Page 43 of Code Name: Ghost

Nick notices. His fingers tighten slightly at my waist, his thumb pressing against my hipbone in a silent command.

Ignore him.

I let my body relax into Nick’s, letting him shield me from view as he leads me deeper into the club.

A hostess dressed in a slinky black dress intercepts us near the entrance to the private rooms. “Monsieur,” she purrs in a thick accent, obviously recognizing him. “Your room is ready and has been prepared to your specifications.” Her gaze flickers to me, then back to him, a knowing smile curling her lips. “Shall I send in the staff?”

“No.” His grip on me tightens. “We won’t be needing an audience.”

A flush creeps up my neck. The way he says it, so cool and commanding, sends a shiver through me.

The hostess leads us toward the back, where a hidden doorway opens into a suite that looks more like a high-end private dungeon than a casino lounge. The lighting is moody, the furniture sleek, the walls adorned with implements designed for pleasure and pain.

Nick doesn’t hesitate. He strides inside, pulling me with him, and the door clicks shut behind us.

I whirl to face him the second we’re alone. “You didn’t mention we’d be doing this in a damn sex dungeon.”

His lips twitch, but he says nothing as he unbuttons his jacket. “It’s the safest place to talk. René’s men won’t bat an eye at what happens in here, but if they hear anything that sounds like business? That’s a problem.”

I fold my arms. “So what now?”

Nick doesn’t answer. He just steps toward me, closing the space between us in a slow, deliberate movement. His fingers trail up my bare arm, making my breath catch.

“Now,” he murmurs, “we put on a show.”

I swallow hard.

Nick’s touch drags down, fingers skimming the side of my ribs before settling at my waist. His grip is firm—possessive—his body heat bleeding into mine.

“What kind of show?” I whisper.

His lips tilt at the corner, his breath brushing against my temple. “Nothing you can’t handle, sweetheart.”

I suck in a breath as he lifts my wrist and guides it behind my back. My other wrist follows, and before I can react, the cool bite of leather cuffs circles them, locking together in a way that steals the air from my lungs.

He tilts my chin up with two fingers. “You trust me?”

The question shouldn’t make me weak. But it does.

“Yes.”

His gaze darkens. “Then let go.”

His hands are on me, adjusting my stance, pressing me flush against him so that my bound arms press against the sharp lines of his suit.

I feel the moment the door opens. The shift in the air, the faintest creak of wood, another person stepping into the room.

Nick doesn’t acknowledge them right away. He keeps his attention on me, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck, his lips grazing my temple in an intimate display of ownership.

Then, casually, he glances up.

“Fortier.” His voice is smooth. Cool.

I force myself to stay still, my pulse thudding in my throat as I listen.

“I was told you wanted a private moment,” Fortier says, his voice accented and sharp. “Seems I was right.”

Nick’s fingers stroke my spine, just enough to make me shiver against him. “You know me. I like to mix business with pleasure.”

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