by Brynne Asher
“I’ll say.”
“He has Abbott and she needs a mother-figure. I’m not ready to stop working and I don’t do anything I can’t give myself to one-hundred percent.”
I get a sympathetic smile. “That’s understandable. And honorable.”
I tell her the truth. “Abbott is smart and beautiful and favors Cole. After meeting her, I’m questioning everything. Now that I’m here, it doesn’t feel honorable—it feels selfish.”
She sighs and tucks a foot under her where she’s perched next to me on the bed. “I don’t know everything so I can’t offer any advice. But I can say from my own personal experience, there’s more than one way to be happy. It took me a long time to learn. Search every road, Bella. And never, ever slam a door. You never know what your future might hold.”
“Easier said than done. You’re not wanted in over fifteen first-world countries.”
Her lips press into a thin line and I think she actually winces. “Ah, yeah. I’ve got nothing to follow that.” Snip. “So, tell me. How flashy does this dress need to be?”
“I’m not up for sporting my new scar but the rest of my skin is fair game.”
“This is so exciting.” She grins and tugs. “There. You’re a stitch-free woman. Promise you’ll take it easy.”
I look down at the ugly pink, puckered keepsake I’ll always have.
Complicated doesn’t do our situation justice.
“Come on.” Gracie takes my hand and helps me up. “Let’s get you more wine so you’ll tell me the rest of your secrets.”
Chapter 11
Checkmate
Cole
“Come on,” I demand, pulling her up. Never in my life would I think I’d want to work so hard to get Bella out of my bed once I finally got her in it. “Tonight you’re joining the living. I can’t take you lying there any longer unless I’m next to you.”
“I drank a lot of wine today and I’m exhausted. I’ve not had a lick of the bottle in months,” she complains.
When I got home, Gracie was on her way out. She’d been here most of the day. There was an empty bottle of wine sitting next to a basket big enough to hold basketballs for a bitty ball team. I’m pretty sure a cocktail party had exploded all over my kitchen.
When I get her vertical, I swing her around and sit so she’s standing in front of me. “Why do you get to sit? I’m the one recovering from surgery and a bottle of wine.”
I reach for the hem of her shirt but she grabs my hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I look up. “Gracie cut out your stitches. I want to see your wound since we can’t risk taking you for a follow up.”
“I’m fine. It itches but all healing wounds do.”
“I want to see for myself.”
“Gracie said I’m textbook perfection and could start doing whatever I want. She’s the medical professional, not you.”
I grab her hips and pull her between my legs. “I know for a fact that’s a lie since she told me on her way out to make sure you don’t overdo it because she had a feeling you already were.”
She narrows her eyes. Eyes that are buzzed and sexy as fuck right now. “I know my body and what it can do, Cole.”
I run my hands down the sides of her thighs and lower my voice. “Sweetness, I was the one who sat next to you in ICU waiting to see if you were going to live or die. You were doped up but it seems you need a reminder that I was the one talking to the doctors, managing your identity, and making sure no one knew you were here. And as far as your body goes, I’ll bet your fat, off-shore bank account I know it better than you.”
Her full lips that I’ve yet to taste again press into a thin line.
“Yeah,” I stress. “It was mine first and I’m claiming this body again. You know I’d wrestle you to the floor—I’ve done it more than once—but that’s not in the cards right now. I’m not asking you to spread your legs for me, I want to see your incision.”
“Oh, for the love.” She rolls her eyes to the ceiling and leaves them there while yanking her shirt up to her tits. “There. Happy?”
When I lower my eyes, her scar is glaring at me—pink, puckered, and angry as an aggravated snake. I saw it when it was fresh and new, before she was alert enough to be annoyed by my presence in the hospital. The swelling is down and her sweatpants hang low on her hips. She’s always had lean, cut muscles but this is different. She’s too thin and too weak—not the force I crashed and burned for years ago.
And I fucking hate it.
When I brush my thumb over the irate wound that has disfigured the one person in this world I can’t shake, her tone hits me hard. “Scarred, marred, and ugly, I know.”
When I look up, her blues are as sharp and cold as deep-frozen crystals, cutting through the short distance to mine.
“Scarred and marred, yes,” I agree and can’t stop my fingers from biting into her boney hips. “But never ugly.”
She throws her hand toward me before motioning to the topic at hand. “Opinion versus fact, Carson.”
Sliding my hand up her midsection between her tits, I press my touch into her chest over her heart. Splaying my fingers, it beats into my palm. “This isn’t ugly. This is beautiful. It means you’re alive and here with me, where you belong.”
Her glare follows as I stand and my hand moves farther north, my thumb landing on her jugular. She doesn’t flinch, she’s as controlled and tempered as ever on the outside, but her pulse races like it’s on the home stretch of a marathon.
She’s tall but I still tower over her as she stands barefoot in front of me. Pulling our bodies flush, her cutting eyes narrow when I drop my hand to her ass. My dick betrays me—the bastard—twitching as his only magnet in this world wakes him.
I press into her neck and tip her face to mine. “Don’t be critical about your body, Donnelly. Not to me. You know how I feel about it and you.”
She shakes her head and pushes my hand away but I hold her close because my dick might kick my ass if I let her go. “I’m not the naïve woman I once was—overtaken by your charmless self. Our attraction was purely fueled by adrenaline and our jobs. It’s time to get over yourself.”
I shake my head and tsk her. “Lies. You can spew them to everyone else on the planet but not to me.”
“I only speak the truth.” Her tone is cutting.
I hitch a shoulder and my smile has nothing to do with pleasure of any sort, no matter how much I’d kill for some pleasure right now, especially the kind only Isabella Donnelly can give.
No.
My smile is as cutting as her tone and has checkmate written all over it. “I’ve had a day, baby. But I got you into the fucking Everglades bullshit.”
Her tone softens, ironically hardening my dick further. “You did?”
I might do it lightly because of her wound, but I press my cock into her lower stomach. “You’re questioning my skills?”
She brings her hands up to my chest and tries to push, but my dick is more determined than the both of us and refuses to be torn away from its one true obsession. “Of course not. But that was fast.”
“Not only did I come through but I scored two tickets. You’ve got yourself a date.”
Back to cutting she goes. “No.”
“Yes. And I’m holding your fucking ticket hostage. I’ll give it to you but you have to meet certain guidelines.”
Her fingers fist my shirt in a way I bet she wishes it were my flesh. “Why must everything be a negotiation? This is important to me and yet you insist on acting like a rotten arse.”
“As poignant a picture as that paints, it’s not me being the smelly ass, it’s my father. I took him to the shed for a talk as soon as I got home tonight and that talk was a one-way street. In fact, it was more of a tongue lashing for how he’s treated you. He knows where I stand and how far I’m willing to fight him on this, which is to the fucking edge of the earth, baby. Which is also why—since I hold your very literal golden ticke
t—there will be rules in this house or else the damn Everglades will have to struggle on without any love from you.”
Bella doesn’t blush. Blushing is for skittish school girls. But when she’s not undercover and it’s just her and me, her anger shows like a branding iron.
Case in point, her fair skin reddening to flames right before my eyes. “Spit out your fucking rules, Cole. When you’re finished, I’ll kick rubbish on your grave right after I stick a pitchfork in it with a sign attached, reading Here Lies a Selfish Cock.”
My smile splits my face. “Baby, you give new meaning to bitchy-proper speak. Selfish Cock isn’t even one of your British-isms.”
“I’m livid,” she bites. “You know you have me squeezed. I’ve no options and, yet, you take advantage. Spit out these rules before I bust open my fresh wound whilst kneeing you in the balls.”
I pause and wet my lips. “You know that turns me on.”
“You know I don’t give an English fuck. Not even an Uncle Sam fuck. Nor a flying one over the pond between the two.”
“Damn.” I pull her to me tighter. “You’re making my boys blue.”
She tips her head. “I hope they turn celestial and fall off.”
“It’s going to be a long month but you’ll come around,” I mutter.
“Never. Now spill these so-called rules so my life can be even more miserable than it already is.”
“Fine.” I nod and think. I hadn’t planned on putting parameters on taking her to the damn fundraiser, which is a cover for her to get close to the senator from hell. “One—no more lying in bed and no more holing yourself away in my room.”
She shakes her head. “I know where I’m welcome and where I’m not. I’m used to hiding.”
“You’re not in the Middle East and my room is not a cave. Consider yourself done hiding out. You’re here and that means you’re going to be present. We’re gonna be one big, happy fucking family if it kills me.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’ll kill someone, that’s for certain.”
I ignore her because I’m over anyone dying right now. “Two—I want you to spend time with Abbs every morning to teach her French. Consider it earning your keep.”
This time her eyes widen and all the fire leaves her face. “Abbott wants nothing to do with me. I will not force time with her.”
I dip my face to hers. “She won’t throw a fit if I tell her it’s happening. Despite the dumbass who gave birth to her, she’s smart, Bella. Gifted. Her brain is hungry and it doesn’t matter what I introduce her to, she eats it up like I haven’t fed her in days.”
“Then why don’t you teach her?”
“As you can see, my time at home is limited.”
“I can attest to the fact if a child is not open to learning something new, it can be detrimental to shove it down their teeny, tiny throats. I was that child, Cole.”
He nods. “I’m not surprised but if I tell her this is happening, she’ll do it because she doesn’t like to disappoint me. And it’s a way for you two to get to know each other with a purpose.”
“And what will happen in a few weeks when I’m gone? I highly doubt Red will be able to carry on with French lessons.”
“I refuse to talk about you leaving. I have three-and-a-half weeks to convince you to stay.”
She sighs. “Anything else?”
“Yeah. Two more things. Quit rolling away from me at night. My dick and I have missed you.”
“Still, you talk about your penis as a separate being?”
“As you can tell,” I press into her again, “it is.”
She shakes her head.
“Admit it,” I demand. “You miss him as much as he’s missed you.”
“Cole—”
“He misses everything about you—your mouth, the curve of your ass, your tits—”
“—would you stop—”
“—and especially your pussy, which is really mine and always will be.”
“As crude as ever.”
“Crude as fuck,” I amend. “Admit it, you liked it before and secretly still do.”
“Please, when you’re done thinking with your cock, do me the honor of telling me the final rule so I can focus on clearing my name to live freely again.”
I let her go and she steps away immediately. I rearrange the cock she secretly loves so my hard on is less painful than had she really kneed me in the nuts. “Three—I reserve the right to add more rules. I have full faith you’ll come around eventually, but right now you’re a pain in my ass. And not in a good way.”
I grab her hand to physically remove her from my bedroom. She tries to pull away—but I’m determined.
I look back one more time and give her a nod. “Trust me, Red is nothing compared to the terrorists I’ve seen you take down. I’ll explain to Abbott about the French lessons. Everyone will get used to everyone soon enough. Consider this me ripping off the duct tape.”
We cross the threshold of her prior sanctuary to jump into the proverbial fire of the Carson clan. “It’s always duct tape with you, Cole. To any other man, it would just be a measly bandage.”
I don’t look back as I give her the God’s-honest truth. “Any other man wouldn’t be able to handle you.”
Hell, who am I kidding?
I don’t have a handle on her yet.
Chapter 12
I Look Fucking Good in a Tux
Cole
“I thought I told you it was a priority,” Nick Peterson growls through the phone. “Do I need to explain to you what that means? Why are plans not put into motion already, or better yet, carried out?”
It’s been a week since my boss marched his ass into my office and demanded I set up a kill order.
On an American.
A fucking American.
Not only that, the target is a military vet. He’s also a businessman based out of Geneva and works with multiple countries fulfilling military contracts for armored gear and weapons. Over the past seven days, I’ve learned everything I need to know about retired Marine Sergeant Penn Simmons, down to the fact he has three cats named after Shakespearean villains: Claudius, Lady Macbeth, and Edmund.
I have no room to judge. I’m now the proud owner of my own feline named Daisy. It also seems I’m the only human in the house who Daisy doesn’t like, given the fact she hisses at me every time I get near her.
From what I can tell, Penn Simmons’ cats are the only villainous thing about the man. After landing a high-paying gig in Switzerland, he appears to be a family man living out the dream of working in the worldwide center for diplomacy. He has contacts throughout the United Nations and donated a big chunk to the Red Cross last year. He spends his winters skiing the Alps and summers sailing the waters of Lake Geneva.
Besides his sailboat named The Tillie, after his wife, he’s downright as boring as a two-by-four. His wife, who works as an instructor teaching English to French-speaking students, is equally as mind numbing.
Penn is not exactly the kind of person we usually target—as in never-fucking-ever. And especially not since I’ve been put in charge of managing covert assets—people we pay to do our dirty work, like Vega and those he trains.
“Turn.”
I look down from where I’m standing on the short pedestal and face the mirror. The tailor at my feet pins the hem of the tux trousers I plan on wearing while supporting the damn Everglades.
He looks up at me and raises his brows in question. I inspect the break in my pants before giving him a nod and return to my call. “Nick, the plan has been put into motion.”
That’s a lie. I might’ve put a plan in motion, but it’s mine—not his. One thing is for sure, no one is on their way to Switzerland to put a bullet through Penn Simmons’ head. On the contrary, Asa has tapped my bosses line. The last few days have been interesting.
Nick is on the move, at a quick clip, going who knows where and doing who knows what, huffing and puffing all the way. I take that back—Asa probably knows s
ince he’s tracking his cell, so there’s no reason for me to ask. It’s not as if I can judge, it’s the middle of a work day and I snuck out to be fitted for a tux I’m oddly anxious to wear.
“Then explain to me why the target attended a meeting this morning with his contact from the British Armed Forces? Usually when shit is carried out and business is taken care of in a timely manner, those people tend to miss meetings—for the rest of eternity.”
I fasten the single button of my jacket and turn to the side to inspect myself as I listen to him become more and more frantic, which is the most interesting thing that’s happened today.
Also fascinating is the fact my boss’s tension only makes me calmer. “Nick, you and I have been at this for some time now. Without elaborating since I’m not alone, you know these things don’t happen overnight.”
“It’s been a week,” he bites.
“And you said to make it a priority, which I have. You didn’t give me a deadline.”
“You should have assumed the deadline was as-soon-as-fucking-possible when I told you to make it a priority. Now I’ve got people breathing down my neck while you’re trying to get your shit together.”
The tailor at my feet stands and takes a step back. “How does it look, sir? You chose wisely—simple, traditional, timeless. This will carry you through for years.”
I take one more look in the mirror and remember the last time I wore a tux. It didn’t make it back to the States. But I don’t see the six-foot-four CIA officer whose shoulders and chest fit surprisingly well into this custom fit.
I see the man who broke in a certain MI6 in more ways than he had a right to.
If I had to do it all over again, I would.
And I plan to, even though my final conquest of Isabella Donnelly will no doubt be my hardest. Training her and making her mine feels like a walk in the park compared to getting her to stay.
Making good on our deal and marrying me—sealing her fate to mine.
Forever.
