With a Twist (Last Call #4)(14)

"Makes sense," I say and take an idle sip of my soda.

At a soft knocking at the door, Mike and I exchange looks. He nods, and I go to answer it.

I open the door, the safety chain still in place, and take a peek. With only a few inch gap within which to spy my visitor, he shouldn't make that big of an impression on me.

Yet, that tiny glance at Wyatt Banks …  I mean, Raze Hawkins …  causes my stomach to flip and my pulse to pound. God, he's stunning and so not what I imagined.

I had thought that anyone being put undercover in a slimy strip club fronting as a slave ring would look …  slimy. Short, thin, and balding …  with a massively hairy chest. You know, slimy.

He's tall …  I mean, really tall, and golden from head to toe. It was the briefest of glances but I caught warm, brown hair cut short and spiky on top, lean muscles, and a hard jaw line. He was a brief vision of spectacularity. That's all I need to see before I shut the door, pulling the chain free, and mentally willing myself to chill out.

When I open it, he is even more gorgeous than what little I had seen. Clear, hazel eyes swirling with green, gold, and a warm earthy tone appraise me. His eyes travel down my body …  slowly …  in a most calculating way, and his lips …  which I notice are very full …  flatten out.

I glance down at myself, taking in the pressed black slacks, French blue shirt with ivory buttons, and low-heeled black loafers. My hand subconsciously comes up to pat at the tight bun I had wound my long hair in that morning, ensuring no stray hairs were falling out.

"You're my stripper?" he asks slowly, a slight censure in his tone.

It gets my hackles up, being judged for looking so prudish, which is insane, I know. I hold my hand out to him. "Nikki O at your service. That "O" stands for Orgasm, or Oliver if you go by my newly acquired license. Sorry I couldn't greet you in my stripper gear and all."

There it is …  a lip twitch …  and his eyes crinkle slightly at the corner.

"Wyatt," Mike says from behind me. "Come on in …  we got work to do."

Wyatt's …  I mean, Raze's eyes flick over my shoulder, and he gives a head nod to Mike. Gone is the threat of a smile and he ignores my hand, stepping past me into my apartment.

"Come on in," I mutter under my breath and close the door, sliding the chain back in place.

By the time I turn around, Raze is sitting at the table with Mike …  in the seat that I had just vacated. Sighing, I walk over to the couch, grab the FBI file on Simon Keyes, and head into the kitchen so we can get down to work.

"Want a soda?" I ask Raze.

"Sure. Pepsi if you have it," he says, his eyes watching me intently as I walk toward the fridge.

"Sorry …  it's Diet Coke or nothing," I respond, but I'm brought up short just before I reach for the handle.



       
         
       
        

"Jesus …  you walk like you have a stick up your ass. Please don't tell me that's your sexy strut?" Raze growls.

"Wyatt," Mike says in a low warning before I can open my mouth to defend myself.

"No, Mike," Raze says as he holds his hand up to cut him off. "Look at her. She reeks of FBI …  probably prior military by the way her spine is ramrod straight. She's going to blow this whole operation out of the water. Simon will spot her for what she is a mile away."

"Ease up," Mike says with a sigh. "She's got the skills …  trust me."

Raze snorts in skepticism and for a brief, crazy moment, I have the wild urge to start a sexy dance right then and there to prove to him that I can handle this. But the moment fizzles because standing here in my plain black suit with my hair done up tight and not an ounce of makeup on, and with Raze's hard eyes on me, I don't feel an ounce of sexy within me.

Instead, I decide Raze doesn't deserve one of my lukewarm Diet Coke's and take the chair opposite of him at the kitchen table.

Clasping my hands together, I force my shoulders to relax a little and give him a focused stare. "Look …  you're just going to have to trust the FBI knows what it's doing and that I'm qualified to handle this job. I'm ready for this, and hear me when I say that they will never in a million years guess what I truly do for a living. Now, let's quit wasting time with your doubts and how about you tell me what I need to do."

Mike gives a little cough behind his hand, and Raze narrows his eyes at me. He holds my gaze, and while I can still appreciate his male perfection as he sits across the table from me, I have decided that I don't like this man very much.