“You ready?” I smooth a hand down her side to her hip, giving the yummy curve a squeeze. “If not, I can tell them we need to make a stop in town before we join them at the resort.”
Her arms wrap around my waist. She tips her head back, gazing up at me with an adoring expression. “I’m ready when you are.”
“That’s my Zanda Panda,” I say, grinning down at her.
“Aw, thanks, Dimples.”
I huff out a soft laugh. “You can’t call me that.”
“Why?” She bats her lashes. “It’s the perfect pet name.”
“It’s awful.”
“Not as bad as Zanda Panda. Or Zanny Wanny.”
“Nonsense, those are adorable pet names. Dimples makes me sound like I’m a baby’s bottom,” I say, relaxing into the flirting.
Tony and Thom already here, waiting for my plane to land, is unexpected. But I’m good at rolling with the punches, and Zan clearly is, too.
Still, I confess I’m more nervous than I usually would be.
I’ve never been on a mission with someone I care about the way I care about Zan. I meant what I said on the plane—she’s family to me now, and there’s more at risk here in Bali than on any other mission I’ve been a part of.
It makes caution seem prudent. I’m tempted to turn down the surprise ride, to insist Zan and I have to head into town for razors or shaving cream or some other nonsense, and secure ourselves another half hour of privacy so our heads are fully in the game.
But that’s not the Good Time Nicky these men know. It would be out of character and could arouse suspicion the same way it did when I refused to acknowledge Zan’s glorious cleavage.
Speaking of glorious cleavage…
I glance down, humming beneath my breath as I soak in the sight of her in this dress. Her breasts are pushed up above the deep V neckline, so plump and round and bitable it’s all I can do not to drag her up my body for a nibble.
“I should call you Tits Galore,” I murmur.
“Do it, and I’ll have to slap you,” she says pleasantly, still batting her lashes. “Several times. Right on your dimples, Dimples.”
I chuckle. “All right. We’ll put a pin in pet names for now. Wait until we’ve had time to thoroughly vet all the possibilities.” I brush my thumb across her bottom lip—that soft, slightly puffy bottom lip I can’t wait to kiss again. I’m concerned about her safety and intend to remain a consummate professional when we’re in private, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to excuses to make out with her in public. “Go time?”
“Ready,” she assures me.
I take her hand, pull in a breath, and start down the stairs to the tarmac.
The humid island breeze ruffles my hair. As I reach up to push it from my forehead with my free hand, I feign delighted surprise to see the men standing by the Jeep.
Thrusting my arm into the air with a wide grin, I shout, “Nostrovia!”
Tony and Thom answer me with matching grins and echo our “let’s get drunk” male-bonding call.
The thugs actually look happy to see me. But then, I do tend to lose enormous sums of money to them in card games whenever we spend enough time together.
Still, their apparent enthusiasm puts my misgivings at ease. At first, it seemed odd to find them waiting for my plane to land, but they don’t seem to suspect a thing.
They’re just happy to see their gambling buddy.
“It’s pronounced Na Zdorovie, and Russians don’t use it for toasts,” Zan says as we wave goodbye to Captain Maddox in the cockpit and start toward the small guardhouse by the airfield gate, dragging our cases behind us. “That’s a Polish thing.”
“Good to know,” I reply through smiling teeth. “But it’s time to take the smarts down a few notches, Sugar Lips.”
“Hard pass on Sugar Lips, Honey Lumps. And why is that? They know you only date bimbos?”
“Because someone who is both fiendishly clever and drop-dead gorgeous attracts the wrong kind of attention. Tends to remind people that genetics are bloody unfair and piss them off in the process.” I open the first gate, nodding as we pass by the sleepy-looking man in the small clapboard structure that serves as security. “And don’t even start with that lump nonsense. I do not have lumps anywhere on my person, honey-flavored or otherwise.”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs. “Your backside is pretty lump-a-licious.”
Hmm…
Well, isn’t that interesting.
Maybe Zan isn’t as impervious to my charms as she’s pretending to be.
I want to stop and press her for more information, to tease her about checking out my ass until I coax that husky laugh from her throat that drives me crazy, but we’re not here for fun or flirting.
I simply make a mental note to wear my tightest pair of pants to dinner and push through the second gate, releasing Zan’s hand and reaching for Tony as he extends thick arms my way.