smile around her finger. “You’ve made it clear you’ll talk when you bloody well please. And I, like a civilized person, am digesting.”
Yeah, a half-eaten dinner. Perhaps guilt had ruined his conversation, as well as recollection of his impulsive ex-girlfriend. Tomorrow morning, indeed. This was one spy-girl who’d be on her own by then. Again.
She almost made it without any incident at all. She came out of the bathroom still drying her hands, tossed the towel on the bed, snagged her sling pack and parka, and headed for the door. She caught him flat-footed, but not so flat-footed he couldn’t bound across the room and stiff-arm the door closed just as it was wide enough to slip through.
“Ah, damn,” she muttered. She rested her forehead against the door. “We’ve had this conversation before,” she said. “Remember how it ended?”
“Bugger that,” he said, his harsh breath stirring the hair at the back of her neck, raising goose bumps. He demanded, “Where do you think you’re going?”
At that she whirled to glare at him, very like that moment at the dock. So close…but not close in spirit, oh not at all. “Don’t even try to play that game,” she told him, taking in the cold anger of his gray eyes and not quailing before it, not in the least. “‘Tomorrow morning? See you then?’ What happened? Aren’t you used to women whocan take a fast shower? When were you going to tell me about your little date? Is he bringing drugs for me, or just a new set of handcuffs?”
He came right back at her. “I’m doing my best to protect you, damn it, and that means playing my own people just as much as it means playing you. I might have told you, and I might not have. I wasn’t prepared to make the decision right then.”
“Well, thank you so much for your honesty. Goodbye.” She would have turned, but his hand came off the door and pushed against her shoulder—not quite pinning her there, but making the point.
“Don’t do this,” he said, earnest and angry all at once, and all of it right there on his face, so close to her. “You’re wasting your energy evading me instead of accomplishing anything—”
“—or you accomplishing anything.”
He glared. “Or that. But damn it, I don’t want you out there alone!”
“That’s your problem,” she snapped back at him. “Now let me go, or things will get downright hostile in here!”
He didn’t. He moved in on her, reaching for her. Possessive. Only at the last moment did her fighting brain realize what had happened, and by then her kissing brain was hard at work. By then she’d moved in against him like she’d wanted to since…face it, since those first moments on the dock, fingers clutching his shirt at the shoulders, lips and mouth and tongue busy and happy and thrilling the rest of her body. He cupped the back of her head in one strong hand, protecting her as he pushed her up against the door, capturing her more thoroughly than any MI6 trickiness could ever manage. She didn’t care. She liked it. She reveled in it. Her fingers explored theshort, bristly hair at his nape and then the longer hair above his ears, feeling the texture of curl hidden by the cut. She found the hard-cut muscles of his shoulders, had the impulse to tug his shirt free of his belt—and wasn’t quite quick enough. He slipped a hand down the tight curves of her body, down to her bottom, where he got demanding, pulling her in against him as he rocked into her. She groaned into his mouth, startled by the shock of pleasure.
And then he broke away. Resting his forehead against hers, breathing raggedly and with his fingers clenching in her hair with the effort of the self-control, he said, “There, now you won’t be alone. You’ll bloody well take some part of me with you.”
After a stunned moment, a moment when both her mind and her body gasped in response, she gave a laugh as ragged as his breathing. “Don’t tell me—it’s a new superspy
Yeah, a half-eaten dinner. Perhaps guilt had ruined his conversation, as well as recollection of his impulsive ex-girlfriend. Tomorrow morning, indeed. This was one spy-girl who’d be on her own by then. Again.
She almost made it without any incident at all. She came out of the bathroom still drying her hands, tossed the towel on the bed, snagged her sling pack and parka, and headed for the door. She caught him flat-footed, but not so flat-footed he couldn’t bound across the room and stiff-arm the door closed just as it was wide enough to slip through.
“Ah, damn,” she muttered. She rested her forehead against the door. “We’ve had this conversation before,” she said. “Remember how it ended?”
“Bugger that,” he said, his harsh breath stirring the hair at the back of her neck, raising goose bumps. He demanded, “Where do you think you’re going?”
At that she whirled to glare at him, very like that moment at the dock. So close…but not close in spirit, oh not at all. “Don’t even try to play that game,” she told him, taking in the cold anger of his gray eyes and not quailing before it, not in the least. “‘Tomorrow morning? See you then?’ What happened? Aren’t you used to women whocan take a fast shower? When were you going to tell me about your little date? Is he bringing drugs for me, or just a new set of handcuffs?”
He came right back at her. “I’m doing my best to protect you, damn it, and that means playing my own people just as much as it means playing you. I might have told you, and I might not have. I wasn’t prepared to make the decision right then.”
“Well, thank you so much for your honesty. Goodbye.” She would have turned, but his hand came off the door and pushed against her shoulder—not quite pinning her there, but making the point.
“Don’t do this,” he said, earnest and angry all at once, and all of it right there on his face, so close to her. “You’re wasting your energy evading me instead of accomplishing anything—”
“—or you accomplishing anything.”
He glared. “Or that. But damn it, I don’t want you out there alone!”
“That’s your problem,” she snapped back at him. “Now let me go, or things will get downright hostile in here!”
He didn’t. He moved in on her, reaching for her. Possessive. Only at the last moment did her fighting brain realize what had happened, and by then her kissing brain was hard at work. By then she’d moved in against him like she’d wanted to since…face it, since those first moments on the dock, fingers clutching his shirt at the shoulders, lips and mouth and tongue busy and happy and thrilling the rest of her body. He cupped the back of her head in one strong hand, protecting her as he pushed her up against the door, capturing her more thoroughly than any MI6 trickiness could ever manage. She didn’t care. She liked it. She reveled in it. Her fingers explored theshort, bristly hair at his nape and then the longer hair above his ears, feeling the texture of curl hidden by the cut. She found the hard-cut muscles of his shoulders, had the impulse to tug his shirt free of his belt—and wasn’t quite quick enough. He slipped a hand down the tight curves of her body, down to her bottom, where he got demanding, pulling her in against him as he rocked into her. She groaned into his mouth, startled by the shock of pleasure.
And then he broke away. Resting his forehead against hers, breathing raggedly and with his fingers clenching in her hair with the effort of the self-control, he said, “There, now you won’t be alone. You’ll bloody well take some part of me with you.”
After a stunned moment, a moment when both her mind and her body gasped in response, she gave a laugh as ragged as his breathing. “Don’t tell me—it’s a new superspy
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