Or, in some cases, if they don't see what you want and change their mind to go after it, just for fun.

She was Russian, decked out in silver fur that was probably real and probably financed by someone Michael didn't want to know about. Someone with a face like a foot and more money than most of the countries Michael did business with, which either said something about Fiona's taste in men, Fiona's ability to sniff out money or the countries Michael did business with…or possibly all three. Her accent placed her near Omsk, and Michael couldn't help but raise his eyebrows. Leave it to Fiona to make things difficult.

She pretended not to know him, but that wasn't anything new. He still kept his eye on her, not just the steady eye of a man who doesn't trust someone new this close to the deal's payoff, but the eye of a man who knew exactly what Fiona Glenanne was capable of. No one seemed suspicious through dinner, and the brandy afterwards wasn't actually drugged enough to cause problems, so Michael did what he had to do, which was drag Fiona along with him to the hidden hallway behind the stairs, weaving through the darkness to Bhupinder's private office.

"Did you know, Michael, he only eats brown M&Ms." Fiona's fingers raked through the full candy bowl. "Leaves all the rest to tempt his staff." She plucked an orange one from the dish and set it deliberately on her tongue, the motion of her mouth and throat making it clear she held it against the roof of her mouth, letting it shatter there and melt, chocolate and candy coating dissolving. "He keeps count."

Michael stopped photographing the papers in front of him and glanced at Fiona, uncertain whether he should kiss her or kill her. "Why is it, every time I see you, you try to get me killed?"

"Not every time, Michael." She popped another M&M in her mouth - yellow this time - and smiled. "Just most of them."

"I really hate you sometimes, Fi."

"I know." She slid off the chair and walked toward the door, pulling a very small, very powerful bomb from her fur coat and slapping it to the underside of the desk. "You might as well just take those, Michael. He'll never even notice they're gone."

Her dress didn't cover much and it covered even less after Michael pushed it up around her hips, ripping the thin strip of fabric that held up her panties. She started to say something about the cost of good lingerie, but Michael cut her off with his thumb against her clit and two fingers inside her, his free hand carefully easing her gun out of her thigh holster.

Fiona growled, though Michael didn't know if it was from his fingers inside her or from disarming her - assuming that was all the firepower Fiona was carrying, which was no doubt a bad assumption, but he kept at both, sliding the gun across the floor and out of reach and thrusting his fingers nice and deep. "Michael." She groaned his name, her body grinding down to meet his hand. "Come on, Michael."

Michael laughed, the sound hiccupped by a hiss as Fiona's nails found his chest, raking along the thin fabric of his shirt. "W-what's the matter, Fi?"

Fiona's knees dug into his thighs and she leaned into him, her teeth catching and pulling at his lower lip. "If you don't fuck me, Michael, I'm going to gut you like I did Cesar in Montevideo."

"God, I love it when you talk dirty, Fi."

Her hand snaked down and grabbed his wrist, pulling it back and slamming it hard against the floor. "Michael." Her hand tightened and he could feel the small bones in his wrist grinding together. "Fuck. Me."

He used his other hand to undo his slacks, not able to shove the fabric out of the way before Fiona's hands were there, coaxing his erection free of his clothes. She sank down onto him without any preamble, both of them groaning as he filled her, as her knees dug in harder and she began moving. The whisper of fabric and the heat of her fur coat burned, building as they moved together, violent and rough. Fiona grabbed his wrists again, pinning him hard to the floor as she took him deep inside her, and he heard the bones snap as she came, her body clenching around his like a vise.

Michael groaned in pain and pleasure, thrusting upward as he came, burying himself in Fiona's heat. He slumped back to the floor, breathing heavy as she lay on top of him. Fiona's mouth whispered against his neck, a hot kiss before she eased away and got to her feet, shimmying her dress back in place. She placed one foot carefully in the center of his chest, high heel dangerously firm against the bottom of his sternum. She leaned down, pressure against the fragile bone and picked up the file Michael had dropped when he'd hit the ground.

"Thanks for the information, Michael." She slammed her foot hard down into his solar plexus, smiling as he gasped in pain. "I couldn't have done it without you."