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  God save him. This was a disaster.

  Worse, he was actually considering her proposal.

  He wanted her to work with him on the complex, slow-drip espionage operation. Wanted her to understand that Henri Moreau, aka Etienne Chardy, was actually helping the US document and expose a sophisticated Russian spy ring, run by none other than the man who’d gotten away from them last time—Boris Vaslov.

  But he didn’t want her to know how much he could use her help, how much he wanted her working as a partner. Not yet.

  “Why did that box of ornaments make you cry?”

  The change in subject threw her for a loop. “What?”

  He hitched a thumb over his shoulders. “Were they your mom’s?”

  She whipped her head to look at the table. “They’re mine,” she said after a moment. “She gave some of them to me, the others we made together. I haven’t seen that box since…”

  All the fight went out of her and she slumped. He touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should have left them in storage. I didn’t know.”

  Her eyes were bright with tears when she glanced back at him. “No, I’m glad you found it. I…I’ll go through them tonight. They’ll bring back good memories. Thank you.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He loved every inch of her. Always had. He loved the fiery Bree and this soft, vulnerable Bree even more. He took her chin in his fingers, tilted her face up, and brought his lips down to hers.

  You can’t control everything

  * * *

  This was completely and utterly unacceptable.

  Yet, Bree found she couldn’t free herself from Aidan’s magnetic kiss. His hands were gentle, solid, as they held her arms, but it didn’t matter—it was like invisible grips held her in place. She couldn’t break free.

  Didn’t want to break free.

  His tongue traced her lips, parted them, and she heard herself sigh into his mouth. Her body melted and he pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her.

  All her worries—about him, Henri Moreau, SFI, even Megan and the damn flowers—became like air, floating away. Her mind was a blank, the sensations in her body pure bliss.

  It had been too long since she’d experienced Aidan’s touch. Much too long since she’d let herself relax in his competent hands. Forever since she’d tuned out the churning, over-analyzing parts of her brain in favor of feeling.

  One of his hands moved up her spine, a slow, delicious teasing heat. As his tongue swept deeply into her mouth, that hand gripped the back of her neck, his thumb massaging the taut muscles there.

  She was angry, so, so angry. At him, the CIA, Henri Moreau. She was even angry at the Russians. Uncle Martin. Everything was wrong, out of her control.

  Especially Aidan. She thrust her tongue into his mouth as if to tell him so. She hated being out-of-control, hated the anger burning like a flame inside her. But it was mixed with something else, something that only Aidan seemed able to ignite.

  If he was working for the CIA again, there was no way she’d be able to convince him to go to work for Shadow Force instead. Her mission was a bust, damn him.

  Without a successful mission, she had nothing to go back to Beatrice with. She might as well stay and run the spa.

  Kill me now.

  Sometimes it felt like the world was conspiring against her. That she was fighting a war she could never win, and she was so damn tired.

  Aidan's mouth broke from hers, his lips trailing kisses along her jaw line, to her earlobe. His strong hands felt good, as if he were hanging onto her in a way that kept the world at bay, pushing that invisible war she was always fighting with herself away. “God, I've missed you."

  The tight band around her chest eased. “Why?”

  He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, a question there. “Why? Because I haven't touched you in almost two years."

  “You have Megan."

  His brows slammed together. "What are you talking about?"

  "It's okay." She tried to keep her voice steady, failed. He truly seemed confused. “The flowers? I heard her and Candace talking. I know you sent them to her.”

  He threw his head back and laughed heartily. "There's nothing going on between us, although she’d like there to be. The flowers are a long story, but Cliff notes, I nearly killed her this morning. She doesn't like chocolate, and I don't know her well enough beyond that to know what she does like, so I sent a simple holiday arrangement to say I'm sorry. That's all."

  “Oh.” It had sure seemed like more, but she couldn't blame Megan for pining after Aidan. Even though he irritated the snot out of her, she found she didn't want him interested in another woman. Selfish of her, for sure, considering how poorly she’d treated him.

  She studied his face, spreading her hands over his chest. Underneath her palm she could feel the strong heartbeat. “Why would you miss me when I'm such a bitch? I've treated you like crap."

  His confusion seemed to deepen. “That road runs both ways. I haven't exactly been a supportive husband."

  Her voice came out raspy. “You traded yourself for me. You saved my life. I never even said thank you."

  "I would do the same again."

  So matter-of-fact. That was that. He didn't even have to think about it.

  This was so not the time to discuss their relationship, or what had happened in Russia, and yet every time she opened her mouth, that's where she went. "I wouldn't let you. I shouldn't have then, but…thank you. What you did for me, I’ll never forget it."

  A knowing smile. “Then, you'll never forget me, no matter how long you stay away, or how far you run."

  He was still holding onto her, anchoring her and keeping her worries from devouring her like they usually did. His lips had been so soft, so gentle. She wanted to touch them with her fingertips, outline them with her tongue.

  Shaking started in her body, first in her chest, making her heartbeat jump and skip. It spread down her arms, her fingers. One of her hands slid over his white shirt, up his neck, finding the pulse there. Her throat burned with more words than she should say, more apologies, but she squeezed her eyes shut. There was still anger in her, but underneath that, fear. Just like when she discovered he’d traded himself, that he was going to endure torture and pain at the hands of Boris Vaslov, possibly death, because of her.

  Fear was harder to deal with, anger was a good friend.

  But right now, the anger was a slow burn, not the hot flame she needed to push him away. She wanted to bring him closer, feel his heat, banish that fear.

  He had survived Vaslov; she had as well. Years before, he’d been there to obliterate her fear, her grief, after her mother died. He blotted it all away.

  He had that skill, even now. As she opened her eyes, she saw the look on his face, beckoning her to abandon it and let him stoke a different fire.

  But why? “You didn't answer my question.”

  He knew what she was asking, knew the words she wanted to hear, even if she wouldn't believe them. “Yes, I have. You know damn well why I've done the things I have for you, why I would again. I love you, Bree McNamara. I've loved you from the moment I saw you, and I will never stop, even when they put me in the grave.”

  The shaking spread to her belly, down her legs. “That’s the part I don’t understand. Why me? Why would you”—anyone—“love me?”

  He quirked his head. “You’re the most beautiful, intelligent, amazing woman I’ve ever met. Why wouldn’t I be head over heels in love with you?”

  Her parents and Uncle Martin were the only ones who’d ever loved her. At least that she could remember. Both grandparents had died when she was too little to recall them; and even her father had died in the line of duty when she was only seven. Her memories of him were fuzzy, her mother becoming her lifeline at such a young age.

  Aidan ran a finger along her jawline, down her neck. Tiny sparks ignited along her spine, her body very aware of the hand that rested on her lower back. “I just wish you l
oved me back.”

  I do. She wanted to say the words, but they stuck in her throat, her mouth working in silence. “You righted my world more than once, and I will always appreciate that, truly I do, but you betrayed me in the field. We had a plan to handle that Russian spy ring and you went over my head with Moreau—Chardy—and blew the entire mission.”

  Shutters came down over his eyes, but his voice was still caring as he said, “What happened with the Russians was a bad call on my part and I wish I could take it back. All I can do is try to make it up to you and my country.”

  “Is that what you’re doing now? Trying to correct past damage by working with the Agency on whatever this undercover mission is?”

  “I would do anything for you, anytime, anywhere. That will never change. ”

  Except tell her about his current operation or why he was working for the CIA again. “You’re dodging my question. Did you ever actually leave, or was that a lie too? Have you been working for them all this time?”

  A deep sigh, a wry smile. “It’s one mission, Bree, that’s all. I do this and I’m done. I work for your uncle, and I will continue to do so after this, unless you want me to leave. Like I said before, I’ll pack my bags and go if you just give me twenty-four hours to see this through. I’ll…” He hesitated as if it pained him to say the next words. “I’ll sign the divorce papers. I’ll promise to never cross your path again.”

  One mission. One terribly important mission if he was willing to agree to all of that.

  What would make him give up on their marriage? Her heart did another skip, but this one in fear. Fear of losing him, never seeing him again.

  “Why you?” she asked. “What makes you the expert on this particular assignment that they couldn’t find someone else to do it?”

  He didn’t answer, his gaze falling to her lips, as if memorizing their shape, their taste. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that.”

  He didn’t have to. Sudden insight made her catch her breath, take a step back. He let her, his arms falling open, hands landing on her elbows. “Bree—”

  “It’s the Russians, isn’t it?” she demanded. “It’s the spy ring, round two. You and Moreau—Chardy, I mean. You’re both going after them again.”

  His lips firmed—her only answer.

  “Holy shit! They’re here?” Her stomach threatened to bottom out. “What the hell are they doing in Texas?”

  The spy ring they’d gone after during their joint tenure in the CIA had been seeded twenty years ago in a small suburb of Arlington, VA. She and Aidan had been nearly five thousand miles away in Moscow when they’d discovered the spy ring’s plans.

  “There’s no one you need to worry about in this location. You and your uncle are safe.”

  In this location.

  Safe was relative.

  While Aidan had an uncanny ability to make her feel safe, knowing he was working to uncover the same spy ring, the same basic mission to track them down, terrified her. “Are you crazy?” Vaslov’s face flashed across her mind, her stomach now cramping. “They know who you are! Besides the fact you can’t run a sanctioned CIA mission on US soil…”

  He released her completely and held her accusatory gaze without so much as blinking.

  “It isn’t sanctioned,” she said, her stomach finally hitting the floor. “They brought you in to run an unsanctioned mission, knowing you would do it to make up for the goatfuck that happened in Russia, and if you fail, they’ll deny any involvement.”

  Not a hint of confirmation. Not a hint of emotion. Nothing showed on his face or in his eyes. “You’re jumping to a lot of conclusions.”

  “Well, here’s one more for you. We’re practically sitting on the Mexican border, so my guess is this group of Russian spies is sneaking over the border and you know where, when, and how many. You’ve been following them, seeing where they end up, and your new friend, Chardy, is here to work the final sting…getting them to come out of hiding. What’s he offering them? What kind of intelligence?”

  Stoic silence.

  “Goddammit, Aidan. Talk to me. Tell me what the hell is going on.”

  He reached out to touch her cheek. “You worry too much. Everything’s fine.”

  She jerked back. “The hell it is. If something goes sideways, you could end up branded a traitor. Or in prison right here in the good ol’ US of A. Or worse, dead.”

  He skirted around her, heading for the elevator. “I see your confidence in me is as high as ever.” He punched the button and the doors opened. Two steps and he was inside. “Do you remember who trained me?”

  Frustrated beyond measure, she placed her balled fists on her hips and marched over to face him, planting her feet. “I did.”

  “One of the best in the business.” That wry smile surfaced. “And in that case, you should know you have nothing to worry about.”

  He winked.

  The doors slid shut on his grin.

  Five

  Never stop thinking about ways to solve a problem

  * * *

  The elevator was about to start its descent, Aidan’s lips still tingling with the feel of Bree’s mouth, when the doors slid open and she barreled into the space, knocking him backward.

  “You don’t get to do that,” she said, hitting the stop button and squaring her shoulders. Her eyes sparked with anger and arousal. “You don’t get to dump all that on me and just leave.”

  “I know it’s a lot, Bree, but—”

  The next thing he knew, she threw herself at him, her lips cutting off his words.

  His body reacted instinctively, throwing up a hell yeah. His arms went around her, crushing her to his chest and lifting her off the ground.

  It was like the homecoming kiss she’d given him when he’d finally made it back to the States. During his time in the Navy, he’d seen friends and comrades receive these kinds of welcomes from wives and girlfriends, but there’d never been that type of welcome home for him. As a SEAL, his returns had usually been under the radar. Same when he was a spy.

  Except for one.

  He’d been hobbled with a broken ankle, the wounds from the torture he’d survived still fresh. The medical care he’d received on the flight home had been extensive but he’d barely been able to make it off the C-17 transport plane without being carried. It had taken every ounce of grit he had to stand and walk down those steps.

  But he had. He’d come home with his head up and his dignity intact.

  Seeing what waited for him on the tarmac had made the pain of maneuvering the steps worth it. Sunlight had caught in Bree’s coppery hair as it blew in the breeze. She’d sprinted across the distance, shoving at the hands that tried to hold her back away, and jumped into his arms.

  She’d nearly felled him, her weight and momentum threatening to collapse his ankle, even with the air cast boot. But my God, the feel of her in his arms…

  Just like now. In that prison, all he’d thought about was holding her, kissing her. For the past two years, he’d gone down that same rabbit hole over and over again, never able to get her out of his mind, from under his skin.

  Whirling her around, he trapped her against the wall of the elevator, deep diving with his tongue into her generous mouth. Her tongue teased his, her fingers raked through his short hair. One leg wrapped around his thigh as she arched to meet his ardent kiss.

  His lips moved to her neck, teeth nipping her earlobe before slipping lower, drawing a moan from her throat. She tipped her head, granting access, her light floral perfume teasing his nostrils. “Oh, Aidan,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  He held her tight, anchoring her hips against him as he dropped his lips to her collarbone, the dip of her satin dress between her breasts. Her hips bucked, her hands gripped his shirt lapels, ran down his ribs.

  Her skin was creamy and soft, his tongue making light swirls over the swelling mounds peeking above the material. He cupped the underside of one luscious mound, pressing it up, his tongue sliding
under the material, licking her through the gauzy fabric of her bra.

  She gasped and he flicked his tongue over her pert nipple, ready to carry her back into the suite. He wanted his first time with her after their drought to be special, memorable. Not some quickie—although, God knew his body was like a pubescent teenager and that might be the best he could manage—against the inside of an elevator. He wanted to strip her down slowly, relish every inch of skin, make her beg for more.

  Beep, beep, beep.

  The alarm cut through the daze he felt, lost in her body. After sixty seconds of being stopped, the elevator always sounded a warning.

  “What is…that?” she breathed, her voice low and throaty.

  “Nothing.” He kept giving her light, quick kisses. In the security office, Joey was probably getting his rocks off watching from the hidden camera. “Don’t worry about it.”

  He hit the button to release it and the doors closed behind them.

  But the mood was broken, at least for Bree, and Aidan’s nightmare came crashing back. “What am I doing?” she remarked, drawing away from him. Her fingers covered her lips, her head shaking in disbelief. “What the hell am I doing?”

  Shit. Here came the overthinking, the self-loathing. “Kissing your husband,” he said, “and making him a very happy man.”

  She walked toward the table with the box sat, bracing her hands as she stared out the window. “This isn't like me."

  It struck him the wrong way. "Isn't it? I seem to recall a weekend in Vegas when you were trying to numb yourself and we ended up married. I'd like to believe my charm had something to do with that, but you have to admit, you're good at jumping first and asking questions later."

  He expected her to whirl around with a sarcastic retort, but she kept her back to him. One of her hands toyed with the lid of the box. “We’re still on for dinner, right?"

  How many times could she surprise him in one day?

  Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. He did a mental fist pump. “Whatever you want, I'm at your disposal."