by Edie Harris
No more time to waste. He neared, close enough to glimpse a flash of pink from between her lips, hear a snapping pop. Bubble gum. Jesus, she was the most tempting, confusing mix of soft innocence and sharp intelligence, and he finally forced himself to admit what he’d subconsciously recognized from their very first encounter.
He wanted her. He wanted her so badly he fucking ached with it. His hands, his chest, his groin, all of it a pins-and-needles tightness calling to painfully unmet need. Part of him couldn’t help but see this desire as tawdry. She was a decade younger than him, already too knowledgeable about the sad state of the modern world. Fuck, she killed people for a living—he’d seen it with his own eyes, and there existed numerous satellite images of her hard at work, all across the globe. The absolute last thing she needed was an older man sniffing after her, especially in a situation where she was, technically, vulnerable.
If he made a pass at her, she might read it as blackmail. Sleep with him or he’d out her. But it was too late for that, because she was already a known entity in their business and readily on file in international databases. Vick had unintentionally seen to that.
Elisabeth Laïla Faraday, wet-work assassin, weapon of choice the sniper rifle; skilled with any make and model, but with a distinct preference for the Faraday bolt-action .50 caliber with the company’s patented telescopic-sight technology.
First noted hit in Brussels—as reported by agent Raleigh Vick to his superiors in the Secret Intelligence Service—with five other confirmed assassinations of ranking foreign nationals in the past four years.
Evidence suggesting her involvement in over two dozen tactical missions performed by Faraday Industries personnel, contracted by U.S. government; most believed to be rescues or extractions.
Enrolled in university courses; undergraduate degree track in Art & Art History.
No citations pertaining to criminal or violent behavior outside of various assignments.
No known aliases.
No reported interpersonal relationships.
Another flash of pink, another pop of her gum, and Vick was suddenly in front of her in the alley, staring directly into the muzzle of her handgun. He’d assumed—wrongly—she had been unaware of his approach, given her unconcerned posture and seeming inattention to her surroundings.
Vick should know better than to assume anything about Beth by now. He flashed her a quick grin, revealing the gap between his front teeth, but kept his gloved hands in his pockets. “No harm,” he told her, adopting the thick regional accent he’d been using since arriving in the village three weeks ago. “No harm.”
Her gaze once again dipped to his mouth, and she immediately relaxed, pocketing her weapon. “You don’t sound like a Felix or a James this time,” she said with a beatific smile.
Oh, Lord, she was happy to see him. Genuinely, unabashedly happy. The truth of her emotions, written large across a face he’d stared at for hours on his computer screen, seized his heart in a crushing grip and yanked. His chest might hurt to look at her, but his body warmed from throat to belly, the same as when he took a first sip of hot tea on a cold morning. “Dmitri.”
She bit her bottom lip, capturing the pink plumpness he wanted to nibble on himself between perfect white teeth. “Yes, I suppose that’s exactly who you sound like. Dmitri...what?”
Idiot girl, looking at him as she did, as though she were delighted by him and his false names. He shouldn’t indulge her. And yet... “Dmitri Kovak.” Then, daring everything and acting on instinct, he reached out to trace a bare finger down her cold cheek and spoke roughly in Serbian. “Lepa devojka.” Beautiful girl.
It didn’t matter that she likely wouldn’t understand him; she read his tone just fine. Stepping away from the wall and toward him, she lifted her chin. “You shouldn’t talk to me like that.” Her smile slipped away. “Every time I see you, my insides turn melty.”
Sudden sensual need turned his insides to honey. No point in playing dumb, but he couldn’t risk speaking with his normal voice, for various reasons, so the accent with its broken English would remain. “You do not see me so often.”
“But I know you’re there.”
True enough. Though their paths didn’t necessarily cross, he was often there. Which took the situation straight from tawdry into stalker territory. Desire cooling, he made as if to back away. “I should—”
She grabbed onto the lapels of his coat with both hands. “Don’t tell me you should go, because you shouldn’t. Go, I mean. Don’t go.” The wind lifted strands of dark brown against her blushing cheeks, across her parted lips. “Are you here for me?”
Throat tight, he shook his head, all thoughts of leaving her having fled.
Shrewdly intelligent eyes narrowed on him. “Eduard Cesarec, then.” Before he could confirm or deny, she began to slowly, wonderingly stroke her palms over his chest, her gaze dropping to the ratty scarf at his throat. “I...I’ve never touched you before. Not on purpose.”
No, she hadn’t, and that she was now was destroying him. He wanted to gather her close and take his first taste of her. And then, possibly, never stop tasting her ever again. Gently removing her hands, he linked their fingers, his body reaching a decision his mind hadn’t quite accepted. “Come with me, milijenik.” He was bunking in an abandoned cottage for the duration of this mission, but the crumbling structure was private, tucked into the tree line away from the main road. It would get them out of the snowflakes that had begun to fall, provide him with the opportunity to convince her to let him and his people handle Cesarec...and, most importantly, protect them against eavesdroppers when he told her who he really was.
The decision seared him with rightness. He knew so much about her under the guise of serving his country, but though his service was the reason he even knew Beth, it was also the impediment to her knowing him. He couldn’t permit himself any part of her, physically, if she didn’t know who was holding her, the exchange too uneven. Trusting her with this secret, without gaining permission from Management to read her in, was necessary.
Beth was necessary.
She didn’t question his command or fight his hold as he tugged her out of the alley and into the street in front of the grocer’s. “What did you call me? Melleh—”
“Milijenik. My darling.”
“Oh.” Her hand squeezed his. “Do you mean it?”
Vick rather thought he might. “I—”
Twenty meters away, the corner petrol station exploded in a deafening blast of fire and stone.
He shoved her to the cold, hard-packed earth, throwing his body atop hers and caging her head with his arms. Debris bit into his back and shoulders, sliced through the worn fabric of his trousers. Ears ringing, lungs filling with smoke and dust, he closed his eyes and braced himself against the biting blows from the falling hazards to his vulnerable back.
The village, asleep minutes earlier, had burst into abrupt chaos. “Zaklon! Bežite!” Shouts amidst the screaming for bystanders to run and take cover reached Vick’s ringing ears. He knew they were right to do so when mere moments later a second explosion boomed, black smoke and rubble raining down on them from the other side of the road, the targeted structure the village’s tavern and inn.
Pain bloomed on the side of his face, an inch from his mouth, and he crowded her even more, shifting to make certain she was shielded from the worst of it. There was a gash bisecting one eyebrow, a cut on her lip, and a scrape on her chin, but other than that she appeared to be unharmed.
Blood dripped onto her upturned cheek. She frowned, wriggling to free one gloved hand until she was able to cover his wound. “Oh, crap. This looks...not good.”
It was such a nonsense thing to say, and it made him forget his decision to keep away. With one arm curved over her head, he leaned down, down, until his lips brushed over hers for the very first time.
/> Yes. Soft and giving and smeared with bitter ash, she tasted of bubble gum and copper, but whose blood it was didn’t matter. Her mouth was hesitant under his as he licked and coaxed, until he caught that bottom lip of hers between his teeth and nipped, as he’d wanted to in the alley by the grocer’s. Then she melted beneath him, lips parting to permit him a more intimate taste.
She’d lost her gum in the explosion, probably when they had hit the ground, but the sugar lingered to tempt the tip of his tongue into delving deeper. He waited for her response with the same patience he’d possessed in the café in Belgium, giving her the opportunity to read his cues and learn from him; kissing now was the same, and he was nearly struck dumb by the realization that she had apparently never been kissed.
A wave of stark possession swept over him, numbing him to all but the sensation of her mouth meeting his. A stroke of her tongue stole his breath, the sting of her teeth made him dizzy. Her lips addicted him. He’d never been weaker than he was in this kiss, nor more powerful, and he craved the dueling dichotomy within his core. No detox would ever cure him of this all-consuming need.
Kissing Beth Faraday had officially ruined him.
His other arm kept much of his weight off of her, his knees on either side of hers, but in another time and place he would have drowned in her lithe form, absorbed the sweetness of her into his very pores. He would have carefully removed every stitch of clothing, loved her with his hands and mouth, and loved her again with the stiff erection behind his fly.
She turned her head to the side, gasping for breath. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, and she stared beyond his shoulder, blinking rapidly as her body stiffened. “Up. Let me up.”
Everything in him protested at her breathy demand. Up was the absolute last direction he wanted to go. Down and in and out, yes, but definitely not up. Then the fog lifted from his brain, and he remembered where, precisely, they were. Bloody hell.
They had barely gained their feet before she shoved hard at his shoulders, sending him back a pace. Her glare ferocious, all hints of softness disappeared, she pointed to the destruction surrounding them. “You know who did this?” When he didn’t answer, she pushed him again. “Three people were asleep in that inn,” she shouted over the din, voice hoarse from the smoke. “Three innocent people are dead, and you know who did this!”
“Beth—”
“How long have you been here, Dmitri? One week? Two? Long enough to have a name, do your spy shit. Lurking in the shadows, making your reports. Not fucking acting on the threat, that’s for damn sure.” She sneered, reaching into the coat pocket where she’d stashed her gun. “I don’t get you spies. It’s all intrigue and one-upmanship and mind-fuckery, and look where it gets you.” Checking the pistol’s chamber with easy grace, she gripped it comfortably in one hand. “Here. It gets you here, where you have to stare at that goddamn mess of a building and know three innocent lives were snuffed out because you couldn’t do your job.” Her angry gaze locked on his, she began walking backward. Toward the flames. “This is my job, pal. They only call me in when none of you cocky bastards have the balls to get it done. So now I’m going to go and fucking do what you didn’t, and keep Cesarec from setting this entire country on fire.”
“How do you know?” Anger boiled in his veins, both at her accusations and at the injustice of what he’d just witnessed.
She halted. “How do I know what?”
“How do you know there were three people in the inn?”
Her response turned his veins to ice. “Because I slept there last night. I met them. Alen and Agneza were visiting their widowed son-in-law and grandchildren, who didn’t have a spare room in their small home for them to stay. Jelena was a doctoral student writing her thesis on the persecution of Jews in this region during World War Two.” A tear tracked through the blood and grime coating her face. “Alen. Agneza. Jelena. God, I’m so fucking furious with you right now.” She swiped at her face, then strode toward him, stopping when they were once again toe-to-toe. Yanking the cap from her head, she turned it inside out and pressed the warm knit to his lacerated cheek, glaring at him all the while.
He lifted a hand to cover hers. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
Plans changed, he thought, memorizing her as she stood before him, dirty and bleeding and slowly but surely taking ownership of his heart. He couldn’t share the secret of who he was or what he did with the angry girl who wanted immediate vengeance for Alen, Agneza and Jelena, not while she was in motion, grieving and raging, yet tending to him with a care that belied her fierce words. The trust wasn’t there for either of them, not now, and so his plans changed. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t give her a little bit of truth. “Thank you for not sleeping late this morning.”
With a snarl, she lifted her gun hand to the back of his neck and tugged him down for a harsh kiss, never letting up on the pressure to his wounded cheek.
Yes, plans changed. Beth Faraday, however, would always be his constant—Vick planned to make sure of that.
Chapter Fifteen
“I have a fourth option.”
Vick reveled in the languid warmth of waking to find her tucked securely against him, his arm banded around her waist, his erection nestled against her bottom. “Good morning to you too.”
She patted the hand cupping one breast consolingly, obviously wide awake. “Fourth option. Wanna hear it?”
“Only if you promise not to move.” Having her within easy reach soothed the unquiet corners of his psyche, the rumbling in the back of his mind reminding him that this was not, in fact, his happy-ever-after. It was barely his happy-for-now.
Everything he’d told Beth had been the truth—the exit strategy, what he wanted for her, from her. His feelings had never been in doubt, which was what had made him the perfect operative for this assignment. T-16 trusted him to toe the party line but never cross it, because for fifteen years, he’d been the perfect textbook spy. His body of work was unimpeachable, the only crack in his façade an American girl who made his body pulse and his soul sing. Falling in love was a privilege not permitted to spies, because the time always came when that love turned into a spy’s downfall.
He wasn’t proud of his actions, but they were necessary actions nonetheless. More importantly, he’d been granted the opportunity to finally know Beth, as himself, and the temptation was too great to ignore. Colleen Yang had made sure of that when she set him upon this tangled mess of a mission.
A mission made even more complicated by the involvement of the Russians and their two-week, literally ironic deadline. Vick frowned. The Polnoch’ Pulya had never been part of the plan. He was not okay with any part of this assignment changing without his say-so, not when Beth’s safety was on the line.
Vick had been tempted to prod McCallister for more details but had restrained himself. Instead, the encrypted text he’d sent shortly after ordering room service yesterday confirmed Tobias Faraday was en route to London. T-16 would get what it wanted, and Vick’s job was complete. Except they expected him to return to the United Kingdom, picking up where he’d left off before Afghanistan had turned his world topsy-turvy. We’ve got work to do. McCallister’s words echoed in his mind, but the weight of Beth in his arms dispersed them like so much mist.
The only work that mattered was protecting Beth as best he could. The simplest means of doing so was to stand at her side, walking with her through life. Paul and Grace Morgan beckoned with their promised fresh start for him and Beth, together.
After all this time, together was the only wish on his list, and it was nothing he could ask for, knowing what he did about what awaited Tobias in his meeting with Yang tonight. Needing to immerse himself in the present, in the woman lying trustingly in his arms like a gift he didn’t deserve, he gently nipped Beth’s shoulder. “You know it is obscenely early, right?”
&n
bsp; “Three-thirty in the morning is a perfectly reasonable time to wake up.”
“Not after our evening activities,” he groaned. He buried his face in her tangled hair, scenting the floral courtesy shampoo they’d found in the tub after round two had taken place on the bathroom countertop. A bout of intense sleeping had followed their shared bath before round three—the final round, because, let’s face it, Vick was nearing forty, recently shot in the gut, and had spent the day running around the city chasing after the love of his life, meeting clandestinely with his colleagues, and having his heart ripped out of his chest every moment he spent in Beth’s company—had been slow, steady lovemaking, on his side with her facing him, her knee tucked over his hip and his lips never leaving hers.
There was something stunning about kissing her through her orgasm, through his, and then kissing her until they had fallen asleep, only to awaken now with Beth’s very-much-not-asleep form glued to his fatigued one. “All right, darling, option four. I’m ready.”
“We fly to London and attend the meeting with Tobias.”
And now Vick was officially awake. “I think I preferred it when we only had three options.” Panic zinged through him, and he was glad she couldn’t see his face. He exhaled slowly, strengthening his hold across her torso. “Tell me why.”
“I’ve been thinking.” She traced an idle fingertip over the back of his wrist. Chill bumps broke out at the feather-light touch. “A few years ago, we were all home for Hanukkah and sitting around the supper table, and Tobias was giving one of his boring lectures on politics and public relations. One of the things he was telling us was how to reject someone and, conversely, how to avoid rejection.”
