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Jackson enters the kitchen, fresh from the pool with damp hair and a bare, glistening chest. He takes in my robed body and steps in close. “Morning, Mrs. Bennett. Sleep well?”
I roll my eyes but lift my cup to my lips with both hands to hide my blush.
Sadie refills her mug and rushes for the door. “I’ll be back at three.”
I don’t answer or even look her way. Jackson stalks over and leans into my personal space. My breath catches in my throat until he stands upright again, holding a coffee cup. Dirty tease. Biting back a rude comment, I stare straight ahead, attempting to ignore the hard chest next to me.
“Something wrong, Chelsea?” Jackson purrs before his voice drops low. “Does my wife need a good morning kiss?”
Oh, he’ll pay for that. My expression softens to something sensual and dreamy. I drag one of my hands down my neck and over the swell of a breast. Jackson’s eyes follow the movement, widening when my nipples pebble beneath the thin robe. He sucks in a sharp breath as his pupils dilate.
I think that makes us even. “No. I’m fine, dear. I think I’ll take my coffee upstairs.”
Jackson grabs my bicep as I push off the counter. “So we’ve graduated to teasing now?”
I smile innocently. “Nope. Just a little payback.”
A puff of air to my ear accompanies Jackson’s growled chuckle. “Keep it up. I like what it tells me.”
The blatant desire in Jackson’s voice sends a rush of heat to my face and a shiver down my spine. I cover the response with a laugh. “In your dreams, sailor.”
I shake off Jackson’s grasp and slink to my room with clenched thighs. I need a cold shower.
Sambi shows up at one with food to feed a small army. We stuff our faces, and all thirty-two of us, plus his team, perform a walkthrough of tonight’s event, beginning with Wrench’s demonstration of his voyeur skills.
Everyone is clear on their assignments, operational signals, and the timeline. Cameras and mics have all been rechecked and confirmed to be in good working order, and the jet carrying Harding has already landed in Spain. The only detail still up in the air is what script we’ll follow. And I won’t know which to pick until I get a read on Harding up close and in person. No pressure.
With nothing left to do, I let Sadie herd me toward my room and Sambi’s procured team of beauty technicians. The process from Knot’s house repeats much the same. By six, my hair is pinned in a romantic updo, my makeup is silver-screen perfect, and my crimson gown is on. After slipping into my heels, the last touch is for the stylist to position the delicate filigree mask shaped like a dragon with spread wings. It’s black and mysterious, and I’ve never felt so sexy.
The technicians pack up, and Sadie escorts them out after nodding her approval. At the door, she pauses to say, “Unless that fucker’s secretly gay, you should have him eating from the palm of your hand.”
Sadie closes the door, and I look long and hard at myself in the mirror. The face looking back at me is that of a stranger. Maybe it’s the mask, but I feel more prepared to face Harding than any other mission before. Who will I be tonight?
I practice expressions for each of the personalities we prepared. Depending on what Harding presents, I’m locked and loaded for demure, battle axe, passionate activist, and desperate for attention. I’m a master of them all, sadly, and ready to be whatever is necessary to get under Harding’s skin.
With a last wink to my reflection, I swish around and walk out. I take the stairs slowly and enter the great room. Caterers are busy with food staging, and florists tinker with flower arrangements brought in for tonight.
As I take in all the prep work, I have to smile. Sambi always looks a dollar away from being homeless when we meet in the field, but he owns all this. He’s even more of a chameleon than I am.
I don’t see any of my people until I reach the lanai. Fish is in deep discussion with Jackson, whose back is to me. When Fish notices my approach, his eyes widen. Jackson whirls around, only to freeze when he spots me.
Jackson is in the tux we picked, now tailored to fit his frame. He carries his mask in hand, a knight’s armor style. The left is solid black, and the right is silver filigree.
The platoon leader scans me from head to toe and back, all without a word. He seems to be malfunctioning.
“Fish, he may need a reboot,” I joke to hide my nervousness.
“Maybe,” he says with a laugh, “but there’s no way I’m touching his power button.”
That bit of mockery worked because Jackson smacks Fish on the chest. Lieutenant Hill shakes his head at his friend and commanding officer, ignoring him. I take Fish’s outstretched hand, smiling when he gently squeezes mine. “You look beautiful, Chelsea. I’ll be around.”
Fish walks away, leaving me alone with Jackson. My fake husband pulls me into his arms, and I flinch. “That right there can’t happen tonight,” he drawls. “I should be able to do this”_the man bends me backward and feathers his lips across my neck_“and you not bat an eye.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be ready when the time comes.”
Jackson grins and, keeping me bent over, whispers, “Is that a promise?”
A throat clears behind him, and Jackson pulls me upright again. “Practicing for Harding?” Aaron teases.