Dirty Devil / The Fling. Stefanie London

‘It wasn’t open.’

      Something flickered in her eyes, something that didn’t fit with that uncertain smile or the way she was nervously smoothing her uniform. It was gone the next second, but I was good at reading people and I knew what it was. I’d seen it in her gaze out on the terrace.

      She wasn’t nervous. She was angry. And no doubt it was because she’d been discovered.

      If she’d genuinely been a waitress, I’d have ushered her out, called her supervisor and had a few words.

      Except she wasn’t a waitress.

      I didn’t know what she was. But I sure as shit was going to find out.

      Calling Clarence immediately and having him deal with it was the next logical step, but I didn’t want to involve him. I didn’t know what this woman was here for. She wasn’t likely to be a reporter; I revised my earlier suspicion, because if she had been she would have been out there surreptitiously taking pictures of the famous naked people having fun around the pool; she wouldn’t be in here, hiding under my desk. And, apart from anything else, reporters generally didn’t have the skills required to get through the lock on my office door.

      No, I wanted to deal with this personally.

      ‘Oh, it really was,’ she said, her forehead creasing. ‘You must have forgotten to shut it or something.’

      Which might have worked if I hadn’t been the one person in a million who never forgot a single fucking thing.

      Slowly, I shook my head. ‘The door was shut. And secured with an extremely sophisticated electronic lock.’

      Another flicker in her eyes—more anger, and this time the tiniest touch of what I thought was uncertainty. It was gone as quickly as it had come, to be replaced with something that looked calculating. Almost as if she was watching me and gauging my reaction.

      Fuck, who was this woman?

      There was a quality to her that held me like the light catching a particularly fine diamond. Except she didn’t glitter like a diamond, not the way the women waiting for me on the terrace did, sparkly, showy and completely transparent. No, this woman didn’t catch the light at all. Unlike them, she was opaque, like a black pearl. Just as beautiful and just as fine, but a whole shitload more mysterious.

      Diamonds were showy stones, and there was a time and a place for showy. Right now, though, I was more interested in mysterious.

      Especially the mysterious way she’d managed to get into my fucking office.

      There was a time for charm and then there was a time for seriousness.

      ‘Sugar,’ I said gently. ‘That five seconds? You’ve now got two to explain just what the fuck you’re doing here.’

      Her hands twisted in front of her. ‘You really don’t believe I was trying to find the kitchen?’

      I smiled and this time I didn’t bother making it pleasant. ‘Try again.’

       CHAPTER THREE

      Thea

      SUGAR. HE’D CALLED me Sugar. As if that wasn’t patronising at all.

       Him calling you Sugar is the least of your problems right now.

      Controlling my instinctive bristle, I tried to slow the fight-or-flight adrenaline rush that had burst through my veins the minute I’d heard his deep voice tell me that he could see me as I hid under his desk.

      I took a silent breath to get control of the anger and spike of fear, forcing my emotions down the way Mr Chen had taught me.

      I’d never been caught, not once in all the years I’d been working with Mr Chen, and it was a point of pride. My ability to slip into a place unnoticed and slip out again, shadowy as a ghost, was what made me so good at what I did.

      Getting caught so pathetically easily was a rookie mistake and I should be ashamed of myself. I just hadn’t expected him to come in here. I’d thought he’d stay out on the terrace, entertaining his glorious public.

      An error of judgment, clearly. I needed to be on my guard.

      ‘Try again?’ I repeated, attempting to sound like a confused member of staff who didn’t realise what she’d done wrong. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

      He was standing not far away, his back to the windows and the magnificent view out over Hong Kong’s financial district, neon outlining his tall, broad silhouette to perfection.

      Damn him. Why had he come in here? I’d only just started to look for the safe before I’d heard the sounds of someone coming into the room. There hadn’t been time for me to find somewhere decent to hide or check if there was another exit. The only place I’d been able to see had been under his desk, so that was where I’d bolted.

      Not at all what I’d planned.

      I struggled to pull myself together. Getting caught would put Mr Chen’s whole business at risk, not to mention destroying the reputation for complete discretion he’d built over the years, and it would be all my fault. Which meant I had to fix it and fast.

      ‘I think you do.’ Blackwood tilted his head towards the light, neon sliding over his perfect features. ‘And don’t give me any more of that trying to find the kitchen bullshit.’

      Damn. Damn. Damn.

      There was no trace of his charming smile now, only the hard gleam in his eyes. With the silver ring in his eyebrow and the tantalising glimpse of his tattoos from beneath his black shirt, he looked...dangerous as hell.

       And sexier than the devil himself.

      Even more irritated at myself, I shoved away that particular thought and reached into the pocket of my uniform, bringing out the staff ID I’d forged and waving it in the air. ‘But I’m with the company. Check my ID.’

      He didn’t even look at it. ‘I vet all the staff who come to these parties personally and you’re not on the staff list.’

      Shit. I hadn’t known he was so hands-on with his ridiculous parties. I’d imagined he’d hire some kind of party planner.

      ‘Who are you?’ His voice had lost the lazy warmth I’d heard out on the terrace while he’d been telling his story. Now it had an edge creeping into it. ‘You’re not a reporter, not given how you managed to pick my lock. How did you do that, by the way?’

      Quickly, I sorted through my options. I could brazen it out and insist on being with the company, but since he personally vetted his staff that probably wouldn’t work. And, given the lock situation, as he’d already said, I couldn’t pretend to be a reporter. Not when the lock had been heavy duty and somewhat difficult to open even for a person of my skills.

      The only option I had left was...stalker fan desperate to catch a glimpse of her idol. Did billionaires have stalker fans? I guess there was only one way to find out.

      I let out a breath, as if I was disappointed. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘You win. I’m not actually with the catering company. But I’m not a reporter either.’

      The gleam in his silver eyes was like a blade and something twisted deep inside me. This man was a different beast from the charming playboy out on the terrace. Honed and sharp as a dagger, and just as lethal.

      It seemed at odds with the faint hint of his expensive, subtle cologne I could scent in the air, all warm spice and sunshine.

      My heartbeat tripled, my breath catching. And it wasn’t with fear.

      There was something incredibly exciting about this—about him. About how different he was right now from the man I’d seen on the terrace, and I wasn’t sure why I liked that. I just did.