The Negotiator (Professionals 7)

“No?” I asked, reaching up to grab her, pulling her down onto my lap. “Because I think I am going to deliver him an entire lifetime supply of that Greek wine he was looking for.”

I would never stop owing him and Bellamy.

But I figured we had a lifetime to pay them back for getting us together.

Miller – 2 weeks

“Go home,” I demanded, leaning out the front door, calling to Lincoln who I knew would much rather be home with Gemma than babysitting me.

“We still haven’t been able to put a pin in Chernev,” he objected, shaking his head. “Until we find him, this is necessary.”

It was overkill.

Seeing as I was sleeping with Greece’s scariest man.

“Are you sure about that? Because I hear Gemma is making that soup you like so much.” I knew it because I overheard him on the phone with her earlier, begrudgingly telling her he wouldn’t be home to enjoy it. “And homemade bread,” I added, digging the knife in. I left out the fact that I was also making that same bread since texting Gemma to ask for the recipe.

“You’re evil, Mills,” he declared, voice sounding pained. If there was one thing I was starting to understand about men, it was that Cora was right; they were happiest when they were fed.

“Go home, Lincoln. We are eating dinner and then turning in too. We will set the alarm. We have weapons. We’re fine.” He was wavering, but only a little bit. “Quin left early last night too,” I told him, shrugging.

“He did?”

“Yeah, Aven wanted him home. He knew we had it covered. Go home to your woman.”

Half an hour later, he did just that, while Christopher and I ate our homemade bread that we used to sop up the sauce on a baked macaroni dish I had found on Pinterest to try out.

“What’s the matter?” he asked as I stood at the sink, rinsing off the plates before sticking them in the dishwasher, making me realize I had let out the grumble I had felt on the inside.

“There’s one very serious matter we have forgotten to discuss,” I informed him, voice grave as I turned to face him, leaning back against the counter.

“What’s that?” he asked, brows furrowing.

“The steps.”

“The steps?” he repeated, lost.

“To the cave house, Christopher. The steps. I made a promise to my thighs that I would never put them through that again.”

To that, his eyes danced, his lips twitching up. “We will have to train them to toughen up.”

“That sounds like it involves exercise,” I said, lip curling.

“Well,” he said, eyes going sultry. “There are some forms of exercise that are better than others,” he told me, bending low, throwing me over the shoulder, and carrying me off to my room.

He was right.

If I got to choose sex as a way to tone up all the time, I would. And, I guessed, now that I had a steady guy, I actually could.

There were definitely a lot of perks to having a significant other that I never considered before.

One of my favorite parts, though, was the way he reached for me after our bodies were spent, once we’d found our way under the sheets again, pulling me up onto his chest, lazily running his fingers over me until I was too relaxed to do anything other than fall asleep.

“Isn’t this cozy?”

I wish I could say I shocked awake at that. That I knew instantly what was going on. That I immediately sprang to action.

But all I noticed right away was a small surge of annoyance, wondering which of my coworkers had disengaged my security system just to sneak in and tease us while we were in bed.

It took an almost embarrassingly long time to realize that none of them would do such a thing.

And that Christopher’s entire body was tense beneath me, his fingers bruising into my hip.

My eyes shot open, and I was thankful I had argued with Christopher about needing to leave the TV on low while I went to sleep at night, because it made the room that would otherwise be pitch black light up with a purplish hue, making it possible to make out Chernev leaning casually in the doorway, gaze on my mostly naked body.

I could actually feel the path his eyes followed, leaving a slimy trial in their wake.

“Don’t even think about it, Adamos,” he demanded as Christopher’s body moved ever so slightly, likely trying to get closer to the gun on the nightstand without Chernev noticing.

“Miss Miller,” he said, making my stomach roll. “Why don’t you slide off the other side of that bed for me?” he asked, and it was clear that it wasn’t a suggestion. Since he was presently the only one of us holding a gun.

“No,” Christopher snapped, wrapping his arm more tightly around me.