by Lexi Blake
This was it. This was the moment she’d been dreading since she’d found those guns. Or maybe it went back further than that. Maybe it went back to the second she’d looked into his eyes and known a predator was there. She hadn’t been so foolish that she’d believed the Henry Flanders who’d walked into Bliss and challenged her on everything was the same man who’d married her, but she’d thought he’d been hurt in the past and was protecting himself with walls.
It seemed like Henry didn’t need walls. He had guns and very dangerous hands. “So you weren’t hiding in the bathroom. Logan came to get you, and not for your plumbing skills. Logan knows you’re good at killing people.”
His jaw tightened and there was a bleakness in his eyes that threatened to break her. “I need to tell you the whole story.”
“The story that everyone else already knows?” That was what she’d been stewing over for hours. Nate hadn’t looked surprised, with the singular exception that Nell had been there. He’d walked in and sighed and acted like it was nothing more than boys playing games until he’d turned and seen Nell. Nate knew. Cam knew.
Did Laura know? Laura was married to Cam. Had one of her best friends been hiding this massive secret? Had everyone laughed about how dumb the vegan girl was, how naïve she had to be to marry a man and not even know who he was.
He shook his head. “No. Not everyone. Very few people know. In the beginning, it was only Seth, and only because he basically figured it out when I first came to town. Logan didn’t know until the other day. We had to bring Nate in. And Cam, of course. Gemma doesn’t know. Nate’s kept her out of it completely, but I can’t keep hiding it now. I have to tell everyone the truth.”
“Everyone, including me.” She was just a part of the background here. He knew everything about her, all of her secrets. She’d held nothing back, and she was one more person who now had to be let in because he had no other choice.
“I know you’re not going to believe me, but I was going to tell you. I wanted to wait until the wedding, and then Hiram died.” He frowned. “I would like to point out that I did not kill Hi.”
She rolled her eyes. She hadn’t even thought of that. But now she could ask the question she did want an answer to. “Did you kill the man who shot Jesse? He didn’t trip, did he?”
He hesitated. “Yes. I mean I killed him. No, he didn’t trip. We got into a fight, too, and again, he had a gun.”
“Well, why didn’t you pop out to the shop and grab one of yours?”
His eyes closed briefly and when he opened them she could see the guilt there. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you would find them. When you hear my story, you’ll understand why it was necessary to keep them. I’ll be honest, over the years I’ve practically forgotten I have them.”
This wasn’t about Henry being worried over her. He was worried for himself. “So you’ve had them since we got married?”
He nodded. “I moved them around from time to time, and then I built the safe into the wall of the shop. You weren’t supposed to find them. They were there in case trouble found me. Like I said, I never carry anymore. Those guns have done nothing but gather dust for years.”
This was all some kind of surreal dream. Or a joke. It had to be. Except Henry looked so grim.
Henry looked like he had when she’d first met him. Grim. A little dangerous. Deeply sad.
She quashed the sympathy that rose. It was always there, but now she couldn’t afford it. Now, if she let that part of herself take over, she would be weak and vulnerable, and apparently she’d already been far too vulnerable to this man. He was her husband and he’d lied. Not about something small like whether or not she looked good in a pair of jeans. He’d lied about the foundations of their life together. He’d lied and turned her into a fool.
She was carrying his baby.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to move forward. “All right. What do you need to tell me?”
A bit of hope lit his expression. “I should have told you a long time before, but I was afraid. Nell, before I came to Bliss I wasn’t a history professor. That was my cover. The truth of the matter was I worked for the Central Intelligence Agency.”
She stared at him. He couldn’t come up with something more interesting? “Sure you did. I’m supposed to believe that you worked for the CIA?” She was back to pacing. “The history professor thing was far more believable.”
“I wouldn’t have been effective if I looked like James Bond, would I? Most of us are normal-looking people. They teach us to blend in, to be chameleons. I was recruited straight out of the military because I was highly intelligent, showed a moral flexibility, and I had no family. They like that. They like having all of an operative’s loyalty belong to the Agency.”
“You were in the military?” Her husband? Her antiauthoritarian husband had been a soldier? And a good one, if what he was saying were true. He’d been so good that the CIA had recruited him. Moral flexibility? Her Henry was known for his deeply held beliefs.
How could he be standing here telling her these things? The world she’d gone to sleep in had turned over, and she was in a different place, a colder place.
“I was in the Army. I joined up when I aged out of foster care. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I lied about getting a scholarship. I never applied for one. I knew I wouldn’t get to college,” Henry said. “I got my degree after. I got it with the help of the man who recruited me. I’ll be honest, I don’t know where I would have been without Franklin Grant.”
She felt tears pulse. “I don’t believe you.” Her mind sought any other explanation. She couldn’t have been this foolish. He’d left for six months. By the time he’d come back, she’d started publishing. “You found out about my writing career. That’s why you came back. You knew I would start making money.”
He stood, a grave look on his face. “No, my love. I came back because I figured a way out. I came back because I couldn’t go back to being that cold spymaster I’d become. I came back for you and only you. I didn’t know you’d gotten published until our wedding night. I was perfectly happy to find a job. I’d already talked to Stella about potentially learning to cook so I could take some shifts for Hal. You asked me to stay with you and be your assistant and researcher.”
She’d wanted him close, and it seemed silly for him to sell things at the Trading Post or wait tables at Stella’s. There wasn’t anything wrong with those jobs, but if they had enough money, she didn’t see why he couldn’t use his skills in a different way. “So you were never a history professor.”
“I’ve always been fascinated by it. You know me. I read a lot of books about history. Both fiction and nonfiction.”
“I know you? I thought this whole conversation was about how I don’t know you.” She could feel her panic starting to rise. She’d had these moments lately. They’d come from worry about her pregnancy, about being a mom in the first place. When it felt like she couldn’t breathe, Henry would hold her and kiss her. He would touch her until she cried out and all the worry seemed to fade away.
She wanted him to touch her now, to tell her this was all some ridiculous joke.
“You know all the important parts of me.”
A sudden thought hit her. How deep did her ignorance go? “Do I know your name?”
He went still. “My name is Henry Flanders.”
It was obvious she was going to have to be specific. “Is Henry Flanders the name you were born with?”
“It doesn’t matter what name I was born with. I am who I choose to be.”
She wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “I want to know your name.”
His jaw tightened. “Which one? The one my mother gave me because my father wasn’t around? She named me after the bastard in case he ever came back. She thought it might soften his heart toward me. He never did. Should I give you the name I used as a CIA operative? There were many of those, but Bishop is the one people remember. John Bishop. I’ve gone as Mr. Black. Mr. Whi
te. Really whatever color suited me that day. Mostly I should have used red because that was the color of my world then.”
She’d never seen him so on edge. He’d been quietly getting into her space, moving closer and closer with every word.
She was angry with him. Volcanically angry, and yet there was something about this man that called to her. Every time. It was precisely why she’d put up with his moody crap the first time around. She turned her chin up. He towered over her, but she wasn’t about to back down. “How many?”
“Names? I told you.”
She shook her head. “No. How many people have you killed?”
He put a hand on the wall behind her, caging her in. “Myself or on my orders?”
He was pushing her, and the atmosphere of the room was turning into something…dangerous. “How about you give me a nice round number.”
“Hundreds before I met you. Probably thirty or so myself. Many more on my orders, and I can’t tell you that every one of them deserved it. I gave my bosses intel that led to bombings of entire cities.” He stared down at her. “So here I am, Nell. I am everything you write about. I’m the beast who got tamed by a slip of a woman, who changed his whole being because he fell in love. Are you really going to toss me out?”
She shook her head. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to challenge me like that. I’m not the one who lied. I have never lied to you.”
“You never did anything you weren’t proud of,” he said, challenge plain in his voice. “You never had to completely reinvent yourself.”
“Are you serious? You act like I never went through anything bad in my life.” There was a tension that charged what little air there was between them. She had to put her hands back against the wall, palms flat against the curve of the logs that formed the cabin. Her breath came out ragged.
He stared down at her and there was more than sorrow in his eyes now. “I’m not saying that.”
“But you are. You had it so rough? You think foster care was a breeze?”
“I know it wasn’t. I spent my time there, too. My mom died when I was young, and there was no one else to take me in. I moved from home to home. I was that kid who kept his shit in a garbage bag because I didn’t have a suitcase.”
“You didn’t lie about that?”
“I only lied about the things I was ashamed of,” he admitted. “This changes nothing between us. Nothing.”
How could he possibly say that? “It changes everything.”
“I am still the man you love.”
She didn’t understand how that could be true. “The man I love would never lie to me. Not about something this important.”
His hand came up and cupped her breast. “I’m still the man who can make you melt.”
God, he was. She knew she should push him away, but it felt too good.
And it might be the last time he ever touched her.
His fingers found the place where the rings pierced her nipples, reminding her of the night she’d had them done. Henry had been with her. He’d held her hand as she’d closed her eyes and hissed at the minor pain. He’d been the one to lovingly take care of them while they healed. And he’d been the one to toy with them and the VCH she’d had done at the same time. He would gently twist them and light up her breasts.
They’ll remind you that I’m always with you, love. I’m always thinking about you, and I’m incomplete when my body isn’t inside yours.
How many nights had been spent wrapped around this man, so close to him she was sure she would never be alone again? The last six years of her life had been settled, centered around Henry Flanders and the marriage they’d made. There had been none of the terrible uncertainty from before, and now it was all roaring back to life.
He’d lied. He’d had a whole life he’d hidden from her, and she knew she hadn’t heard the worst yet.
She couldn’t make it through this. Not without the strength she would get from one last time with the only man she’d ever made love with.
It didn’t have to be love. It could be sex. It could be a place to put all the awful emotions she was feeling. They needed somewhere to go or she would drown in them.
She lifted her chest slightly, her heart starting to pound.
“If I asked, would you show me your breasts?” Henry’s voice had gone deep.
“You never ask.” They’d set specific parameters when they’d started their relationship all those years ago. She could stop the encounter at any time, but until she said no, her husband could demand when it came to sex. Henry was so undemanding when it came to everything else. He was sweet, thoughtful, considerate, but when his eyes focused in on her, her whole body went soft and wanting.
“No. I don’t. I tell you,” he agreed. “Show me your breasts. I was wrong. We don’t need to talk, Nell. I need to show you how I feel. I need to remind you why you chose me in the first place.”
She’d chosen him because she’d fallen for a man who hadn’t existed. She’d married him because he’d been half her soul. But she’d been attracted to him for this. She’d been drawn to his darkness.
It was a huge mistake, but one she seemed incapable of avoiding. Her hands went to the buttons of her blouse. She wanted nothing more than to forget the whole day had happened, to pretend it had all been a bad dream. She would wake up and tell him and he would laugh. He would growl in that oh-so-sexy way of his and roll her over and make love to her. They would start plotting a superhot spy book.
She felt the air on her breasts, the way her nipples had tightened. Her blouse was loose enough that she hadn’t worn a bra. Despite the fact that she was barely through her first trimester, she would swear her breasts were already bigger. And they were so sensitive.
Henry dropped to his knees and his hands went to her hips, holding her in place as he leaned over and took a nipple into his mouth. He tongued the ring there, darting around it before gently tugging on it.
Her body went electric, and she didn’t care about anything but how this one man could make her feel.
One hand came up to toy with the ring on her other nipple.
He was the only man who’d ever seen her like this, who she’d ever trusted enough to open herself up to.
He switched to her other breast, tonguing it and laving it with affection. She let her hands drift to his hair. So soft. When he’d first come to Bliss he’d kept it short, but over the years he waited longer and longer between cuts, and she liked running her fingers through it.
“Do you have any idea how much I adore these?” He twisted the ring just enough to make her gasp. “I love the fact that you look so fucking sweet and innocent on the outside, but under your clothes you’re my dirty girl.”
There was nothing dirty about sex, but even she liked dirty talk. She loved it when her oh-so-staid husband spit out the filthiest sex talk. All for her. Henry hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since they’d gotten married. He wasn’t the kind of man who flirted with other women. He was focused on her.
Or that was what he wanted her to think.
His hand tightened on her hip. “Don’t. Don’t fucking think about anything but right here and now.”
There was the hint of threat to his tone, that stern warning that if she didn’t comply he had ways to make her. Again, it was all a sexy game and one that always brought her back to exactly where she wanted to be. In the moment. No past. No future. Just pleasure.
Henry had given this to her. All of her sexuality was wrapped up in him.
What would she do without him?
Henry stood, his hair mussed and gaze dark. “Put your hands on the table, Nell. Palms down flat, and spread your legs for me.”
Alarm bells were going off, but she didn’t care. She wanted to stay in the moment with him because deep down she feared it might be one of their last. No matter how afraid she was, she wasn’t sure that was enough of a reason to let him stay.
Was she going to kick her husband out of the home they
’d made together?
His hand found her hair, sinking in and forcing her to look up at him. “Did you hear what I said, Nell? Or do you want me to grab a crop?”
She didn’t take the question as a warning. He was truly asking her what she wanted. When she was so wound up she couldn’t process her basic emotions, sometimes pain helped her release it. She’d had a therapist tell her once she’d been taught not to be emotional as a child because of what had happened when her mother was taken away. The therapist had suggested a virtual rebirth, group sessions, primal scream therapy.
Henry had taught her what worked for her. A hard-core spanking followed by nasty sex.
She couldn’t take the spanking right now. Not from him, and if it couldn’t come from him it wouldn’t happen. But she would take the sex. Especially the way he was offering it to her.
She pushed past him and did as he’d instructed, pressing her palms flat against the table where they sat and ate and talked and dreamed.
No. She refused to let those memories seep in. This was about getting what she needed. She needed an orgasm. She needed to be in her body and not her head. Just a few moments of respite before she had to make some hard decisions.
She hissed slightly as Henry dragged her skirt down and exposed her to the cool air of the cabin.
“Wider.”
She moved her feet out, the waist of her skirt trapping her ankles and giving her the delicious feeling of being restrained for him. She heard the sound of him unbuckling his belt and it clanging to the floor as he moved in behind her.
“God, I’ve missed this.” He gripped her hips and his cock nudged between her legs.
She’d missed everything about this. She’d missed the physical sensations, but beyond that she’d desperately missed being this version of herself. For months she’d been this fragile thing that needed to take care only of the life growing inside her. She’d wanted to be Henry’s sub, a sweet thing devoted to bringing her master pleasure and taking it for herself.
