We slipped out of Santa Maria Novella station like any other couple, his hand resting lightly at the small of my back as he guided me through the bustling crowd. No one would have guessed that my bag held eight million euros worth of sapphire or that the memory of raw train s*x still throbbed warm and slick between my thighs.
We checked into a small, elegant hotel near Ponte Vecchio, the kind of place that exuded old-world luxury yet asked no questions. One room. One king bed. He dropped our bags inside the door, turned the key in the lock, and gave me that half-smile that already felt too familiar, too dangerous.
"Rest now," he said, voice low. "Our mission begins at midnight."
I wanted to push him against the wall, wanted to strip him bare and finish what the train had started, but th
