didn't hesitate or wait for him to make a move. She swooped in, with both hands on his cheeks and her mouth falling over his. Kissing him long and deep, she let the aching she fought off each night seep into her cells and burst to life against him.

At first he stood still, his shoulders straight and his head slightly dipped from the force of her palms on his face. Then he shifted as his hands moved over her. Along her back and down her spine to tighten on her ass. A second later a hand clenched against her hip and brought her body tight against his.

The heat spiraled around her as the force of his need drove her hard against the wall behind her. Those fingers danced over her clothes, burning a path until she feared the material might catch fire. When she broke away to steal a breath, his mouth followed and covered hers again. His lips traveled and his tongue dipped inside her mouth to mate with hers.

Dizzy and short of breath, her world spun until all the blood left her head. His fingertips brushed the side of her face while something tugged at her skirt. The warm night breeze caressed her legs as her skirt slid higher on her thighs and a deep, almost rusty groan vibrated against her lips.

The haze cleared long enough for her to feel the trail of his fingers over her skin. She opened her legs a little wider and those knowing fingertips brushed against the thin fabric of her tiny panties. She was wet and ready, and the lace proved no barrier to his searching hand. A finger ran along the seam between her legs, pushing the cloth inside her. The rough friction against her sensitive flesh had her gulping in air.

She could smell her body readying for him and feel the hard steel of his erection against her stomach. A warning flashed in her head, something she needed to remember but couldn't grab onto.

Then as quickly as the kiss turned nuclear it, along with all the touching, stopped. Their rough breathing filled the air as the sounds of the city floated back to her. The cars and low mumble of voices in the distance. They stood in the open, shielded by a wall and fence but little else. Despite that, her control faltered and she almost grabbed him close again. Probably would have if he hadn't dropped his forehead to rest against hers.

His chest rose and fell as his words pushed out in staccato beats. “Jesus, I'm practically fucking you in a parking lot.”

“Not quite.” But so close and with all the passion she'd hoped he kept chained up inside him. “I guess that confirms the attraction goes both ways.”

“Hell yeah it does.” His breath rumbled as the words blew over her hair.

She laughed but the sound cut off as reality came rushing back and smacked right into her stomach with enough force to double her over. The club, the security. The cameras. Without meaning to, they were giving Becca a show.

Kyra tried to clear her throat but something stuck there. “We should . . .”

“What?”

If she told him about the unintended audience, he'd balk. Might even leave the state on a trumped-up work trip to stay away from her. She could not allow that. Not when they were so close.

Kyra pushed the potential surveillance video out of her mind. She'd deal with the ramifications and her new boss later. Right now she had to deal with the stunned man in front of her. “You okay?”

He kept his head balanced against hers and shifted his weight so his lower body lifted away from her, but not by much. “My hand is still inside you.”

“Was.” She already missed the warmth of his touch.

At her words his hand slid over her upper thigh. Another tug and he freed it from the tangle of her skirt and let it drop to his side. “Admittedly, your argument about us being together is persuasive.”

“Good.” In his frenzy to touch her, the material of her skirt had wrapped around her hips. Hitting him with an accidental elbow, she pulled and yanked until she brought the edge to a respectable length again, or at least one that didn't show off the tiny straps of her lace underwear.

“You're killing me here.” He pulled back and watched every move, every shimmy. “I'm ten seconds from throwing you in the back of my car and putting my mouth all over you.”

She heard the clunk as her lungs shut down. A list of very sexy possibilities ran through her head. She could go for it like her lower half begged her to do or she could build the excitement. Her body screamed for the first choice but she knew that would lead to quick and dirty sex, the type that happened once, and she wanted way more than one time with him.

Inhaling as much air as possible and hoping the oxygen would feed her brain cells, she brushed her hands against her skirt one last time and straightened her shoulders. “I should go.”

“What?” He practically yelled the word in her face.

For some reason his rapid blinking and shocked tone told her she'd made the right decision to step away now in favor of something bigger later. “Good night.”

She tried to pivot around him on shaky legs but he caught her arm and held her close. For a second he didn't say anything. Just stared and frowned and generally telegraphed an I'm-not-happy vibe.

“You're leaving now?”

The word “no” popped into her head but she pushed it out. “Yes.”

This was the right answer. He needed time and she needed a few inches of space. Stretching their time together into more than one night meant making him understand wanting him and falling into his bed when he blinked the right way were two different things. A slight distinction, maybe, but one that mattered to her.

“Is this some sort of game?” His fingers tightened on her arm, not to the point of pain but firm enough to hold her attention. “If so, you should know I fucking hate games. I had enough during my marriage to last a lifetime.”

Kyra pulled his fingers off one at a time. “Honestly, Bast. I've made this pretty easy for you.”

“I don't think you're easy.”

Not what she meant, but she'd take it as a compliment and move on. “A woman wants a man to work for it. Just a little.”

He shot her the same look he might have given if she'd grown a second head out of her armpit. “That's nothing more than a waste of our time.”

With one last deep breath she took her stand. “It's your turn.”

“To what? What are we even talking about?”

The poor thing, with his dropped eyebrows and frown, looked truly confused. As if women usually just stripped off their clothing and climbed on top of him when he flashed that crooked smile. If they did, she didn't want to know.

Through the attraction zipping between them and the lingering memory of that heart-stopping kiss, she knew he'd only move forward if she doubled back. “Getting what you want will mean more if I don't just fall in your lap.”

He treated her to a second round of staring without talking. Finally, he let out a huffing breath. “So that we're clear, you will eventually crawl into my lap if I ask you to, right?”

Lap, chair, bed, kitchen floor. She'd dreamed about every scenario. “I will do whatever you want—and I mean whatever—so long as we're together one-on-one. No one else.”

After a brief hesitation, he lifted his hand. He didn't pull it back. It just hovered there between their bodies. “If the goal was to gain my undivided attention, I promise you have it.”

About time he noticed her as something other than Wade's baby sister or a petty thief's daughter. Still, it wasn't nearly enough. “I want to be your only.”

“I thought I followed you until right there . . .”

The whole clueless-guy thing didn't really suit him. She saw the gate come down and the heat leave his eyes and decided she liked the commitment fear even less than the cluelessness. “You're a really smart guy, Bast. I have every faith you'll figure it out.”

His arm dropped without reaching out or touching her. “Why not work out the particulars now?”

Because one more minute and she'd be on top of him with her wet panties around her ankles. “Soon.”

Before he could argue or circle back and remind her of their age difference, she took a step. Her legs wobbled and her stomach flipped, but she forced her feet to move. His gaze burned into her back as she moved, but she kept going because she didn't need another look. She already knew the truth: she was his.

Bast spent the next day in his office and on the phone, but the memory of Kyra's hot mouth and the taste of her on his fingers picked at his concentration. Twelve hours of analyzing documents and attending meetings couldn't extinguish his sudden pounding need for her.

He shifted in his chair and thought about routine things like mergers gone wrong and clients in trouble, but her face kept popping into his mind. Before now he viewed her as sexy but untouchable. Having trailed his hands all over her, all he could think about was what it would feel like to plunge inside her. And unless he'd lost his ability to read a woman or understand a conversation, she was offering him exactly that.

No wonder his concentration was so fucked up.

The sirens squealing on K Street eight floors below his corner office grabbed his attention. This area of DC played home to lobbyists and think tanks. He looked out the scaling windows and saw the red brake lights from lines of traffic. The prestigious business address put him in the middle of the action and impressed clients as much as the pricey artwork on the walls in the reception area. He found that part of the game to be necessary bullshit, much like the big office with the leather couch and chairs.

The dark furniture, the walls lined with bookcases and that fancy Oriental rug his ex-wife had insisted he purchase all fit with his image as a powerbroker in a town knee-deep with them. He had an advantage. He'd grown up privileged, attended the right schools and married his college sweetheart.

He played the game right up until he committed the cardinal sin of getting a divorce. Then his proper father launched an all-out propaganda war that cost Bast his fancy high-end law firm job, though many in town thought the fight said something about the size of Bast's balls. He capitalized on the support and spun it into a lucrative career.

Now he worked in an office he helped build and managed as a partner. One that thrived thanks to his billable hours and ability to wrangle his way through any situation. Even though he was a lawyer, he stayed out of the courtroom. Instead, he negotiated deals on behalf of his clients that he never dreamed he'd see.

Like his best friend, Jarrett, Bast dealt in information, most of it confidential and some of it top-secret. The type that would impress his old man, if they ever bothered to talk to each other.

Despite all the trappings and healthy bank accounts he'd stockpiled, all Bast could focus on at the moment was the raggedy blue bag with the ripped seams sitting next to his antique desk. Kyra dropped it last night on the walkway when she wrapped her arms around him. Now he had an excuse to seek her out on his terms.

He'd fought the temptation all night. Convinced his brain that his body was out of line and she was off-limits. Maybe he could blame the lack of sleep, but by morning he'd outlined an impressive “pro” list that included everything from “she approached him” to “he wanted to say yes.” The mere idea of taking Kyra up on the offer was dumb and self-destructive, two things he normally avoided, despite what his father might think. Being with her couldn't lead anywhere and might alienate people he cared about, but he had to believe he could handle all those negatives.

The door opened after one firm knock. “You wanted to see me?”

Bast glanced up in time to see Elijah Sterling, the newest member of the staff, walk in and shut the door behind him. Tall and lean, he radiated confidence even though he spent most of the day alone in an office. His Japanese mother had gifted him with his coal-black hair. An operation gone wrong from his time working for the Central Intelligence Agency gave him the faint scar along his jawline.

Coming off an attempt on his life and a violent disassembling of his undercover team that left only two alive—he and Becca—Eli was raw. Giving him a job and putting him in charge of surveillance and information gathering for the firm qualified as a risk, but Bast recognized a man who needed a true purpose. He'd seen it in Jarrett's eyes a decade before and hoped Eli's transition from trained killer to civilian would go half as well.

But the information Bast had to deliver threatened any progress. “We had a call from Natalie Udall.”

Elijah didn't flinch. Didn't show any reaction. Just stood with his arms folded in front of him. “That sounds bad.”

Bast drummed his fingers against the desk. When the tapping started clicking in his head, he stopped. He didn't have many nervous reactions because he didn't really get nervous about much, but tapping meant his mind was racing and he needed it to stop for second.

He motioned across the table. “Take a seat.”

This time Elijah exhaled. “So, it's really bad then.”

“She's leaving the company.” For some reason the word sounded better than “CIA” in Bast's head.

The chair creaked as Eli sat down. “Okay.”

“She's basically being run out.” Which was a nice way of saying she could be in the type of danger that ended with two bullets to the brain and a phony obituary talking about a sudden heart attack.

Eli picked at the seam on the armrest where the leather and wood met. “How does that impact me?”

Bast watched Eli's fingers move. Looked like they both had a problem with wandering minds. “I think you know.”

“Because she took care of Todd?”

The word choice impressed Bast. Natalie had run Elijah's team, at that time called Spectrum Industries and posing as a legitimate satellite company, even though it was an illegal op. The CIA didn't have the authority to investigate U.S. citizens without a foreign threat. When the team leader, Todd Rivers, went bad, he tried to cover his tracks by wiping out Spectrum agents and shifting the blame to Becca. Natalie put an end to Todd and made it possible, with Bast's negotiating assistance, for Becca and Eli to escape a life of being tracked and hunted.

Now it looked like the CIA higher-ups wanted to clean up the mess by dumping it at Natalie's feet. If true, she'd become a burnable asset and that meant her life didn't mean shit to her bosses.

“Natalie did make it possible for you and Becca to get away.” Not that Elijah needed that reminder, but Bast offered it anyway. “Apparently there are some who think people with your talents shouldn't just be able to just quit the CIA.”

Elijah smiled. It was a rare sight and only lasted a second. “Go figure.”

“Well, you did pretend to be dead a few months ago.” All while hiding out in the living quarters above Jarrett's club and investigating why life had blown up.

Bast still couldn't believe Jarrett had stepped up to help after Becca and Elijah's team had Jarrett arrested on trumped-up drug charges. But that happened more than nine months ago and was all resolved now. Jarrett had clearly forgiven Becca for double-crossing him, proving love was more than blind. It might just be stupid.

“I keep wondering why I bothered to stop pretending,” Elijah said.

“To work here with me, of course.”

Elijah snorted. “Right.”

“Anyway, Natalie is coming in to see me in a few days.” Bast watched for any signs of anger or panic but Eli had been well-trained to hide those, along with every other emotion bouncing around inside of him. That detachment saved his life many times but Bast knew it cost Eli something, too.

Eli leaned forward with his elbows balanced on his knees. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“You know how this works. As we hammer out a deal for Natalie, other problems will come up. Your safety could be at issue because someone might want to blow your deal apart.”

Elijah tapped his fingertips together. “I can handle myself.”

The man had sniper skills and once commented on killing a guy with a pen, so Bast didn't doubt the statement that from other men would be nothing more than a burst of empty ego. “No question, but I want us to be extra careful.”

Eli's expression morphed from blank to questioning. His head tilted as he frowned. “Why do I think you're leaving out some important facts here?”

Bast now knew what a bug felt like under a microscope. It wasn't as if he could just spill what happened with Kyra and what might happen soon with Kyra and how that might add her to the list of people who needed protecting.

He fought to keep from shifting around in his chair. He was the boss after all. “Once I see Natalie I'll have a better idea what we're dealing with. Until then, stick close.”

“You think they'll come after you?”

The guy was missing the main point of this little meeting. “No, Eli. After you.”

Eli slumped back in the chair. “Nothing about Natalie and her bunch scares me. I fought them once and won.”

“They tried to kill you, you crawled to Jarrett for help and he shot you. That was before you spent months hiding on his second floor.”

“Your point?”

Bast did a mental pivot and tried again. “There are other people involved.”

Eli's mouth fell into a flat line. “You mean Wade?”

There it was. Eli's great weakness. Not that he'd ever admit it. “Yes, and Becca and Jarrett. All of them. Anyone related to the original deal that freed you and Becca from CIA service.”

“You may have missed the big news, but Wade and I aren't exactly on speaking terms.”

No, they were too busy being locked in a battle of wills. They'd lived together, slept together, in Wade's apartment in Jarrett's building for all those months. Then they broke up and the ground still shook over the fallout. “I'm aware.”

“Someone else will need to worry about him.” Eli's expression didn't change but pain flashed in his eyes.

Bast shook his head. “You're not as hard to read as you think.”

“Meaning?”

Bast wanted to put Wade and Elijah in a room and let them work it out, but neither man would cede an inch. “I'll ignore that question for now since you could probably kill me with a stapler if I gave you a truthful answer.”

“With my finger, actually.” Elijah blew out a long breath as he stared at the ceiling. When he met Bast's gaze again, his mask of indifference was firmly back in place. “Maybe Jarrett could convince Becca and Wade to hang around the club and limit their activities to the building.”

“It might come to that. I just wanted you to know something big and pretty terrifying could be coming. Again.”

“Fair enough.” With a nod, Elijah stood up. No fanfare or questions about what to do next. He wasn't the typical employee. He instinctively knew what was needed and willingly put in long hours to get there.

Bast waited until Eli's hand hit the doorknob to exit the office. “Eli?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I'm going to the club soon. You're welcome to join me for dinner. Maybe we could give Jarrett a head's-up while we're there.” Bast made the food offer at least once a week. Matchmaking wasn't his thing but if throwing Wade and Eli together worked to break through the impasse, Bast was all for it.

Eli's frown came back. “You're eating this early?”

That was the problem with having a smart former undercover agent on the payroll. They saw through the bullshit to the agenda underneath.

“I need to drop something off.” And that was all Bast planned on sharing on that score. Life was convoluted enough without having to explain to Eli about wanting to have sex with his former lover's baby sister. Yeah, their social circle was a bit too tight. “Yes or no, Eli?”

He shrugged. “If you're paying, I'm in.”

“Happy to know you can be bought.”

Eli's sly smile came and went again. “When I want to be.”

•   •   •

Kyra rushed around her studio apartment, first in bare feet then on her knees. Throwing one shoe over her shoulder, then another, she crawled along the slim strip of hardwood between the bed and the closet, ignoring the way the floor dug into her skin and searching for her weirdly comfortable spiky black heels.

First her missing stockings and now this. She only had so many work outfits for the club and what she had to wear on duty was pretty specific. Becca and Jarrett supplied the store account to get the right clothing and provided a credit card for the more personal parts of her required outfit each night, but the shoes were a carryover from her life before the club. Becca approved them, which worked for Kyra since they had these special cushy pads inside. Now she had to find them.

Last night she'd taken the pumps off at the club and put on her flats and . . . damn.

She sat back on her heels as she remembered dropping the bag in the parking lot. She let it go so she could grab onto Bast instead. She refused to question her priorities but this did cause a logistics problem.

Scrambling to her feet, she got up and slid the mirrored closet door open. She scanned the floor looking through the piles of shoes for something suitably sexy that she could stand in for hours on end. She didn't have the opening shift at the club, but it was Friday, which meant she closed tonight. It also meant being on her feet until she thought they'd fall off.

She snapped up a pair of open-toe sling-backs she hadn't work-tested yet. “I can't worry about that now.”

She turned around to hunt for her backup stockings and plowed right into Gena McBride, her neighbor from across the hall. Gena stood almost six feet tall with short black hair in a bob and a skirt she dyed herself but looked like it could hang on the rack in any high-end store.

Kyra thought of her friend as this Amazonian goddess with an art degree. She'd been out of school for a year and earned enough freelancing to live in a matching studio in the building, only two blocks from the center of the George Washington University campus. No bad for the free-spirited, no-ties type.

Kyra didn't have many female friends. Growing up with a father who made a living on the wrong side of the law and kept her insulated from all but his closest deputies messed with her bonding skills. Then there was the problem where she made what she thought was a great friend freshman year of undergrad who turned out to be a plant from her father, watching and reporting back to him from the life he did not approve of for her.