by Dana Volney
“I’m going to take a shower.” He set his dishes in the sink and proceeded to pull boxers out of his go-bag before closing the door to the bathroom.
Tomorrow something had to happen so they could get this hell party over with. The ball had started rolling with the afternoon firefight, and he didn’t see it stopping until both sides came to blows. The sooner they did, the sooner she was on her way—to a normal life of all things. He’d never been able to picture Arabella in the real, mundane world. She was too bold, action oriented, and just damned sparkly. She was never going to be happy as normal; she was too great for normal. He went through the steps of the shower absently, trying not to focus on the fact Arabella in her skimpy clothes was lying in the bed he was about to get into. Once he was clean and in his red boxers hanging low on his hips, he slipped into the dark bedroom to find a sleeping Arabella lying on her back, hands laced behind her head as if she’d intended to think, not fall asleep.
He slowly and silently lifted the covers on his side, the one by the door, and sank into the mattress. Good. He needed sleep if they were going to make progress tomorrow—at least more sleep than he’d had last night. Although given the opportunity, he’d still repeat last night than sleep anytime. And wasn’t that the fucking root of all his problems.
They were getting a divorce. He’d asked and she’d agreed. And he still thought that was a good idea, even if she wanted out of the life—which had been a holy shock. He’d absolutely never thought he’d see the day when she didn’t want to be in the thick of the action. So she wanted to settle down—what did that even mean? Only spy in one country? Move on to corporate espionage? Have a white picket fence and 2.6 kids?
He turned his head to face her on the pillow. The outline of her forehead, nose, and chin was smooth, peaceful, and perfect. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with his. What would Arabella’s offspring look like? Damn adorable, that’s what. Ah, fuck. They weren’t having kids together. There was no sense in even dreaming about it. Their relationship didn’t work like that, and his life didn’t get to be perfect. His past had taught him that.
Felix woke with a start at the feel of a hand on him. Arabella nestled against his torso, fingers splayed on his chest. She must’ve moved during the night. He glanced around the room. Nothing else seemed out of place, and it was still pitch black outside.
He steadied his breathing as she rustled next to him, pressing into him. He was already hard from the innocent contact of her body and the smell of rich amber. Fuck, he was conditioned to get hard on a smell now. If she kept rubbing up against him like this, he was going to have a problem. Baseball. Baseball. Baseball. Her fingers curled into his chest, and he stared holes into the curtain that was barely shadowed by a streetlight—he had to get out of this bed. The couch would be sufficient for a couple more hours of sleep. Putting his arm on her back, he tried to roll her away from him and simultaneously rotate out from under her and off the bed.
“Don’t go.” She clamped her arm down hard on his chest to keep him in place. “Please.”
Her soft voice caused an aching in his chest cavity, deeper than any muscle tissue. Her words took any sarcasm or fight away and replaced it with longing and hope.
“I won’t.” He settled back into his spot and rubbed her arm with his thumb. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But you are, aren’t you?” Her quiet voice cut through the darkness and stabbed him in the heart.
Air left his lungs.
“Not right now.” He wasn’t prepared to have a conversation about them. The only thing they should be focusing on was keeping her alive. And him—he’d like everyone but Darek to stay alive.
“I don’t know how I could’ve changed it,” she whispered.
He had to concentrate to hear her small voice in the dark. Her head was nestled into the crook of his shoulder. They used to have a lot of conversations in this exact position. A small, sad smile tugged at the ends of his lips. They’d had a lot of great moments together.
“Do you remember the first time I made you dinner?” He ran his palm up her arm and into her hair. Her hair was so soft and long. He loved it.
“Just like the one tonight.” She nodded her head and her hair tickled.
“Yes and no. We were different people back then. We were reckless and living on the edge. We didn’t know if there was going to be a tomorrow, so we were impulsive.”
“What’s changed? I still don’t know if I have a tomorrow.”
That wasn’t his point. “When I asked you to marry me that night, our lives, our view of the world was different. Believe it or not, I think it was simpler.”
“How did it all change so drastically?”
“We had jobs that we loved and gave our all to.” He took a beat for a breath; these words cut deep into the wounds their relationship had created—ones that had never healed. “Neither one of us put our relationship first. Or second. Or third.” A fact he wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self to change.
She sniffled. Shit.
“We didn’t change anything. That’s why we barely kept it together for a year,” Felix spoke softly.
“It was a good year.”
He nodded in the darkness. It had been a good year. The best of his life. He could ask her to stay. Ask her to be with him forever—commitment and all. But the words weren’t rolling off his tongue. They were lodged somewhere between remembering the first time they’d kissed and the fuck-up that got her kidnapped.
Their first kiss had been under a French sunset—like some kind of damn movie, it had been that perfect. He’d had a layover in Paris on his way back to the States, and who should walk right up to him and start busting his balls about Andre? Arabella. She’d had on a sassy, navy blue dress and fancy hat, and her eyes had burned with such passion. She’d accused him of almost ruining her mission, and he’d laughed. A big, hearty, full-body laugh. She’d been the one to get the information—she’d succeeded and he’d failed. Their arguing had somehow led to dinner at a café near the Eiffel Tower.
He’d paid a violinist on the corner to play the theme song from Phantom of the Opera, Arabella’s favorite, and he’d taken her in his arms and danced on the cobblestone sidewalk. He’d never felt so light on his feet in his life as they’d swayed, body to body. When the song was half over, he’d gazed into her eyes and felt the same pull that had reached across the tent and through the heat and sand and danger of South Africa. Her lips had met his—desire mixed with a soul-drugging high that took him years to come down from. It was a feeling he’d never forget. He’d coaxed her mouth open with his tongue, rubbed his thumb over her cheek, and she’d batted her eyes. That’d been all he’d needed—twenty-eight years of non-commitment, and then one touch of Arabella’s lips, and he was monogamous to this day. Their courtship had been short, sexy, and sinful, and by the time he was twenty-nine they were in Wyoming saying “I do” and making promises that neither one of them had understood. Not fully, because they hadn’t followed through on them.
Arabella swiveled in his grip and put her elbow on the mattress above his arm to prop her head up. He kept his palm securely on her back, her soft skin under his fingertips.
“It was a good year.” His words caught in his throat.
The room was dark, but he could see the sadness that sank her cheeks. He could feel the pumping of his heart under his ribs and the hollowness in his throat. He swallowed hard and let his gaze roam over her tanned face. When she was down—not mad or upset, but sad—he wanted to cry big, blubbering tears for her and make it all better. He’d do anything to take away her pain. The bitch of it was, this time he had no idea what would make her happy again.
“Do you think we ever could’ve made this work?” She swirled his chest hair with her index finger. “Us?”
“I don’t think we’ll ever know.” A million tiny changes, and any number of them wouldn’t have brought them here, in a safe house, waiting to destroy their enemy.
“What do we do now?”
Finally a question he could answer that wasn’t going to make him feel. “We neutralize the threat so you can have the option to do whatever you want.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
The double meaning hung between them. He couldn’t decide for her, and he didn’t have an answer where he was concerned.
She leaned down and kissed him, gradually, smoothly, running her full lips over his. Seducing him. He was still hard as fuck from her closeness and the memories of better times. He opened his mouth slightly, inviting her in, scared to move his hand or any muscle. He didn’t want her to stop what she was doing. He never wanted her to stop.
Arabella’s tongue swept into his mouth and caressed his as she breathed him in then sank into him. The small groan in the back of her throat unconsciously made him grip her closer—her belly mushed into his side and abs. Her fingers flitted over his pec and up to his shoulder, and she grasped him at the base of his neck, pulling her breasts fully over his broad chest.
“Arabella,” he breathed into her ear as she kissed his jaw then cheek.
Moving her head so that her gaze was level with his, she searched his eyes. Desire was replaced with fear, and he pulled her closer. He wanted the desire back.
He nipped at her lips.
“Say it.” The “t” ticked off her lips and drew his attention for a moment.
“I want you,” he groaned into her neck as he strained to kiss her.
She leaned down and softly brushed her full lips over his and pulled back before he could get more. His blood pumped harder—he wanted more.
He connected with her eyes and held her gaze. “I need you.”
She kissed him again, deeper, then moved back, just out of his reach.
“I . . . ” He knew what she wanted to hear—that he loved her. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t go down that path again. He didn’t know how to stop them from ending up in the same position they were in today. Causing them pain all over again wasn’t worth the immediate gratification every fiber of him sought.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try other tactics.
He held her to him and rolled them so that her back was on the sheet and they were chest to chest, his elbows propping him up by her shoulders.
He leaned down and kissed her collarbone. “You’re beautiful.” Not what she wanted him to say, he knew, but nonetheless true. “And witty.” He kissed her neck. “And you drive me wild.” He kissed her lips, hot and heavy. “So, so, wild,” he said in between their lips meeting.
Her hips moved up to meet his pelvis, and he nearly lost his mind. Yeah, he wanted to be in her as much as she wanted him inside her.
He backed off as she sat up to take off her tank top, revealing two full, beautiful breasts. He couldn’t help himself, he leaned in and took her nipple in his mouth, teasing and sucking as his hands slipped around her side and brought her closer.
He laid her back down, careful not to let his mouth leave her chest, and trailed kisses down her stomach to her tight short shorts. He hooked a finger under the black fabric on either side of her hips and slowly uncovered her. He placed kisses on her hipbone and followed the line of her upper thigh as he moved the fabric down.
He pulled back and slowly moved his pelvis down on her, filling her and moaning at how wet she was. Her back arched, and he pressed his entire body down on her. He didn’t want to miss a second. She enchanted him—the way she moaned, the way she moved, and the way she conjured life in him.
Their bodies moved in a perfect rhythm, heat passing between them. There was no eagerness, there was no need for haste, only to feel her every movement, every inch of her skin, and to make her moan for him.
He loved it when he drove her wild—the look in her eyes when he was inside of her, confirming she could feel him, made his dick hard and his mind relaxed all at the same time. They were connected. They were one.
He achingly, slowly moved out of her then pushed back in, nearly coming as she groaned and writhed beneath him.
Her amber eyes met his as he filled her again. There were no words, only breaths that intoxicated him. His lips met hers, and he licked his way into her mouth, needing to consume her. It wasn’t enough to be in her; it never was. He needed her to give him her soul too. And when she did, the bond threatened to never let go. He’d never experienced the same type of connection with any other woman.
She pulled his ass closer, pushing him farther into her. Their bodies clashed and his mind went blank—all he could feel was his body buzzing for more. He moved to give her the most pleasure and found it in return. He was surrounded by it.
Her hands trailed up his back to his skull. She brought his head to hers quickly, forcibly, and kissed him. She kissed him like she was never letting go. Their lips mashed and moved together as she inhaled him. His palm cupped her face as he moved in and out of her; his pace picked up, and she moved with him. Faster and faster until all he could do was give in to his body and let it take over. He was consumed by her.
“Arabella,” he breathed into her—he couldn’t fight his release any longer.
“Felix.” Her head dug into the pillow as he felt her pulsing waves, and he let go, driving farther into her, every nerve on high alert as he came in her.
He pressed his lips to her collarbone and rolled to the right, catching his breath. “Oh, shit. We didn’t use a condom.” Fuck, they hadn’t last night either.
“I’m on birth control.” The back of her hand fell on his chest, and he reached up to clasp his left hand over hers.
He squinted in the darkness. “We hardly ever use them.” They’d probably discussed it once upon a time, but now it seemed reckless.
She chuckled and he turned his head to her. “We generally have other things on our minds.”
She could say that again. He leaned over and placed his lips on her shoulder. She curled into him, and he closed his eyes. He’d deal with his reality in the morning. For now, he was going to soak in the bliss that had taken over.
• • •
Arabella was startled awake by Felix’s grip around her belly. She listened in the darkness. Was there someone else here? Was he telling her to be quiet and ready herself for a fight?
He jerked, small movements; she reached for his hand around her, and her palm wrapped around a fist.
She pushed gently to loosen his grip and swiveled so that they were chest to chest. He was sleeping, yet his face was scrunched, his eyeballs rapidly moved back and forth, and his head jerked from right to left a touch.
Beads of sweat formed around his face, and she knew what was happening—he was having a nightmare. A pretty grim one from the looks of it. Is that a tear?
She pushed herself up so that her back leaned against the headboard and his head rested just below her breast. His arm slid over her belly and his palm hooked around her hip. Tightly. He was still deep in his dream world, and she didn’t want to try to wake him. She’d had some experience in the hellish nightmare department thanks to their jobs, and it was best just to comfort him—that technique had always worked before. When their relationship was new, she’d tried to wake him every time, and he either hadn’t woken easily or, if he had, he’d been in a really bad mood the entire next day. She ran her fingers gently through the short hair he maintained on the top of his head and slid her hands down to his ear, neck, shoulders, back, and then up and around again.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Sleep threatened to take her back to her dreamless state, but she couldn’t let it. Not until she knew Felix was okay.
He’d seemed to have everything together, but his past haunted him. There were some things she couldn’t get away from either. If she could take his nightmares from him she would; she had her own share and knew that the helplessness and guilt could come flooding back hard anytime it wanted.
She rested her free hand on his forearm, continued to stroke his head, and started to hum a tune that had
no real words to it, or at least ones she didn’t know. Her favorite nanny, Elsa, had hummed it to her as a child.
She felt him stir under her, not the jerking motions but smoother, awakening movements. The heaviness of Felix’s body that pressed against hers started to lighten. She breathed deeply and continued to hum. His alertness didn’t do much to soothe the tightness she felt in her chest at the very real consequences of the profession they’d both chosen.
His head rubbed into her belly before he angled to look up at her. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could make out the edges of his face, his stare soft and gentle. Her fingers glided through his hair, and she tried for a smile but failed. She worried about Felix. How he was doing, if he was happy. To witness something she’d hoped was in the past for him was heartbreaking.
“Hi,” she whispered. If she said too much, she’d start crying.
He didn’t ask what happened or why she was humming while he clutched her side. He didn’t have to. This scene had played out many times before.
He let out a big sigh and closed his eyes briefly. “That bad, huh?” His thumb rubbed her hipbone, and her skin was suddenly alive and tingling. The reason behind his grasp sucked, but the familiarity, like they were once again a couple who dealt with problems together, returned with a strong vengeance, bringing with it the need for Felix she’d tried just that morning to wish away.
“Nah. Just unexpected.” Her voice was a little stronger now but not much. “Does this happen a lot?” Please say no. Please say it hasn’t happened in years.
He rested his head back down on her belly. “Now and then. You know how it is.”
She did. Talking about it helped—rather, talking about it with him had always helped. And she liked to think vice versa. There was no one else she wanted to share those flashbacks with, how they made her feel, or why she felt guilty for certain missions over others. She’d had only a couple missions go bad where innocent people died or she’d had to kill people she’d befriended. Felix had seen much more and worse.
