And man, oh man, was she a woman now.

Marco knew everything there was to know about Fiona. And that wasn’t a lot. She didn’t have so much as a parking ticket to mar her good name. She’d either remade herself into Fiona, or she was some sort of espionage plant. The ultimate Trojan horse.

Either way, she was his mark, his way into NueEnergy, and he had one shot of hooking her tonight. How, exactly, he wasn’t so sure.

Maybe he should have paid extra to get Ghost in on the ground floor. This was exactly the sort of thing that crazy fuck got off on.

Marco watched Fiona approach a thick knot of people, noted the weary smile, how she smoothed her hair and clothes perfectly into place. At exactly three paces, she flipped some sort of switch and the lights went on. She…beamed. The group parted, accepting her into their midst and closing ranks around her.

Well, hell.

Either he went into the fashion show after her, or he waited for her to come out.

The minutes ticked by and he watched her reflection in the bar mirror. She spoke with everyone, soft smiles, slight nods. More accurately, everyone spoke at her and she listened. Not many gave her a chance to speak.

There was a hunger…a deep longing staring out of her eyes that unsettled Marco, because he understood it. What it was like to be on the outside…looking in.

Fuck.

He downed the rest of his glass and tossed a few bills onto the bar. If he was going there, if that’s where his head was, he had no business being in the field right now. He had time. Tonight was shitty anyway. His cousin should be released from prison any minute now and Marco needed to be on pick-up duty for his aunt’s sake.

“One, please.” Fiona leaned past his stool and rested her elbows against the bar. She’d shed her suit jacket, though it did nothing to detract from her buttoned-up appearance.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, plump lips slightly parted. Her brown hair was pulled up into a sleek bun he wanted to…mess up.

“This seat taken?” she asked.

“It is now.” Marco nodded at the bartender and added a few more bills to the pile. When opportunity knocked, he sat his ass down and paid attention.

“This doesn’t exactly look like your kind of place.” She slid onto the stool, knees tilted toward him. Prim and proper.

“What kind of place should I be at?”

“Hm.” Fiona cocked her head to the side. Her eyes were a little blood-shot and there was something…tense…about her posture. Yet she pursued him for a moment. “A biker bar?”

“Bike’s outside. This,” he spread his hands, “is now a biker bar.”

“Thanks.” She took the pint of beer the bartender slid her way with a smile. “I’ve never been to a biker bar before.”

Marco watched her, not entirely sure what to do with that piece of information. Was it a hint? He accepted his second drink and left it on the bar with no intention of drinking it. He had a full night ahead of him, and one drink was his self-imposed max.

“Biker bar’s just like any other bar, I guess. Just more noise.” He shrugged and leaned back on the stool.

What game was she playing at? He knew what he was here for, but what was she doing? Fiona had come to him, but why?

Fiona bit her lip and looked at him. The gaze was full of questions.

“You’re looking at me like you want to fuck me.” Marco lifted his glass to his lips, more for show than an actual drink.

A red blush tinged Fiona’s cheeks and her gaze went back to the bar top.

“Sorry, was that too crass?”

“You aren’t sorry.” She drew in the condensation clinging to her pint glass.

“Not really.”

“What’s it like?”

“What?”

“Always saying what you think?”

“I just open my mouth.” Marco shrugged. She was getting at something, he just had to give her a little time to get there.

“I couldn’t imagine saying what I think half the time.”

“Sure you can. Try it.” He turned his chair, his knees capturing hers, forcing her to face him. “Tell me what you’re thinking, right now.”

Fiona’s lips worked soundlessly, her hazel eyes going dark.

She had his curiosity piqued now. Just what was it the pretty lady wanted to say?