Designed for Murder (Killer Style 4)

Carlos rubbed his cheek as he watched her stroll out of the conference room, her head held high like the queen she pretended to be in Magic Battledome.

Cam let out a low whistle. “’Los, you are so fucked.”

Tony shot his second-in-command a hard glare before turning his attention onto Carlos. “Just make sure that isn’t literally. This needs to remain just a cover. Last night was last night, but moving forward, keep your zipper shut. You can’t afford to lose focus.”

“Not a problem.” He wouldn’t let that happen ever again.

Chapter Three

“I’m very much down to earth, just not this earth.”

—Karl Lagerfeld

Of course Mika lived in a loft. All open spaces. No walls. Random floor-to-ceiling columns. It was architectural chaos and it gave Carlos the shakes. His apartment might be smaller than hers, but at least there was order…and walls.

“One more minute,” Mika called out from behind an opaque silver screen.

He didn’t have to look at his watch to know the reality of their schedule, but he did anyway. “You’re going to be late.”

“So you’ve said…several times.”

She emerged from behind the partition dressed in an oversize bright green shirt and reading Players Do It In Costume. The thin material hung off one bare shoulder, disguising yet highlighting her petite curves. Her shredded jeans, on the other hand, showed more skin than they hid. Looking at her, he wanted to cover her up and strip her down at the same time, and the longer he looked, the less clothing he wanted to see her wearing.

He cracked his knuckles. “You’re going in that?”

“Wow. Judge much?” She batted her long eyelashes and blew him a sarcastic kiss as she strutted past the soft dark leather couch, her spiked heels not making a sound on the thick Oriental rug covering the bamboo floor. “Unlike some people, I proudly fly my freak flag.”

“Is that a dig?”

“Just an observation.” She smirked. “Bro.”

He reached out as she brushed past, his fingers curling around her bared shoulder. The contact singed his skin, but he couldn’t seem to make himself let go. “If you want to come up with another cover story, now is the time to do it.”

She tugged the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth and let out a shaky breath. Looked like he wasn’t the onl

y one still fighting an inconvenient attraction.

“The Thor lookalike was right; the truth—or at least the almost truth—is the best,” Mika said, her voice the same breathy whisper she’d used last night when her legs had been wrapped around his hips.

“You have something you want to say?” he asked, never letting his gaze flicker away from her sexy mouth.

“Nothing that would make a difference.” She shook off his hold on her shoulder, strutted to the door, and began to turn the trio of deadbolts. “I’m just the nerd queen, and you’re the newly crowned super-stud without a geeky bone in your body. The fact that our paths even crossed is a freak occurrence, but let’s go play pretend, because there’s more at stake than what you’re hiding in your closet.”

Anger and denial twisted his gut into a knot. “You don’t even know me.”

“Looks like we’re even on that score.” She grabbed her keys and shoved her phone into her back pocket. “Come on, the coffee shop is right around the corner.”

Mika nearly had her runaway pulse back to normal by the time the barista at Grounded Coffee handed her the double espresso hazelnut mocha with a splash of soy milk. She smiled at the butchered spelling of her name on the side of the cup, shook her head, and then saw that Carlos’s cup of plain black coffee didn’t have his name scrawled across the side of it. Instead, it had the barista’s phone number.

Figures.

“Come on, stud.” She weaved her way through the two-person tables and past the Burberry plaid loveseats by the bakery window. They went to the back room that her group rented once a month for strategy sessions. The room had a large coffee table big enough to spread out their map of Central Square Park, two couches, a few ottomans, and a fireplace for atmosphere. It looked like the gang was all here, judging by the mostly good-natured bickering about the supremacy of snow elves compared to desert trolls when it came to long-term game strategy.

Carlos mumbled something that sounded a lot like “snow elves, obviously” before wrapping his fingers around her elbow, pulling her close, and leaning down to whisper in her ear. To an outsider, they’d look like a couple who couldn’t get enough of each other. Hell, to her mutinous body, it sure felt that way as awareness kicked in and desire threaded its way through her, making her brain fuzzy and her belly light.

His breath warmed her ear before he spoke. “We can’t let anyone know what we’re really doing.”

She smiled up at him, making sure to keep her no shit reaction from showing on her face. “They must call you Sherlock at the office.”