Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“It was self-defense?”
“No,” he said. It was a lie, on purpose. His hands went to his red tie, loosening it—
I shook my head. “The jacket, first. Why doesn’t Fletcher know about it?”
The window above the bed was like a spotlight on him as he shed his jacket. In the moonlight, the holster straps and black gun were a stark contrast to his white dress shirt.
“Fletcher and I don’t work together,” he said. “I only informed the people who needed to know.”
My pulse picked up. “Now you can take off the tie.”
Confusion flooded his face. “I’m not lying about that.”
“You told me you killed Constantine,” I said. “Did I need to know that?”
He undid the silk at his neck, sliding it free from the collar. “A bit technical, don’t you think?”
Yeah, but I’d take them where I got them. That was one less lie he could tell. “What’s your—”
“Pretty sure it’s my turn.” His expression said he was about to go big or go home. “Why don’t you do relationships?”
Of course he’d zero in on the one question I didn’t want to answer. I crossed my legs and looked down at my red heels while searching to find a way out or to distract him. The silence stretched as he waited.
“That’s a lie by omission,” he said finally, hushed. “The dress, if you don’t mind.”
Well, maybe that could distract. I rose from the chair, my gaze locked on his. I clasped the zipper at my side and drew it down, letting the dress fall from my body until it was a puddle of fabric at my feet.
He let out a groan of satisfaction at the sight of me.
I’d splurged on all the lace and silk. The strapless bra and panty set, plus the thigh-high stockings had cost a small fortune, and had totally been worth it. The lingerie was empowering. It made me feel like one of the women in the sexy magazines my older brother pretended weren’t in his closet growing up.
“See something you like?” I asked.
“No, I really fucking don’t.” He peeled his holster off quickly, adding it to his stack of discarded items.
The air was thick with electricity and lust. It clung to my skin, painted on with every pass of his gaze over my body. I lowered into the chair and again crossed my legs, assuming a strong posture.
“You’ve only got three lies left,” I said.
“And you’ve got none.”
What was he talking about? “I’ve got six.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to take anything else off. Also, you’re not counting my belt.”
“If we’re counting accessories, you should probably note I’m wearing earrings.” I focused on what I really wanted. “Who do you work for? Interpol?”
“No.”
“Are you faking your American accent like Fletcher? Are you MI-6?”
“No.” His shoulders lifted with a deep breath, like he knew which one was coming next.
It was the one I’d suspected from the night I’d caught him spying on Gio. “Are you CIA?”
“No.”
The room went still, like his answer pushed ‘pause’ on the entire world.
Then, his hands slowly lifted to the collar of his shirt.
His face didn’t change as he released one button, followed by another, and another, until the shirt was open, revealing the scars from CIA work. He pulled it down over his arms, his toned biceps flexing as he yanked the sleeves off and dropped it to the floor.
It was odd that he’d revealed his secret, and yet I was the one whose heart was pounding. I could barely catch my breath. He was a goddamn spy, a man who made his living in lies.
“My turn,” he said. “I’m not going to be in the field forever.” He stood from the bed. “I’m not asking for anything. All I need to know is if there’s a possibility of this . . . continuing.”
I felt dizzy. My palms were sweating against my thighs as he made his steady approach.
“Is there?” His deep voice was hypnotic.
My bottom lip trembled, and I gave him the lie he both did and didn’t want. “No.”
He set his hands on the armrests of my chair, which forced me to lean my head back. It was the only way to keep looking up at him.
“The bra,” he commanded, “and I’m going to take it off.”
“Okay.” It was barely a word.
Cool fingertips traced around my body as he knelt before me. He got the first hook undone, then paused. He looked confused and tried again. “How many hooks are there?”
“Three.” He went back to work, struggling, and I laughed lightly. “I thought they trained you to be good with your hands.”
“I’m trained to handle things that are a threat to national security. Is there one in your bra?”
A smile burned across my lips. “What’s your full name?”
“Ethan Randall Foster.”
“Randall?”
“It’s my father’s name.”
The fabric sprang free, and like last time, as soon as he pulled the bra away, his mouth was on me. He captured a nipple between his teeth, and I gasped as pleasure ripped through me. He’d shaved at some point today, but it had been hours ago, and his stubble chafed against my newly bare skin. God, it felt good.