“What happened? Did it work? Are they satisfied?” I addressed my questions to both of them.

Quinn grumbled something indecipherable in response.

“What was that?” I asked, and my gaze flickered to Alex. His head was bowed, his expression now completely hidden.

“Not exactly,” Quinn growled, then he glared at Alex. “You want to tell them what you did?”

“Oh, tell us what you did!” Janie didn’t try to disguise her excitement.

My attention shifted to Alex, and I was surprised, as he lifted his head, by his smug expression. “I did exactly what they asked me to do—no more, no less.”

Quinn rolled his eyes, but I detected a hint of admiration or even pride in the slight curve of his mouth. Abruptly, he turned from us both, tugging Janie behind him, and stalked to the entranceway. He called over his shoulder. “I’ll expect you in two weeks.” Then the door closed, announcing their departure.

I glanced back to Alex. “What happened?”

He shrugged as he sauntered over to where I stood next to the bay window. “They gave me the accounts. Once I was satisfied that they belonged to actual bad guys, I swept the bitcoins.”

“What kind of bad guys were they?”

“Human traffickers, terrorists.” He appeared to be lost in his thoughts, and when he next spoke, I wondered if he were talking to me or to himself. “It was actually good—really good. If I’d known a compromise was possible, that I could negotiate with them, I would have done this years ago.”

“So Quinn helped?” I prompted gently.

His eyes refocused on me. “Yeah. He did. He speaks my language, and theirs. I still don’t trust them, but I think we’ve build a tentative understanding that should work to everyone’s advantage.”

I gave him a small smile. He sounded so reasonable and levelheaded. “And you didn’t have to give them the skeleton key?”

“No.” He shook his head, looking very pleased. “The key is safe, and bitcoins will endure.”

“So why did Quinn roll his eyes?”

“Because….” Alex’s gaze moved over me, my body, with such simmering appreciation and desire that I had to cross my arms over my chest to hide the effect.

“Alex. Tell me what happened.”

He twisted his lips to the side and closed the remaining distance between us with his lovely careless swagger. “When Agent Bell gave me the instructions, she said to move all the bitcoins, but she didn’t specify what percentage of the swept bitcoins she wanted deposited into the NSA black ops account.”

“What do you mean?” I blinked at him, his hands sliding into place on my waist. “You just said she told you to sweep all the bitcoins.”

“Yeah.” He nodded vaguely. “She did say that. But bitcoins can be parceled into fractions. I did as she asked—I put a percentage of all the bitcoins into the account. I just didn’t put all of the bitcoins into the account.” He bent his head to my neck and kissed my throat.

It felt nice…verra, verra nice. But I still wanted to know exactly what happened.

I placed my hands on his chest and shifted a little away so he would have to look at me. “What do you mean? And use plain English. What exactly did you do?”

He glanced at the bay window beside us. “Of the two hundred million dollars, I put two percent of each bitcoin into the NSA account.”

“Oh, my god. Alex. Where did you put the rest of the money?”

“I also put two percent of each bitcoin into an NRA donation account.”

“The NRA? You mean the National Rifle Association?”

He shrugged, though his eyes dipped to my lips. “Yes. And I also put two percent into an NAACP scholarship account.”

My mouth fell open. “So, let me get this straight. The National Security Agency black ops account shares a percentage of the same bitcoins also owned by the National Rifle Association and the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People?”

He nodded. “I also transferred two percent into an AARP account.”

“The American Association of Retired Persons?”

“That’s right.” He subtly shifted closer. “And I donated a half percent—of each coin—to the national Republican Party, the Libertarian Party, the Independent Party, and the national Democratic Party.”

I thought I might fall on the floor were it not for his hands and body encouraging me to press against him. He was crazy. There was no way—no way—the NSA would ever successfully confiscate any percentage of the bitcoins from even one of these organizations without creating an angry hornet’s nest of rhetoric and grandstanding from a lot of important people in Washington DC.

“So you divided the bitcoins among many of the loudest political players in the United States?”

He shook his head. “No. Just ten percent of each bitcoin went to the American political machinery.

“This is unbelievable.” I shook my head. “What did you do with the other ninety percent?”

“I divided it equally between the Boys and Girls Clubs of America, the National Endowment for the Arts, and Wikipedia.”

“You gave it to charity.”

Alex shrugged, but his hands grew restless and moved to cup my bottom.

“Charities that help underprivileged children and society as a whole.” I said it to the room.

His head dipped again, and this time, I felt his intentions as clearly as a steel pipe against my stomach.

Regardless, I tried to focus. “They have to be so angry. What happens if they try to get it back? Can they take it back?”

“In order to confiscate any of the distributed wealth—even from one organization—” Alex’s words were a hot whisper against my ear. “—the NSA has to have the cooperation of all groups.” I felt him smile against my skin. “I doubt they’ll be able to arrange that.”

I chuckled, despite my incredulousness. Then I laughed, loudly, and snorted—all while he backed me down the hall and into our bedroom. I tried to picture Agent Bell and her ponytail, or Agent Dumas trying to get the NRA, NAACP, AARP, GOP, and the National Democratic Party to give the NSA back their money.

It would never happen.

I stopped laughing when my calves hit the mattress and I tumbled backward onto the bed. Somehow, my shirt was off, as were his pants and boxers. He was hiking up my skirt and searching for the waistband of my leggings.

My eyes focused on his hands, then his face, then the monster I loved between his legs.

“Wait…Alex, wait, can we talk for a minute?” I made my request even as I lifted my bottom to assist with his dispensation of my tights and underwear.

“No.” He bit the inside of my thigh. “No more talking.” Alex paused to place wet kisses on my ribs where I was most ticklish. “I need your body.”

Oh. Okay. If he needs my body, then who am I to complain?

I arched against him, bowed my back, and flexed my legs. My hands beneath his shirt made ravenous work of grabbing and caressing all my favorite places on his torso—so basically every place.

He knelt above me, on his hands and knees, placing lingering wet kisses in a trail down my neck, to my chest. His hands told me they appreciated every curve and softness.

“Sandra,” he whispered.

I glanced down and saw only the top of his head. “Yes?”

He lifted his lips from my stomach and speared me with the blue heat in his eyes. “My name is Alex, and I’ll be serving you tonight.”

My mouth fell open and I nearly choked.

He grinned wickedly, sliding up my body. “And every night, from now on.”

I looked at him, lost in him, found in him. He was my remarkable, extraordinary, unbelievable Alex. Despite what he thought, he wasn’t broken. His missing pieces provided a home for my heart. And I knew—no matter what the future held—that life was good.

Epilogue

Meet Alex, Astrological Sign: Scorpio

“How much is it?”

“Which one? That one?” the man asked. His nametag labeled him as Luke S.

“No.” I shook my head, hid my irritation, and pointed to the largest one in the case. “That one. The big one. How much does it cost?”

His eyes moved over me. I was counting; this was the seventh time he’d stopped to study me since I’d walked into the shop.

This was my last wedding errand for the day, and the most important.

When Sandra told her mom that she’d gotten married, I was impressed with how the woman handled the news. Her lack of reaction was noteworthy since Sandra and her parents got along so well, and Sandra was an only child. The two things her mother wanted to know was whether Sandra was happy and when they could meet me.

The second wedding had been my idea, and over the past two months, I’d often regretted the suggestion. What I thought would be a simple ceremony at the Chicago courthouse and a small party afterward at the Patels’s restaurant had become something altogether different.

Now we were going to have a “real” wedding, with a minister, at a church, in Texas; and a reception on Sandra’s parents’ ranch, in a barn. I’d never been to a ranch before, so I bought a copy of Lonesome Dove two weeks ago and read it at work. It was a great book.