Free Atlantis Betrayed by Alyssa Day

Ninja.”
    The boy—he could see now that it was a boy, not a man, which calmed him down for some reason—behind her gasped.
    “Fee! He knows? Is this him? The man from the Jewel House?”
    She sighed and her shoulders slumped, which did very interesting things to the generous curve of her breasts, and Christophe’s body hardened in sudden, aggressive readiness. Ninjas apparently aroused him, something he’d not known before. He laughed out loud.
    The sound of the gun’s hammer cocking back tempered his amusement. The dangerous-looking man still held the gun trained on him.
    “Did something strike you as funny, sir? Your impending demise, perhaps?” The dry tone only underscored the promise of death in the man’s eyes. This one was a warrior, too, underneath that fancy suit.
    “Are you going to shoot me? It would be the second time tonight, which isn’t my record, but it would serve to piss me off,” Christophe said, letting all emotion drain out of his face until he knew that what they saw was nothing more than a cold, deadly killer. “I’d prefer a more friendly solution.”
    He turned to the ninja, who still held the phone in one hand, forgotten. “We’re after the same thing. Why not partner up?”
    She dropped the phone and then fumbled it onto the cradle, those huge eyes of hers widening even further. “Are you mad?”
    “Nope.” He paused to give the question more serious consideration, given that he’d just followed a ninja home. “Not usually,” he amended.
    She narrowed those gorgeous blue eyes at him. “I work alone.”
    “Right. I can see that. You, James Bond over there, and the kid. What’s one more partner?”
    “I don’t even know who you are,” she said.
    “If you’re quite done, may I kill him now?” the old guy asked, still polite, but steel underlay those proper British manners.
    The ninja made a sound of frustration that made Christophe wonder what other sounds she might make. Like, for example, when he licked her neck. Or explored those lovely breasts with his hands and mouth. His cock twitched in his pants, and he forcibly yanked his mind away from visions of a very naked ninja.
    “Look, I can’t keep calling you the ninja,” Christophe pointed out. “My name is Christophe. And you are?”
    “Christophe? Just one name? Like Madonna?” the kid said, grinning. He didn’t seem to have an ounce of self-preservation in his body. Christophe found himself grinning right back at him.
    “No, I can’t sing a note. And you are?”
    The kid took a step forward, hand extended as if to shake, years of breeding and manners clearly coming to the fore. “Declan Campbell, nice to meet—Oh.” Declan stopped dead and shot a red-faced glance at the ninja. “ Crap . Sorry, Fee. Oh. Sorry again!”
    The ninja—Fee?—sighed and shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, Declan. If he’s in our house, it would be easy enough for him to figure out who we are.”
    She tilted her head and considered Christophe for a moment, then shrugged. “Fiona Campbell. My brother Declan. And the overprotective one is Hopkins.”
    Christophe grinned at Hopkins. “Just the one name? Like Madonna?”
    Hopkins never moved a single muscle, just stood there in a shooter’s stance with that damn gun still trained on the space between Christophe’s eyes. “This is a mistake, Lady Fiona,” he bit off. “You have put years and years’ worth of work in jeopardy in a single evening. Congratulations.”
    “ Lady Fiona?” Christophe watched, fascinated, as a rosy flush swept up her neck and face. “You’re aristocracy and a cat burglar?”
    “I assure you, I never, ever steal cats,” she said, a glimmer of humor underneath the frost in her voice.
    “No, just dragons.” He flicked a glance at Raphael’s depiction of Saint George, then back at her. “That’s the original, isn’t it?”
    “I don’t know what you—”
    “You’re not just good,” he said, ignoring Hopkins and his gun and