Chapter1
Charlotte
As soon as I see him, I know he’s the one. Scooting around the crowded restaurant, I grip the menus a bit tighter, feeling the adrenaline kick in as I guide the family of four to their table. Putting on a big smile, I turn to them and set their menus down.
“Your server will be right with you,” I say, keeping the grin on my face, even though the snotty teenagers and their bored-looking parents are hardly sparing me a glance.
Turning, I head back to the hostess stand and keep my eye on the middle-aged guy over by the bar. His sad, paunchy face makes it clear his best days are behind him, and the gaudy jewelry he’s wearing, paired with the expensive suit, tells me he has way more money than he knows what to do with.
Well, I can definitely help him out with that.
Working at this upscale restaurant has turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. The targets just come to me and present themselves like rich offerings on a silver platter. All of them here for my picking, and if business keeps going well, I should have enough set aside to make my great escape.
I palm the small, black sensor in my pocket while images of me walking the black, sandy beaches of Iceland run through my head. I swear I can almost smell the crisp air and hear the waves hitting the beach. Checking to make sure no one is coming in the front door, I slip over to the bar, the sensor on the tip of my finger and ready to go. I take a calming breath and flash Johnny, the bartender on duty tonight, a smile that he quickly returns.
“Can I get an extra rag?” I ask Johnny, giving the man next to me a bit more room so he doesn’t think I’m crowding him while I side-eye the ridiculous diamond pinky ring he’s sporting and say, “I’ve got some menus I need to clean before my shift ends.”
“Sure thing, Charlie,” he says, calling me by the nickname I’ve had since I was a kid.
Johnny reaches under the bar and hands me a clean, white cloth before giving me a wink that I swear makes his blue eyes sparkle. I laugh because he may be the world’s biggest flirt, but I know he’s completely devoted to his fiancée. I once asked him about it, and he said it was just a habit from years of bartending. Act a little flirty and your tips increase substantially. It’s definitely true. I’ve seen the way the women look at him. Give them a few glasses of wine and a few well-timed winks and the money just starts to flow.
“You’re the best,” I tell him, making him laugh before turning to a couple approaching the bar for some drinks.
“Excuse me,” I say to my target, leaning down to pick up the rag I just dropped. Before I stand, I very gently press my finger over the top of his shoe, feeling the sensor stick and slip from my finger, remaining invisible against the black of his leather dress shoe.
I give him a smile, but he’s not even looking in my direction. I turn and make my way to the hostess stand, my fingers itching to get back home so I can follow my tracking device and see where it takes me. I’m already planning out my next heist when I look up and see three men walking through the double doors. The man in front looks like he could give my target a run for his money in the sad, paunchy-face department, but the two men behind him have me sucking in a quick breath as my eyes run over them. They’re both mouthwateringly gorgeous, even if they are a good decade older than me, possibly even more than that. The man on the right has a black skull tattoo on his neck, and when he turns his head, scanning the crowd, I notice there’s one hell of a scar running across half his throat.
God, what the fuck happened to him?
The man on the left doesn’t have any visible tattoos, but the look in his eyes is more than enough of a deterrent. They’re cold and calculating, and the base of my spine does some sort of weird tingly thing when he locks his gaze on me. Part of it’s from fear, but that’s not all it is. I quickly push aside whatever the hell is trying to worm its way into my mind and give the three men my best hostess smile.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Table for three or would you prefer the bar?”
The one with cold eyes who’s still making the base of my spine tingle looks around the restaurant, and I swear I could probably ask him to shut his eyes and draw me a picture and he’d get every damn detail of the place perfect, including the broken lightbulb in the chandelier at the far end of the dining area.
He brings his dark eyes back to mine and says, “We’ll take that table in the corner,” pointing at one of the few remaining available spots. His voice is deep with an accent that I can’t quite place, and when I take a second too long to respond, he arches a dark brow at me, and that one slight movement is enough to kick my ass into gear.
I grab three menus and smile for them to follow as I lead the way. Turning my back on him isn’t easy. It’s like being a rabbit and turning your back on the big wolf that you know is right behind you, chomping his jaws in anticipation of the kill. I swear I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every movement. It makes no sense that my hand would slip into my pocket, but it does. My brain is screaming at me to stop, but my finger doesn’t listen. I keep three tracking sensors on me at all times because you just never know, do you?
The small circle sticks to the tip of my finger. My heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of my chest, and I hope like hell I can keep my face neutral enough to not give away my nerves. Julie sees us coming toward her section, her eyes widening a bit when she takes in the two imposing men behind me and grabs the water carafe that’s already on the table and starts to pour them each a glass before they’ve even sat down.
At the table, paunchy man sits with his back to the other diners while neck tattoo takes the chair in the back right, leaving the chair on the left for the one who never misses anything. Well, I hope like hell he misses this, I think, passing them each a menu. Knowing it’s now or never, I accidentally-on-purpose hit the water glass on my left as I hand him his menu, gasping for real when I see the water spill on his nice suit pants and he levels me with that hard stare of his.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, grabbing a cloth napkin and kneeling down before I can stop myself.
Part of my brain is screaming at me to get up, and the other part is saying,hey, since you’re already down here, why not just crawl into his lap and make yourself cozy?
My face heats up when I realize that I’m dabbing at his powerful thigh while on my knees and that everyone around us is staring at me. I look over at Julie standing on the other side of the table with her mouth hanging open and then at neck tattoo who looks like he’s trying hard to not laugh. Paunchy guy still looks scared to death, so no change there. The table next to us eyes me like I’ve gone insane, and maybe I have, because before I move away from him, I very softly press my finger against his pants one last time and stick the tracking sensor to his suit pants.
I raise my eyes to his, wondering how any one man can be so damn unreadable, and feel my face heat up even more.
“I’m very sorry,” I say in a hoarse sounding whisper because embarrassment has closed my vocal cords.
He grabs onto my wrist, and it’s not a rough squeeze, but it’s sure as fuck not a friendly one either. Leaning closer, he says, “I hang to the left, sweetheart, so if you’re trying to grope my cock, you’ve got the wrong thigh.”
Neck tattoo barks out a laugh, and I want to go crawl in a hole somewhere and never come out.
“I wasn’t,” I start to say and then falter. “It was an accident,” I say like an idiot, but I’m still on my knees, except now my fingers are digging into his thigh, the one his cock apparently doesn’t nestle against, as if my grip on him will convince him I’m not some perv who’s just trying to cop a feel.