Prologue
J une 1812, Paris
Emily Masterson lay quietly on the small bed. A screen separated her from her partner who, by the sound of everything, had already awakened and was moving about their small flat. The rich aroma of his tea steeping permeated the little privacy she had in their dwelling. She noted every one of his steps, though he moved quietly.
Despite the long months of training she’d had in London at the prestigious and extremely well-hidden Seven academy, despite the grueling physical training and the brutal mental conditioning, despite all that, she had not been prepared for the intimacy this particular assignment created.
Oh, yes, her instructors had warned that agents assigned together often became quite attached to one another. And Harrison, the head of the Seven himself, had even warned that the intimacy of sharing an assignment sometimes led to physical intimacy as well. So, in a sense, she had been warned. It was simply that she had not been prepared to experience that closeness herself. She had worked very hard to not be a woman of high emotions. Instead, she was tough and analytical. She did not allow sentimentality or physical desire to control her.
So why then had she allowed Remy to kiss her the night before?
She was not one to lie abed all morning, but she wasn’t ready to face him yet, not until she allayed any girlish foolery from their shared embrace. There had been attraction between them since the academy when he’d been one of her instructors. She’d assumed, though, that nothing would happen between them because they were on assignment. They were professionals, and having a physical relationship would only create additional problems.
A chair scraped against the wooden floor, and paper rustled. Remy sat at the tiny excuse of a table with his tea and newspaper. She could not afford to fall into some schoolgirl fancy; they had been tasked with uncovering who had assassinated the prime minister. Failing her first mission for the Seven was not an option, especially for the sake of some heartfelt emotions.
…
Remington Hawthorne whistled as he approached the rented rooms he shared with his fellow member of the Seven. He and Emma Masterson had been on this particular assignment for the past month, and though the assignment itself wasn’t challenging, keeping his hands off Emma was testing every bit of willpower he possessed. Last night he’d failed that miserably. This morning he’d waited as long as he could to try to offer her some explanation for his kiss, but she’d been asleep, so he’d left to follow a lead.
Remy had been shot, taken captive, and hit over the head more times than he could count—physical danger was all part of the job. But he’d never experienced physical desire on any of his assignments, and damned if this wasn’t proving to be worse than any bullet wound.
As much as they both denied it, there was a deep attraction between the two of them. Working so closely on this assignment in Paris had only brought them closer. He’d first met her when she’d gone to the Academy and he had been the one to train her in defense techniques. She’d been the most intelligent spy he’d ever trained, male or female. What she lacked in physical strength, she more than made up for with her cleverness. He’d recognized then that she was attractive, but never thought they’d work together. But here they were in Paris trying to uncover who had assassinated the Prime Minister. They worked closely, slept in the same room, though in different beds. So far, though, he’d been able to resist temptation.
Until last night.
He bent and entered the door, closing it behind him. Their room was comfortable enough with two beds, a writing desk that sat beneath the only window, and a screen where they could get dressed. Emma stood across the room at her makeshift dressing table. She turned at the sound of his approach. “Remy.” She chewed at her lip. It was then that he saw the
J une 1812, Paris
Emily Masterson lay quietly on the small bed. A screen separated her from her partner who, by the sound of everything, had already awakened and was moving about their small flat. The rich aroma of his tea steeping permeated the little privacy she had in their dwelling. She noted every one of his steps, though he moved quietly.
Despite the long months of training she’d had in London at the prestigious and extremely well-hidden Seven academy, despite the grueling physical training and the brutal mental conditioning, despite all that, she had not been prepared for the intimacy this particular assignment created.
Oh, yes, her instructors had warned that agents assigned together often became quite attached to one another. And Harrison, the head of the Seven himself, had even warned that the intimacy of sharing an assignment sometimes led to physical intimacy as well. So, in a sense, she had been warned. It was simply that she had not been prepared to experience that closeness herself. She had worked very hard to not be a woman of high emotions. Instead, she was tough and analytical. She did not allow sentimentality or physical desire to control her.
So why then had she allowed Remy to kiss her the night before?
She was not one to lie abed all morning, but she wasn’t ready to face him yet, not until she allayed any girlish foolery from their shared embrace. There had been attraction between them since the academy when he’d been one of her instructors. She’d assumed, though, that nothing would happen between them because they were on assignment. They were professionals, and having a physical relationship would only create additional problems.
A chair scraped against the wooden floor, and paper rustled. Remy sat at the tiny excuse of a table with his tea and newspaper. She could not afford to fall into some schoolgirl fancy; they had been tasked with uncovering who had assassinated the prime minister. Failing her first mission for the Seven was not an option, especially for the sake of some heartfelt emotions.
…
Remington Hawthorne whistled as he approached the rented rooms he shared with his fellow member of the Seven. He and Emma Masterson had been on this particular assignment for the past month, and though the assignment itself wasn’t challenging, keeping his hands off Emma was testing every bit of willpower he possessed. Last night he’d failed that miserably. This morning he’d waited as long as he could to try to offer her some explanation for his kiss, but she’d been asleep, so he’d left to follow a lead.
Remy had been shot, taken captive, and hit over the head more times than he could count—physical danger was all part of the job. But he’d never experienced physical desire on any of his assignments, and damned if this wasn’t proving to be worse than any bullet wound.
As much as they both denied it, there was a deep attraction between the two of them. Working so closely on this assignment in Paris had only brought them closer. He’d first met her when she’d gone to the Academy and he had been the one to train her in defense techniques. She’d been the most intelligent spy he’d ever trained, male or female. What she lacked in physical strength, she more than made up for with her cleverness. He’d recognized then that she was attractive, but never thought they’d work together. But here they were in Paris trying to uncover who had assassinated the Prime Minister. They worked closely, slept in the same room, though in different beds. So far, though, he’d been able to resist temptation.
Until last night.
He bent and entered the door, closing it behind him. Their room was comfortable enough with two beds, a writing desk that sat beneath the only window, and a screen where they could get dressed. Emma stood across the room at her makeshift dressing table. She turned at the sound of his approach. “Remy.” She chewed at her lip. It was then that he saw the
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