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  Ugh. That annoying, annoying voice.

  I glance over my shoulder. Jo sits at the foot of the stairs, a half-empty KFC bucket in her lap, an amused smirk on her lips. To think she’s been there for however long, witnessed it all, and hasn’t made a single attempt to help her bleeding teammate.

  The sneer that curls my lips cannot be helped.

  Melanie comes running, screeching to halt at the top of the stairs. “What is— Whoa.”

  “Get me a rag, some alcohol, a tampon, and ibuprofen,” I tell her.

  She dashes off without hesitation.

  Collin shakes his head at me, his eyes wide, no doubt grossed out by the mention of the tampon. “I don’t—”

  “Shut up and keep still,” I warn. I’m starting to get angry. But not at him, of course.

  A few short minutes later, Mel returns with the items and assists me with him, cleaning him up and stopping the blood flow with the tampon—a method he’s very unhappy about.

  Once I’m done, I tell him, “Hold your nose again with your thumb and forefinger for one hundred and twenty seconds, then I want you to place this icepack on the bridge of your nose.”

  “One hundred and twenty seconds?” he asks with a small smile. “Really?”

  “Two minutes,” I simplify.

  “Hey.” He points a finger at the top of his head, Blake Shelton style. “Master’s in mathematics, here.”

  I grin and touch the side of his face. “Real cocky for a guy with a tampon up his nose, yeah?”

  Using his free hand, he tucks strands of stray hair behind my ear. “Thank you, Nerd Girl.”

  Melanie clears her throat, drawing my attention. Her lips are pursed, her eyes focused behind me.

  I don’t have to ask. I feel him.

  A silent growl in my throat, I jump to my feet and whirl to face Jaxon. “What in the bloody hell did you do that for?”

  His blank, emotionless gaze sweeps over me, reminding me that I’m still topless. Reminding me just how far I went with Collin. I’m almost ashamed of myself, but I can’t let him see that.

  Because, no, I’m not. This is all his fault. If he’d just—

  He jerks his chin to indicate Collin and interrupts my inner tirade. “What’s he gonna look like in a few hours?”

  I force myself to refocus. Clearly, his concern is not personal but all about business. “It’s not as bad as it looked at first,” I say stiffly. “So he’ll probably just have some blue bruising under his eyes. Nothing a little foundation makeup can’t hide. Are you going to answer my question?”

  “Jo, go get him a found—whatever she just said. And Col, pack a playboy outfit and let’s go. Got a time-sensitive job that requires your charms and good looks.”

  Collin removes the icepack from his nose and scowls. “Not sure I’m gonna be able to pull off confident or charming with a busted nose, boss. Think maybe you should’ve waited until after the job was done to go all apeshit?”

  Jaxon, displaying not an ounce of remorse or apology, merely twists his wrist to check his watch. “Plane leaves in an hour.”

  When Collin just continues to glare, Jaxon looks him square in the eye, his tone serious as he tells him, “This is the easiest job you’ll ever do for the biggest commission you’ll ever receive. Trust me, I’ve no problem making this a one-man job.”

  Collin grumbles something under his breath, but he pushes to his feet and jogs up the stairs to his room.

  “Seems like Col’s been getting all the big jobs lately,” Jo grumbles from where she’s sitting at the foot of the stairs, a hint of malice in her expression. “What’s up with that, boss?”

  Jaxon turns slightly, not so he’s facing her, but to grant her a hint of acknowledgment. “Can you seduce a forty-six-year-old woman into taking you to her home so you can screw her brains out with your big, hard cock?”

  Jo’s nostrils flare but she doesn’t answer.

  “Mel’s been doing your jobs as part of her trial, but you have been receiving the commissions. For doing absolutely nothing. So, what are you complaining about? How, exactly, am I doing you wrong when you’re still getting paid, whether or not the job is done by you?”

  “I—”

  “Do you know that every time Col gets paid for his jobs that she did, he gives her the bigger cut of it? Do you do that?”

  Jo looks away, her lips pressed tight.

  “Check your attitude, Johanna,” he admonishes. “Focus on what’s important, and stop searching for reasons to be hateful and bitter all the time.”

  “Amen,” I mutter under my breath.

  Jo daggers me a baleful glare before she flounces off to her room.

  Mel glances from me to Jaxon, then back to me. “You’re good, yeah?”

  I glare at the side of Jaxon’s face. “Jolly.”

  She shrugs and skips up the stairs two at a time after Jo.

  Hands in his pockets, Jaxon shifts to face me square on, watching me with the quiet placidity of a tortoise. Is he just going to stand there and pretend he didn’t just rip Collin off me and bust his nose?

  “Go put on something…warm,” he orders me. “And pack a second outfit.”

  His open assessment has me self-consciously crossing my arms over my chest. “What for?”

  “You’re coming with us.”

  “Why? I thought this was a two-man job.” The last thing I want is to be in the same airspace with him right now.

  His eyes pierce mine, unwillingly taking my breath away. “I need you there. But not for the job.”

  And just like that, my heart starts doing that thing it does whenever he’s around. I step backward, the back of my knees hitting the armchair, preventing me from going farther. “What for, then?”

  He comes after me, crowding me. “Can’t say I’ve ever met a promiscuous virgin before.”

  I lift my chin. “I wanted to prove I don’t need you.”

  Something indefinable flashes across his face. “And the conclusion to this futile experiment…?”

  I reach out to touch him, but he swats my hand. It stings. Physically and emotionally. “That it’s not biology that sets me on fire. It’s just…you.”

  A muscle twitches in his cheek. “If these are the types of experiments you conduct whenever I leave you behind, then I’m done leaving you behind. You come with me. Everywhere.”

  “Or,” I suggest tartly, “you can cuff me to the bed and let Raphael keep an eye on me. He hates me more than you do, so it’s not like I’ll be able to seduce my way out.”

  Jaxon crowds in to the point where I’m unable to breathe, sucking up all the air. He grasps my chin between his thumb and forefinger, leaning down so his lips are just a hiss from mine. “Walk away from me right now, go into the shower, and make it scorching hot.” He moves his mouth to my ear, pressing his cheek hard against mine. “I can fucking smell him on you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I sleep for the entire plane ride to Spain. By the time we arrive, it’s morning.

  A black bloke in black clothes awaits Jaxon at the edge of the tarmac, with the keys to a black Range Rover. The keys exchange hands sans words, and the guy disappears like smoke.

  We load into the vehicle, Collin shotgun, me in the back. Of course.

  Jaxon’s effortless navigation of the streets and Collin’s at-ease demeanor tell me they’ve been here and done this many times before.

  Almost an hour later, after many blind corners and much uphill driving, Jaxon swings a sharp left and jerks to a stop in front of a driveway blocked by a massive wooden gate with iron accents. He powers down his window and leans out to press the pad of his thumb to the security monitor.

  Once the gates are open, he drives in and—

  Wow. Gorgeous. Just gorgeous.

  A Spanish villa sprawls on a hillside that affords a breathtaking view of both verdant green hills and blue ocean.

  The pool is stupendous, occupying a ridiculous amount of land, with padded loungers and green-str
iped umbrellas surrounding it.

  The Rover comes to a stop, and I’m the first one out, walking in circles as I take it all in—the terra-cotta roof tiles, massive grooved columns, Spanish lanterns, water fountains, landscaped hills, pine trees, palm trees, banana trees, and flamboyant flowers of all the colors in the world.

  Both men wear bored, unimpressed expressions as they grab the bags and start up the wraparound steps to the house.

  I, however, am seduced by its beauty, so I take the time to appreciate it as I follow in their path.

  By the time I’m done touring the enormous house with its painted high ceilings and opulent decor, I find Jaxon and Collin hunched over a dinner table off the kitchen, in a deep discussion of the job, a blueprint of a house spread out in front of them.

  This trip is clearly not a vacation.

  I take a seat at the table, zip my lips, and listen.

  The objective is an eighteenth-century Chinese Qianlong Dynasty porcelain vase. On the table is a photo of the vase, and standing next to the photo, Jaxon informs Collin, is an exact replica of the vase. It is about sixteen inches high, with beautiful decorations, and a very slim neck. There are also photos of a beautiful raven-haired woman, a wiry ginger-haired man with a cleft chin, and of a mansion in the hills.

  When Col asks where Jaxon got the replica vase, he tells him to focus and stop asking irrelevant questions.

  Mega-rich, forty-nine-year-old Yineris da Costa recently divorced her opportunist, megalomaniac French husband, William Girard. Inside her obscenely opulent mansion is a dining room, and in that dining room is an intricately carved side table. On that side table sits the real vase.

  The vase was supposedly passed down to Yineris from her great-grandmother, who told her it was given to her as a gift by a man she had a brief affair with while on vacation in Hong Kong. The man had confessed that he’d stolen it from his grandfather’s secret cabinet. Yineris’s great-grandmother had held a tight grasp to the vase as a cherished memento of that brief but meaningful affair.

  Of the vase’s monetary value, Yineris is ignorant. William Girard, however, very recently discovered its worth. About a month ago, the eighteenth-century Qianlong Dynasty vase was put up for auction where it was won in a bid by the Chinese government for well over fifty million pounds. Totally insane. But two mornings ago, after the vase was safely delivered and underwent multiple examinations, it was declared a fake.

  William, upon hearing this, recalled an exact replica of the vase in his ex-wife’s possession and is convinced that is the real vase. He wants it.

  And that’s where the Unseen come in.

  Jaxon’s plan to get the vase is rather straightforward, compared with some of the more complicated jobs I’ve done with him in New York.

  Yineris is known for having a fondness for young, good-looking men, especially if they’re foreigners. Collin is tasked with showing up at Yineris’s favorite chill spot, catching her eye, and seducing her into taking him home with her. While he keeps her occupied, Jaxon will hack her security, sneak in, switch the vases, and get out without a trace. When Yineris walks into her dining room the next morning, her vase will be right where it’s always been, and she won’t suspect a thing.

  “The Chinese really bid fifty mil on that vase?’” Collin asks, sitting back in his chair after the plan is thoroughly discussed and agreed upon.

  “Yep,” Jaxon replies, taking a sip of bottled water. “And that’s not even its value. It was appraised at approximately five mil. But the Chinese are sentimental like that. They’ll pay you the stars to recover what’s theirs.”

  Arms stretched over his head, Collin says through a yawn, “That fake must’ve been pretty damn impeccable to have passed the initial examinations.”

  I speak for the first time, though no one asked me. “Authenticators usually go off aging, chemical testing, and facts. But the real owners know what to look for—it could be something as simple as a slanted brushstroke that no one would ever notice except the one who knows its every last imperfection. Expert counterfeiters just need the right ingredients and techniques to manipulate their fake creations into passing as authentic.”

  Collin nods. “The Chinese know that, which is why they conducted their own tests upon delivery.”

  Contemplating the slim neck of the vase, I pause at a thought. “What if… This vase has never been broken, right? Who knows what could be hidden inside the porcelain body? Something that was fired into the vase back when it was made.”

  The men just stare back at me.

  “Fifty million pounds is a lot of money,” I say. “Sentimental as they may be, do you really think they’d bid that much if it didn’t contain something that’s valued fifty times more than the vase itself?”

  “It’s possible,” Collin slowly agrees. “Too bad we can’t take it for ourselves and get the Chinese to pay us big for it.”

  “Greed leads to demise.” Jaxon stands and glares at Collin. “Never get greedy. It’s the worst mistake you can make in life.”

  He walks out.

  Collin fidgets at the table with a look of contrition.

  “You don’t like disappointing him,” I say. It’s not a question. I reach across and cover his hand with mine.

  His head swings side to side in denial. “Wrong. I don’t care what he thinks. He’s an asshole.”

  “You do, though.”

  Scowling at the truth, he looks at my hand on top of his and quickly pulls away. “Don’t touch me like that.”

  I’m taken aback. “Why not?” Collin has been touchy-feely with me from Day One. We snuggle and cuddle and hold hands and sit in each other’s laps. We have always had a comfortable openness that works for us as friends. So, him telling me not to touch him kind of stings.

  He shakes his head at me as if I’m clueless. “You can see my broken nose, right?”

  “I don’t think he meant to.” But even as I say the words, I know they aren’t true. “You two are getting along now. No argument over…anything.” Like, me.

  Collin scoffs. “Oh, he meant to. And there’s no argument because he told me everything he thought I needed to know with his fist, and that was the end of that. Message received.”

  Call me clueless, but I still don’t get it. “What message?”

  With a humorless chuckle, Collin gets to his feet. “Apparently, you’re not as smart as I thought, Nerd Girl.” He starts to leave the room but stops at the door. “Four years I’ve been working for the guy, and I’ve never seen him get violent, let alone been on the receiving end of his violence. The Jaxon I know never allows himself to become angry to the point of getting physical.”

  With that, he leaves. And I don’t get to point out that just because he’s never witnessed Jaxon be violent doesn’t mean he isn’t. Maybe he just hides it well. As far as I know, it’s the people who suppress their emotions that are the most lethal, the ones who should never be underestimated.

  I’ve never underestimated Jaxon. Not for a second. If Collin did, that’s his mistake.

  And as far as getting the message goes, it’s kind of hard for me to do that when Jaxon says one thing but does something else entirely. What message is he sending when he goes days on end without seeing or speaking to me? What message is he sending when his actions only support the unpleasant things Nadine plants in my head?

  When it comes to Jaxon King, what exactly is the message he wants me to get?

  If relationships are all about being muddled, I am not a fan.

  After studying the paraphernalia on the table a few moments longer to calm my chaotic emotions, I get up and wander about the house, touching things, until I come to an abrupt stop at the overwhelming living room.

  Through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors, I see Jaxon out by the pool, stripped down to only a pair of tight black boxer briefs.

  My heart palpitates at the sight of his distracting physical perfection, at the sight of his taut skin under the screaming glare of the Spanish morning
sun.

  He walks to the edge of the pool, arms poised over his head, and dives in. His tall, lean body slices through the air and knifes into the water.

  That’s all it takes. I’m wetter than the pool water. Damn right, this isn’t biology. I’m so helplessly affected by him, it’s pathetic.

  I take off my cardigan and dump it on the sofa, then walk with purpose out the sliding glass doors toward the pool.

  His head still underwater, he free-strokes down to the other end.

  Bending at the waist, I tug my leggings up to my knees and toe off my flats. I go to sit at the edge and swing my feet into the water.

  His head pops up, wagging at the other end of the pool, spraying droplets of water. He wipes a hand down his face as he treads a circle in the water and sees me watching him.

  On a deep inhale, he dips under again and free-strokes down the vast length of water toward me. Soon, his head bobs up right in front of me, his fingers raking the wet hair back from his face.

  To restrain myself, I stuff my own hands under my thighs and hold my bottom lip captive between my teeth.

  He’s so much. So beautiful. So all-consuming. So commanding, even when he’s not said a word. So…wet.

  This man punched Collin last night. Because of me. He said he needed me…and not for the job.

  Why does he need me? I really have to know. Because his behavior toward me since that punch says the very opposite.

  Swimming to rest between my dangling legs, he rests his chin on my right knee. “You’re beautiful,” he tells me.

  I touch the side of his face and gingerly drag my fingertips along his jawline.

  At my touch, his eyes close, and his head turns so his cheek rests on my thigh, chlorine water soaking through my leggings.

  This gives me confidence, and I touch him more, touch him as I’ve always wanted to touch him. I smooth the pad of my thumb over his eyebrows, over his lips. I caress his jaw, I play in his hair. I admire him. And he’s so peaceful at my touch, I could die.

  “How did she become your best friend?” I ask without thinking.