Once inside, Z released a long, slow whistle. “Holy fuck. Who chose this place?”
Beyond the bright entry and across the wide-open living room, past the wall of seamless, plate-glass windows was the Gulf of Mexico. Nothing but sand and ocean. Well, except for the crystal-clear infinity-edge swimming pool and the enormous veranda that separated the house from the beach.
Nice digs, sure, but what the hell were they supposed to do there? Act like a couple of frat boys partying it up?
Out of habit, Z made his way through the house first, fleetingly glancing in every room, making sure no one was there. No one other than them. Z wasn’t big on surprises.
“All clear,” Z told RT when they met up in the first-floor living area once again. Something across the room drew Z’s attention, and he squinted to make out the pictures sitting on the mantel. “I thought this was a rental.”
RT shrugged. “That’s what Bryce said.”
“Bryce?” Z clarified. “Your father, Bryce? The same man smiling like a loon in these pictures?” Z nodded toward the mantel.
RT walked over, picked up the picture.
“Either this place is more than a rental,” Z told him, “or your pops has taken up modeling.”
RT’s smile barely registered, and though he conceded that much, he didn’t respond.
“What’s with the fancy shit?” Z finally asked, surveying the rest of the room. “Where’d your dad land this one?”
“Who knows,” RT answered, seemingly just as stunned as Z. “He seriously told me it was a rental.”
Rather than ponder the reasons for RT’s father’s misrepresentation of the place, Z opted to tour the house a little more thoroughly. After a quick pass through the oversized kitchen, the dining room, then back to the stairs, Z darted up to the second floor once again, surveying the rooms, taking in the detail this time. There were certainly two beds. Actually, Z had counted at least six amongst the four-thousand-square-foot non-rental.
Why was it that people thought it was cute to decorate the interior of their oceanfront property like…the ocean? Didn’t they get enough of that shit out the window?
Someone had obviously cleaned out Pier 1 Imports on moving day. Evidently they lacked any creativity because everything was either blue or white. Well, except for the random seashells—seriously, that shit belonged outside—which provided a slight deviation of pink or white.
Oh, but the anchor was a nice touch.
Z rolled his eyes as he headed back downstairs.
“Six bedrooms, eight bathrooms, media room, game room, kitchen, dining room,” Z muttered as he ticked them off on his fingers, talking to himself. He came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. “Can’t forget the wicked awesome outdoor living space.” He took in the incredible view. “Rental. Right.”
For some odd reason, he wanted to search for hidden cameras. “Why do I feel like I’m in an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous?”
And yes, as far as Z was concerned, it felt a little…stuffy, like the house was more for show than for comfort, although it sure as hell beat a cheap motel room with two full-sized beds. And by full-size, Z meant big enough for someone half his size.
After making his way across the main floor, Z headed out through the sliding door off the back, where RT was standing on the deck, staring out at the ocean, his forearms resting on the wooden banister that surrounded the area.
Beyond the deck, a huge sand dune separated the house from the beach. A narrow wooden walkway had been built across it to provide beach access.
“Not a bad view, huh?” Z muttered.
“I was thinking it was nice of them to carry the theme from inside the house out here.”
Was that a joke? From RT?
Refusing to look as surprised as he felt, Z turned to face the house, propping himself against the railing.
“So while we’re here,” Z began.
“For an undetermined amount of time,” RT added.
“Right. We’re supposed to pretend to be interested in ugly fucking pictures—”
“Art,” RT interrupted.
“If you say so,” Z countered, glancing over at RT. “We’re gonna party it up with the rich and seriously tasteless. Then we’re gonna steal a painting that could’ve been nicer if a blind man with no arms had done it, replace it with an equally unpleasant fake, and get the original to DHS.”
“Yep,” RT confirmed.
“Sounds…” Shit. Z didn’t know how it sounded.
“Fucked up?” RT suggested.
“Let’s go with that.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Z took it all in. The sand, the sun, the water. RT.
Yeah. He could complain all damn day if he wanted, but the truth was, he was pretty pleased with where he stood.
For the undetermined amount of time RT had referred to, Z got to spend some alone time with RT. Something he’d wanted for a long time. Something he’d honestly never thought he’d get after that one night two weeks ago when they’d shared the most incredible night together.
Yet here they were.
RYAN WAS BEGINNING TO SWEAT, and it had only a little to do with the blistering Texas sun but mostly everything to do with the man standing a foot away, looking every bit the badass that he was.
With his mirrored Ray-Bans covering his eyes, his biceps bulging beneath the maroon Texas A&M T-shirt he wore, and his dark hair blowing in the salty breeze, Z was damn near irresistible. The guy was in the best physical shape of any person—man or woman—that Ryan knew. And that was saying something considering the people Ryan associated with.
But Ryan didn’t lust after any of the people he associated with. No one except for Z. Which was why he had to resist the irresistible. He didn’t have much of a choice. After all, this was a mission, and he knew how Z handled missions. With unprecedented dedication to the end game.
And Ryan would do well to remember that.
Okay, that wasn’t the only reason, but it beat all the others that Ryan had continued to remind himself of during the long drive down. He couldn’t help remembering the night he’d been buried deep in Z’s ass, fucking him hard and fast…
Not helping.
Needing a distraction, Ryan turned to Z. “Hungry?”
Z grinned, his crossed arms lowering, one giant hand coming down to pat his very flat, very chiseled abs.
End game, jackass.
“When am I not hungry?” Z questioned, turning his head and beaming at Ryan, giving him a glimpse of straight white teeth and a perfect dimple in his left cheek.
Fuck. “I saw a burger place back on the road we turned in from. Work for you?”
Z nodded.
Ryan could feel the intensity of Z’s lingering gaze, though he couldn’t see his eyes. He was suddenly grateful for his own sunglasses, praying like hell Z couldn’t read his mind. This chemical reaction between them continued to burn bright and hot—hotter with every single additional minute they spent together.
Which was why Ryan needed to get through this assignment. Fast.
*
Twenty minutes later, they were pulling into a burger joint. The parking lot was overflowing with cars and trucks, people scattered about talking, laughing, only a few eating.
Parking their bikes on the sidewalk near the door, they headed inside, drawing only a little attention. Ryan figured some were admiring the bikes, and the rest…the rest were sizing up the giant of a man walking behind Ryan. Z was one of those people who others checked out. The sheer breadth of Z’s shoulders was enough to cause people to do a double take. He wasn’t just big, the guy was massive. Didn’t matter, man or woman, adult or child, they admired him. He had that type of presence.