Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“Shhh.” He pulls me closer, tucking my head under his chin. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
And then, he does something that breaks me open entirely.
He leans down and licks the tears from my cheeks, soft, warm swipes of his tongue, catching each drop as it falls. The salt of my sorrow sits on his lips, taken into him, absorbed. It’s strange and intimate and unbearably tender, and it makes me cry harder, even as something warm blooms in my chest. Those tears should be poison, and yet he’s drinking them like they’re an antidote.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper when the sobs finally slow to hiccups, then to silence. “I don’t know how to be this.”
Little half-truths that fall around us like snow.
“Be what?”
“Soft.” The word sounds foreign. “Vulnerable. Whatever this is.”
“This,” he says slowly, “is two people who are probably making a terrible mistake.” His arms tighten around me. “But I’m having a hard time caring about that. How about you?”
I know I totally should care. About the mission, about Kat’s warnings, about everything I’m risking by lying in this bed with this man, my body still aching from the imprint of him, my heart doing dangerous, stupid things I never gave it permission to do.
“No,” I admit. “I don’t think I care either.”
His smile is soft against my hair. “Good. Then we’re in this together.” A beat. “You should go pee.”
I jerk my head back and give him an incredulous look.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Just a thing you should do after,” he says, completely earnest. “Helps prevent UTIs.”
I stare at the utmost sincerity on his face for a moment before I burst out laughing. How this man can be a genetically enhanced super soldier who leaps tall buildings in a single bound while also fucking the daylights out of me while also telling me how to prevent UTIs is something else. “Where on Earth did they find you?”
He shrugs. “The Wild West.”
Giggling, I get out of bed and head to his sprawling, spa-like washroom to do my business. When I look at my reflection in the mirror, it’s like I don’t recognize the person staring back at me. It’s not just that I look totally wrecked, because I do, and I’m used to looking like a different person for each mission, a way to ensure there is no one version of myself. What I’m looking at is a new version of Mia, maybe the first glance at my true self in a long time, the one I’ve kept buried underneath.
What other things will this man unlock?
When I’m done, I pad barefoot across the bedroom, taking in the sight of his gorgeous body on the bed, all hard lines and carved muscle, taking up so much space, those sheets draped over his arse and thighs like a sculpture waiting to be unveiled. He gives me a lazy half-smile, his eyes barely open as he beckons me with a finger.
Giddy. I’m fucking giddy like a schoolgirl.
Well, and horny too.
I crawl back on the bed, snuggling up to him. We lie there in silence for a while, his heartbeat steady against my ear, his fingers tracing abstract patterns on my skin. The sheets beneath us are ruined—between sweat and…other things—and I’m going to be sore tomorrow. I can already feel the tender ache between my thighs, the slight sting from his cock stretching me open. My muscles are heavy, spent, and there’s a pleasant throb in places I’ve never felt before.
“Stay,” he murmurs eventually. “Today. Tonight. Stay with me.”
I should say no, put distance between myself and this man who’s unraveling me so completely.
“Okay,” I whisper instead. So much for self-control.
His arms tighten, and I feel him smile against my hair.
I am in so much trouble.
CHAPTER 20
VANGUARD
I wake before dawn, which is nothing new.
What is new is the woman in my bed.
Mia is curled on her side, one hand bent at the wrist, like she’s pretending to be a T-Rex in her sleep, dark hair spilling across my pillow like ink on snow. The sheet has slipped to her waist, revealing the elegant curve of her spine, the swell of her hip, the constellation of marks I’ve left on her skin over the past eighteen hours.
Eighteen hours. That’s how long she’s been in my orbit now. She left yesterday evening—said she needed to grab some things from the hotel, freshen up, check in with her editor—and I spent every minute she was gone pacing my penthouse like a caged animal, convinced she wouldn’t come back, that she had been a beautiful exotic bird I’d prematurely let out of its cage.
But she did come back.
She walked through my door two hours later with an overnight bag and a nervous smile, and I had her against the wall before she could even set it down. That was our second time, slower than the first, more deliberate. I learned the sounds she makes when I hit just the right angle. Learned she likes her hair pulled hard, that she’s not afraid of pain. Learned she whispers my name like a prayer when she’s close.