Taryn Taylor - Wicked Pleasure

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” His voice was deep. Seductive. “And I was looking for an excuse to rectify that.”

He held out the champagne flute.

AJ cocked an eyebrow and ignored the stemmed crystal, relieving him of the tumbler in his other hand instead. “Well then, the first thing you should know about me is that I prefer scotch to bubbly.”

He let her see the flare of interest in his eyes. “It’s bourbon,” he advised, setting the champagne on the desk beside his hip.

AJ took a sip. Potent, but smooth. Much like the man who’d provided it.

He reached into the left side of his jacket, retrieving his phone. His thumb flew over the surface of the sleek, matte black rectangle with impressive speed. It took a moment longer than it should have before the soft whir of the security cameras simultaneously shifting direction penetrated her consciousness, before her gaze cut from his big, capable hand to the reflection of his screen in the monitor behind him. Before she could glean anything of import, he was already tucking his phone back into his interior breast pocket.

Damn.

It took everything in her not to flinch at the wasted opportunity. She’d gotten soft, working for Max, holed up in her cushy apartment and doing everything remotely. She’d been off the front line too long. The old her would have capitalized on a gift like that—a glimpse at the screen of her adversary.

Maybe she still could...

She’d come here to drop a backdoor into his main server so she could poke around at her leisure and figure out how to thwart any further attempts to hobble Whitfield Industries. It was supposed to be a quick, covert mission, under the radar all the way.

Liam had messed up the covert part of her plan by walking in on her, but he’d also presented her with an opportunity she’d never dreamed of—the chance to do the same thing to his phone.

She’d made some mods to the program Max had asked her to look into, the one that had been covertly installed on his sister Kaylee’s phone. It had turned out to be Cybercore issue, which put a big red bull’s-eye on Liam Kearney’s chest. He’d rocketed to the top of the suspect list—douchebag most likely to be responsible for the hack on Whitfield Industries.

After she’d analyzed the malware, she’d tinkered a little. It had good bones, but she’d made it even better. If AJ could get her phone close to his, she could install the spy app remotely and have access to everything: his passwords, his emails, his whole life. Excitement at the prospect bubbled in her chest. There was something poetic about beating Liam Kearney with his own tech.

But to make that happen, she needed him to stay close. Really close.

AJ licked her lips, not missing the quick dart of his gaze to her mouth. Her smile was indulgent.

This was going to be easier than she’d thought.

She waited until he raised his eyes to hers. “How can you be sure?”

“That it’s bourbon? I poured it myself.”

She smiled despite herself at his dry, offhand delivery. “That we’ve never met,” she corrected.

He searched her face, and her breath caught beneath his scrutiny, trapping her in the moment. She couldn’t look away.

“I’d remember you.”

AJ’s pulse stuttered like Morse code, but before she could parse the hidden message, the door to the office swung open, and in walked a vest-and-bow-tie-clad waiter brandishing a tiny silver tray with a tumbler of bourbon balanced dead center. Liam grabbed it, thanking the waiter he’d obviously summoned with his phone—Kearney was a tech god, not telepathic—and AJ used the distraction to arm the app on her phone with a quick up-down-up-up press of the volume buttons through the satin of her purse.

The waiter removed the abandoned champagne flute before he turned and left as efficiently as he’d appeared, and just like that, she was alone with Liam again.

It was time to initiate Operation Phone Hack.

AJ TOOK A showy swallow of her drink as she pulled her feet off his desk. She hated to gulp down the expensive stuff, but she needed to move her glass into her left hand, and giving him the impression she was a little tipsy might help sell the next part of her plan.

“Neat trick.” AJ tipped her chin in the direction of his bourbon. “Tell me, does everyone come when you call?” she asked, the words low and suggestive as she grabbed her purse in her right hand and got to her feet.

The key to a believable stumble was to commit, trust your mark to catch you, and then keep the response understated. No overwrought flailing or ridiculous exclamations. Even a layman could see the hammy stuff from a mile away.

With a credible slip, AJ widened her eyes—little details were important—bringing her purse hand up and bracing it against Liam’s chest in an attempt to catch herself. A quick twist of her wrist ensured the satin lined up right about where that interior suit pocket that housed his phone should be.

The remainder of her drink sloshed perilously close to the rim of the glass before she fully regained her balance. As far as misdirection went, it was a nice touch, even if she did say so herself. And she knew it had worked by the way Liam’s palm had landed on her hip to steady her as he turned his attention from her glass back to her face.

He let his gaze wander down to her mouth and back up. The low hum of arousal between them intensified. “As a rule, they call after I make them come.”

Her knees went soft, and his hand tightened on her hip.

“You okay?”

Was she okay? Sure, if you ignored the part where she’d spent the last four days figuring out how to break into this man’s bedroom without being detected, and now all she could think about was how much she wanted to take him up on the implied invitation to join him there.

God damn , she needed to get laid. Usually, when the itch got bad enough, she went out and took what she needed. No fuss, no commitment. But if she was being honest, no one had lit her up for a while.

Not like this.

“Guess the bourbon’s hitting a little harder than I thought.”

It was a lie, of course. She wasn’t drunk. You couldn’t run a job if you weren’t 100 percent in control of all your faculties. And yeah, matching wits with a worthy adversary always revved her up a bit, but this...this hormonal glitch was another level altogether.

“Perhaps a little fresh air would help.” He took his hand off her hip, reaching beneath the lip of the desk, and the twin sounds of music and laughter rushed into the room.

AJ glanced over her shoulder to watch as the window closest to them retracted into the wall, granting them access to a wrought iron terrace.

When she turned back, he seemed closer than he had a moment ago.

God, he smelled good. Warm and sexy. Expensive. Eau de Rich Guy.

Yeah, distance sounded like the smart plan right now.

“Perhaps it would.” She meant it to sound mocking—who the fuck said perhaps anymore?—but it came out a little breathless.

She pulled her purse back from his chest, tucking it securely under her arm as she straightened. That should have been plenty of time for the malware to install, she figured, turning and stepping through the space where the window used to be, taking a bracing sip of her drink as the warmth of the night surrounded her.

“Some party.”

He glanced around the glittering mass of guests amid the fountains and twinkle lights, chatting and laughing while they flitted around. Seeing. Being seen. “You don’t like it?”

“Not really my scene.” Pomp and circumstance made her itchy.

“Really?” Liam ran a hand over his jaw. “I thought all women loved a reason to dress up and drink a man’s bourbon.”