“You think I’m gonna let anyone else put their hands on my wife? Hell, no. Those fingers will be broken long before they touch her. Count on it.”

  – Gray Stone

  Soft, tranquil music filled the private room at the resort’s spa. Water gurgled from a miniature fountain in the right corner of the room even as soft candlelight flickered nearby. One, two, three, four…Four candles.

  Emerson, stop counting!

  The massage table waited with its soft covers pulled down.

  “Just undress to your level of comfort,” Angel instructed her. “You can get on the table, and when you are ready, just call out to me.”

  She stood by the massage table, shifting slightly from foot to foot. “I had a friend who recommended your services.”

  Angel quirked a brow.

  “River,” Emerson offered the name in what she hoped was a casual tone. “She told me that you were phenomenal.”

  Angel frowned. “I don’t recall a session with someone named River.” Angel’s smile came quickly, stretching across his face, flashing his dimples, and making his eyes twinkle. “But I have a whole lot of clients. Sometimes, people will come to see me each day of their stay. I tend to be pretty popular.”

  Yep. She could imagine that he was.

  Angel looked like a Greek god. Tall, muscular, with features that could only be described as drop-dead gorgeous. If perfection had a form, it would be Angel’s.

  “Are there any particular areas of concern you have?” Angel inquired politely in his deep and warm voice. “Any areas of your body that you think I should focus upon?”

  “Ah…” Emerson swallowed. “You know, feet. Feet work. My feet are tired. I do lots of walking in heels.”

  “Right. The feet. I’ll be sure to give them attention.” That perfect smile flashed once more. “Again, you undress to your level of comfort, and I’ll be right back inside when you are ready for me.” He headed for the door.

  Before he could reach the door, it swung open. Gray stood there. A glaring Gray.

  “Sir,” Angel began as his body tensed. “This is a private session, and you can’t⁠—”

  “That’s my wife. I can. Trust me, I can.” His stare swept over Angel. Then, “Nope. Hell, no. This is not happening.”

  “Excuse me?” Angel backed up a step.

  “You’re not putting your hands on my wife. She’s not undressing in front of you.” Anger seethed in Gray’s voice. “You’re not rubbing her down with oil and giving her the fucking ‘heavenly treatment’ with Angel that I just heard about in the lobby. Screw that. She’s skipping massage time with you. I’ve got her.”

  “Gray…” Emerson began.

  His gaze collided with hers. “No.” Flat. “Not happening. I’ll pay for the time, but Angel can just take his ass on break.”

  “Well, someone is grumpy,” Angel chimed.

  “You do not want to go there,” Gray warned him.

  Angel peered back at Emerson. “What do you want?”

  She hadn’t exactly wanted to strip down and get rubbed up by a murder suspect. She and Gray had planned for this interruption. They’d planned for the whole scene. The jealous, overwrought husband persona was fake.

  “She wants me,” Gray snapped.

  Angel waited.

  Emerson let a soft sigh slip from her lips. “My husband is incredibly jealous. We’re newlyweds.” She wiggled her fingers. Made the big diamond flash. “It’s fine, Angel. My feet feel better already.”

  Angel held his ground. “It’s a massage, sir. And I am a professional, always.”

  “I’ll give you two hundred bucks if you give us the room and you get your ass out right now.”

  Angel took the cash and got his ass out right then and there. The door closed behind him. But Gray reached over and flipped the lock to make the room extra secure.

  The music kept playing. The water gurgled in the fountain.

  “Checked his date book and his computer files,” Gray told her.

  Yes, that had been his job. While she distracted Angel, Gray had been doing a search.

  “He did have an appointment with River.”

  They’d known that, thanks to River’s social media posts about the “Divine Angel” session.

  “But I don’t think he ever saw Kim. The spa records are extremely thorough. I searched the database via his system, but Kim wasn’t listed as a client at the spa. Neither was our first suspected vic, Wendy Prichard.”

  “He told me that he didn’t remember River.” Could have been a lie, of course. “And there is a chance that the records were altered.”

  “Yeah, but River’s appointment was still listed in the system. Why leave her but take out Kim and Wendy?”

  Good question.

  Emerson exhaled. “Your timing was perfect.”

  “Tell me about it.” His teeth snapped together.

  “We were at the disrobing portion of the event.”

  “That was never supposed to happen.” Real jealousy seemed to vibrate in his voice.

  Emerson frowned. “Gray, it’s a massage. Those happen every day, and they are one hundred percent normal, non-sexual events.”

  He began stalking toward her.

  “I get that you’re playing the jealous husband—the way-over-the-top, jealous husband—and Angel is now talking about you with the other staff members just like we planned. Everyone will think you are crazy when it comes to me.”

  He stopped in front of her. “I am crazy when it comes to you.”

  She swallowed. “That’s the act.”

  “You’ve got to be a bit disheveled when we leave. I asked for the room and, with us in here alone, Angel and anyone else close by will think I wanted a place to fuck my new bride.”

  Her eyes widened. Fucking at the spa had not been on the agenda. “I…don’t believe people will think that’s what we’re doing. Having sex, I mean.”

  “I’m fucking jealous.” His hands curled around her waist. He lifted her up on the table. Her skirt fluttered around her legs. Yes, she had on another billowing skirt. What else did you bring to an island paradise? She wore a skirt, while Gray wore khakis and an unbuttoned, white dress shirt. His semi-casual look.

  “Don’t want some male-model-slash-bodybuilder rubbing his hands all over you.” He actually sounded jealous. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship. Did they?

  His hands moved from her waist. Slid under her skirt. Pushed the gauzy material up until he hooked his fingers around her panties.

  “Gray.” Her hands flew down. She slapped them on top of his. Her breath choked out. “There’s looking disheveled and actually…” Her voice trailed away.

  “Fucking?” Gray finished for her.

  She nodded. Yes, yes, there was a difference between the two things.

  “Don’t worry. We won’t fuck. But I am damn jealous.” His words were gritted, and she realized…

  Wow. “You aren’t acting?”

  A negative shake of his head. “No one else’s hands get put on you, Emerson.”

  “Gray, I seriously don’t think he was interested in me. Like at all.”

  “No one, Emerson. Because I am homicidal where you are concerned.” A long exhale. “Yeah, I know that makes me seem deranged as hell. I’ll work on it.” Another hard exhale. “I’ll work on it.” He let her go. Moved back. “We should talk about the case. That’s, ah, why I got us the room. So we could talk privately.”

  Her body yearned for him. “I think I’m homicidal where you’re concerned.” Didn’t one bit of brutal honesty deserve another? “I don’t want any other woman touching you. I get that we’re supposed to be pretending, but I don’t really care. With you, everything feels real.” Done. “I’d be jealous if another woman touched your body.”

  He’d been sawing a hand over his jaw, but at her words, he stopped. The hand fell back to his side.

  “I’d be jealous,” Emerson repeated. Maybe lines were blurring. Maybe it had been a mistake to be partners and lovers at the same time or maybe…maybe it had been the best choice she’d ever made in her life. “I trust you, Gray. I want you. I trust you and…” No, do not say it. Do not go there.

  A furrow appeared between his brows. “And…what?”

  She wet her lips. There were some things that, once said, could not be taken back. It was time to focus before she went too far. “You were right. We need to talk about the case. You’ve just given us the perfect private spot.”

  “Um.”

  “It’s partners.”

  He didn’t change expression.

  “You think that, too, don’t you? We’re not looking for just one killer. It’s two. Partners. A team.” Her words came faster. His gaze seemed so heated as it pinned her.

  Her attention darted to the candles. The flames sputtered and flickered. “It’s so hard to kill two people at one time. I mean, with the first couple—Kris and Wendy Prichard—it could have been done, of course, because it was their brakes that were sabotaged. Not like the perp had to physically overpower them. But with the others…” She looked away from the candles and found Gray eyeing her with predatory focus. “With the others, it was about being physically overpowered. I don’t think one lone perp could do that. Especially with Zac and River. They were running. Zac was attacked, taken down, but if it was just by one attacker with a knife, then River might have been able to flee and get to safety. She didn’t escape, though. They were both stabbed to death. When I read the case files, Zac’s injuries were much deeper, harder, than River’s.” He’d been killed faster. “I think his killer was stronger. As for the person stabbing River—there were hesitation marks on her. As if the perp was uncertain. It took a lot more slices to kill River. I believe it’s because there were two killers.”

  He didn’t speak.

  “Partners,” Emerson repeated.

  “Yes.” Gray nodded. “I suspect the same thing.”

  Of course, he did. “You could have said something sooner.”

  “I wanted you to reach your own conclusions. I could have been wrong.” He reached out. Picked up a bottle of massage oil.

  “Are you often wrong?” Emerson asked.

  He brought the massage oil toward the table. Toward her. “Occasionally,” Gray confessed. “When I am wrong, it is a colossal screw up.” He stopped in front of her.

  She should probably hop off the table.

  “Hannah knows that we’re partners. Someone tipped her off,” Emerson said.

  He pushed up her skirt. One inch. Two.

  “Who do we think t-told her the truth?” A little stutter because his fingers had skimmed the sensitive inside of her thighs.

  “Has to be someone who knows that we’re faking our marriage.”

  Yes, and that left their own FBI team. The team that was supposed to be watching their back. “The other agents,” she murmured.

  His hands moved away.

  She could take a deep breath again.

  “Yes.” Flat. Cold. Gray opened the massage oil bottle. Poured a bit of oil into his palm.

  “Uh, Gray?”

  “Your mother knew we were going undercover.”

  She jerked.

  “So did Owen Porter, her ever so loyal lover and guard.”

  He put the massage bottle down. Rubbed his palms together. Got them slick with the oil.

  He had really big hands to go along with the rest of him.

  “Owen wouldn’t tip off anyone about who we are. I mean, why would he?”

  “I notice that you said Owen wouldn’t, but you didn’t deny that your mother might commit such an act.” His hands returned to her thighs.

  She gave a little gasp because that must have been warm massage oil in the bottle. “My m-mother isn’t happy with our partnership.” Understatement.

  “And if she isn’t happy, she might get her guard dog to do her dirty work for her.” His hands began to rub slow circles on her inner thighs.

  Ohmygosh, that feels good.

  He’d started those circles about two inches above her knees. But ever so carefully, he was inching up. Staying focused on the inside of her thighs.

  “Then, of course, there is Nathaniel,” Gray rumbled.

  Her eyes had started to sag closed. “Who?”

  He laughed softly. His thumbs pressed deeper into her inner thighs.

  She moaned. How can this feel so good? Her hands flew behind her so she could balance on the table.

  “Nathaniel Hadaway,” Gray elaborated as his fingers kept working. “The idiot ex. He knew about the case, courtesy, no doubt, of your mother. He’d want you to fail here. Both so that he could make you look bad and thus hopefully get your job and so that he’d please the senator.” His thumbs pressed ever deeper, and then his big hands slid up another inch. Up and up, smoothing carefully and rubbing, gliding over her skin thanks to the massage oil.

  They should stop. They had a case to work but…

  We are supposed to be playing the part of a couple that just can’t keep their hands off each other. Gray already set the stage as the possessive and jealous lover.

  But he’d confessed to truly being jealous. He’d said the feeling was real.

  All of her feelings for him were real.

  “Eyes on me, Emerson.”

  Her lashes lifted.

  She found him staring at her with savage hunger. Burning lust. And… “Gray?”

  His thumbs pushed into her thighs. Hit a spot that had been tight on her right thigh and sent a twisting blast of almost pain and ever-so-much pleasure pulsing through her.

  “You can’t trust anyone but me,” he told her.

  She nodded. She wanted those fingers of his to keep going. Up, up, please.

  “I trust you,” he added, voice low and thick and rasping with desire. “I’d trust you to have my six any day of the week.”

  “That’s the…” She had to wet her lips. Suck in a deep gasp of air. “That’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”

  His massaging hands rose higher, pushing up her skirt even more. If she’d looked down, she knew she would have seen her panties because the skirt was raised that high. But she didn’t look down. Her eyes stayed on his.

  “I’m not nice.” One hand slid under the crotch of her panties. Slid between her folds. Over her clit. Rubbing. Rubbing…

  She rocked against his hand.

  He dipped a finger into her. First one. Then another.

  His left hand kept massaging her. Kept rubbing her inner thigh.

  “Gray.”

  “There’s nothing nice about me.” He stretched her with his fingers. His thumb pushed against her clit. “There’s nothing nice about the way I hunt.” He pulled his hand away from her sex.

  No!

  “There’s nothing nice about the killers I track.”

  He dropped to his knees by the massage table. He caught her panties. Ripped them.

  The ripping sound seemed overly loud.

  He tossed the scrap of her panties and pushed her legs apart more. His fingers went right back to rubbing her thighs, but at this point, his hands were positioned very, very high up. And when his hands moved the slightest bit upward even more, he was almost touching her core. Almost.

  “There’s nothing nice about the way I feel for you. It’s dark and it’s savage, and I want to take and take when I’m with you.” His breath blew against her clit. “And there’s nothing nice about what I will do to anyone who ever hurts you.” Then his mouth was on her. Licking and kissing. His tongue thrust against her. Then into her even as his hands kept stroking and rubbing along her inner thighs. Except those big fingers were so close to the center of her need, it felt like he was massaging her sex even as he licked her with his tongue.

  His hands were relentless. The pleasure overwhelming, and she couldn’t stop the orgasm that barreled through her. She barely had time to suck in a breath, to grab for his shoulders and hold on before the climax shattered through her. A careening release that pulsed and rocked and left her utterly wiped out as it seemed to go on and on.

  “Eyes on me, Emerson.”

  Her eyes opened.

  “You’re fucking delicious.”

  He just went down on me in a spa room.

  “And you’re mine. Never, ever forget that.” One more caress with his fingers over her quivering thighs. “Something else to never forget?”

  The pounding of her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

  He rose. Leaned in close, his mouth almost touching hers. “I’m happy to give you a massage any time you want. Angel isn’t the only one who knows how to take you to heaven.”

  “I’m…pretty sure the man gives a professional massage.”

  “And I’m pretty sure you’re the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.” He pulled her skirt back down her thighs. “I don’t share, Emerson.”

  They were playing a role. This wasn’t real.

  Or was it? “When the case ends,” she began.

  “We don’t.” Flat. “We don’t end.”

  Her eyes widened. “Gray?”

  “I don’t want to end with you. I want you.” He backed away. Pocketed her torn panties. “And, for the record, we both think Hannah is guilty as sin, right?”

  She nodded. “Absolutely. Guilty as sin.” The woman had access to all of the victims, their locations—not just because of the honeymoon registry, but because she had the power to find their addresses, their credit cards, their lives all with a few clicks on her keyboard. Hannah could learn everything about the honeymooning guests at the resort.

  “Good. Glad we’re in agreement. Now let’s go find the evidence to nail one of our killers…and then we’ll drag her partner out of the dark and send them both to rot in prison.” A pause. “Case closed.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “What happens if there is a choice between saving myself or saving my partner? Dumb question. There is no choice. Emerson will always come first. Always.” – Gray Stone

  He had a colossal hard-on. His dick ached, he wanted to drive balls-deep into Emerson, but he had a killer—correction, a freaking pair of killers to hunt down—a traitor to root out, and, oh, yeah…