"Competition requires flexible thinking." I let him maintain the contact while slipping the third device into the flower arrangement beside my chair. "Insurance provides cover for all kinds of business activities."
"I like flexible women," Moran murmurs, thumb stroking across my knuckles.
A glass shatters. We both look over to see Eamon setting down the broken remains of his tumbler, whiskey spreading across the side table.
"Clumsy," he says, voice deadly quiet. "Let me clean that up."
Moran releases my hand as Eamon moves to the bar for napkins. The message is clear—back off.
"Your partner seems protective," Moran observes.
"Eamon values his assets," I reply, the double meaning hanging between us.
When Eamon returns, he positions himself closer to my chair. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell his cologne mixed with the whiskey he spilled.
"Sarah's methods require discretion," Eamon says. "The wrong kind of attention could compromise everything."
His hand settles on my shoulder, thumb brushing the bare skin above my dress. The touch sends electricity down my spine even as I maintain focus on Moran.
"Of course." Moran's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I respect... business partnerships."
We finalize details for another hour, the sexual tension thick enough to cut. Moran's obvious interest, Eamon's barely controlled jealousy, and my body's traitorous response to both dangers create a powder keg of hormones and adrenaline.
"I'll consider your proposal," Moran says as we prepare to leave. He kisses my hand instead of shaking it, lips lingering against my skin. "I hope we'll be seeing more of each other."
"Count on it," I reply, extracting my hand with apparent reluctance.
Outside, Eamon grabs my elbow, pulling me toward our car with barely leashed violence.
"Get in," he growls, opening the door.
I slide into the passenger seat, pulse racing from the mission's success and Eamon's obvious fury. He slams his door and starts the engine with unnecessary force.
"That went well," I venture.
"Did it?" He pulls into traffic, knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Because from where I sat, it looked like foreplay."
"It was an act, Eamon. Part of the cover."
"Was it?" He stops at a red light, turning to face me. His eyes burn with possessive fury. "Because watching him touch you, watching you let him..." His voice trails off.
"You're jealous."
"Damn right I'm jealous." The light turns green but he doesn't move. "The way he looked at you, like he wanted to bend you over that desk and?—"
A car honks behind us. Eamon floors the accelerator, and we shoot forward.
"It was necessary," I say, checking the recording devices on my phone. All three are active, transmitting perfectly. "We got everything we needed."
"And what's that worth? Letting him paw you? Letting him think he can have you?"
I turn in my seat to face him. "Are you saying you can have me?"
His eyes meet mine for a dangerous moment before returning to the road. "That's not what I meant."
"Isn't it?"
The car falls silent except for the engine and our ragged breathing. The adrenaline from the mission mixes with the sexual tension that's been building between us for weeks.
