Code Name Heist (Jameson Force Security 3)

Saint sighs, sinking back into his chair. His fingertips play at the rim of his espresso cup. Grimacing, he mutters. “Just trying to give you options, Sin. You could at least give it some consideration.”

So easily dismissing his idea makes me feel a little ungrateful. I do believe Saint only wants what’s best for me in the current situation. He’s dealing with a lot right now, needing to keep us both safe while he navigates this incredibly dangerous journey.

“Hypothetically,” I drawl, catching his attention. “If I were to accept your offer, where exactly would my dad and I go?”

Saint straightens, relief I’m open to discussing this evident in his expression. “Anywhere you want, although I’d probably advise against Europe since it’s too close to Mercier right now.”

“And what about you?” I ask.

Saint blinks. “What about me?”

I lean forward slightly, crossing my forearms and resting them on the table. My gaze is unwavering. “What would you do when all this is over?”

He frowns, as if the answer to my question is self-evident and he doesn’t understand how I’m not seeing it so plainly in front of me. “I’d go back to Pittsburgh. To my job at Jameson.”

A scoffing noise deep within my chest erupts. I avert my eyes, finding it painful to swallow the pure indifference on his face.

At least, that’s what I think it is.

“What?” Saint demands, reaching across the table and grabbing my hand.

Incredulously, I ask, “You clearly don’t see us as having anything more than what we have right now? Some hot fucking while I help you take Mercier down?”

I try to pull my hand away, but Saint squeezes hard to keep it. “I didn’t ask for your help, Sin.”

“Maybe not,” I fling back, yanking hard to extricate myself from his grip. “But you made it impossible for me not to. You’re the one who told me what you were doing here. You could have kept me in the dark… and I’d have been none the wiser. You could have fucking kept your hands to yourself—”

“You came onto me first,” he points out.

“Seriously?” I ask, pissed he would say something so juvenile. “You could have said ‘no’. Shown an ounce of restraint.”

Saint makes a growling sound of frustration. “Look… I’m trying to keep you safe. I’m trying to look out for you. Why are you so mad?”

He’s right—I am mad—but then it all flows out of me and I’m left feeling sad. “I guess I don’t understand why you’re going to such great lengths to look out for me since I don’t think I’m much more than a good fuck to you.”

“Christ, Sin,” he explodes. People at the next table swing wide eyes our way. Saint immediately notices, lowering his voice. “You are more than a fuck, and you know it. But what you are exactly, I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out. Right now, I’m more worried about keeping us alive through all of this… and you’re wanting me to plan our future together.”

“No, Saint,” I reply calmly. “That’s not what I’ve been asking you to do. I’m merely asking if you see a potential future because all I’m hearing is you want me and my dad to disappear while you go back to your life in the States.”

“Just trying to discuss options, Sin.” His words are soft, obviously trying to diffuse the emotion with his tone.

It makes me feel small and weak that he thinks he has to put on kid gloves to deal with me.

I shore up my resolve, making it clear where I stand. “Well, I’m not interested now, nor am I in the future, in an option that has me running from Mercier, so don’t ask again.”

“Fine,” he replies tersely.

“Fine,” I snap.

We glare at each other until Saint has the gall to give me a devilish grin. “I love it when you get mad. Always loved that temper of yours—the way it fires up your eyes. I also seem to remember you and I always had the best angry sex ever.”

My jaw drops—although admittedly, I’m also slightly turned on. Still, I act affronted. “You think I want to have sex with you now?”

“Yup,” he drawls. “And I wouldn’t be averse to you fighting me a little.”

“Bloody hell,” I mutter, turning my face away, but only so he can’t see the tiny smile I’m fighting off.

?

“I think you should apologize to me,” Saint grunts. Actually, he punctuates each word in a growling way, timing it to his thrusts inside of me.

I. Think. You. Should. Apologize. To. Me.

With every word, he slams into me from behind. I’m powerless to do anything but take it.

Of course, I hadn’t said no to returning to his hotel room with him.

There was a lot of pushing and shoving as we kissed and cursed each other. Clothes had been ripped. Torn. Shed completely.