Page 48 of Lone Spy

His forehead rests against the door with a subtle thunk. "You know why." That pain I saw in his face this morning in the hospital—the one that convinced me something had changed—is in his voice now.

"Tell me."

"Angela." My name is a groan. And I fucking love it.

"I wanted to kill—" I don't realize I'm speaking, that I'm about to spill that terrifying truth until I'm halfway through the sentence. I clamp my jaw shut on the rest of it. I was about to tell him about Martin. About my sick fantasy. That I can't stop thinking about. That I can't stop wanting.

The muscles in Ash’s back bunch as he turns so I can see his profile. But he’s still not looking at me. "Who?" he asks, his tone pure menace.I will kill them for you.

Attraction wracks through me so rough it steals my ability to answer. Ash’s jaw ticks with impatience. He swallows, breathes, visibly relaxes—gets himself back under control. Fuck.

My phone vibrates on the bathmat. I tear my gaze from Ash to check the screen. It's Synthia.

Ash opens the door and disappears through it. Not so fast that it's fleeing, but a hell of a lot quicker than he came in here. I pull the dripping wine glass from the bubbles, placing it back on the rim of the tub.

The phone quiets as I’m grabbing my own towel—which was in very easy grabbing distance if we're being totally honest. Wrapped in the thick terry cloth, my hair pinned up so that it didn't get wet, my skin dewy from the humid air in the room, I swipe my phone open and return Synthia's call.

"Angela," she answers on the first ring.

"Hey," I say, tears suddenly choking me. Fuck. The adrenaline broke through the numbness, and I don’t have anything to stop this now. But I don’t have time to lose it. I have the Italian premiere, and I cannot put Zade in a position where they have to deal with puffy eyesandthroat bruises. It's just not right.

"Oh sweetie." The tenderness in her voice undoes me. I sniffle, trying to hold back, but there is no stemming this tide. Tears well, blur my vision, and then release; heat tracks down my already hot cheeks. "It's okay," Synthia says. "I'm right here, you go ahead and cry. You deserve a good cry." Synthia's voice fuzzes, and her next words are lost. Then silence. The phone dropped the call.

I try to contain the sob welling in my chest but it breaks free, loud, ugly, honest. The part of my mind always focused on my craft takes note of how deep in my body the pain welled up from, how sore my chest is from the ache of holding it back, and how good it feels to let it out.

The sound echoes in the marble space, loud and undeniable. A bundle of tangled emotions exploding like a bomb.

The door flies open, hitting the stopper built into the marble floor hard enough that it bounces back and knocks Ash's forearm. He takes up the entire doorway, eyes etched with concern and fully focused on me. Candlelight plays across his features.

I'm startled into silence. Standing on the bathmat, one hand holding the phone, the other clutching my towel to my chest. We stare at each other. His eyes track the tears on my cheeks, find the pain in my gaze.

It only takes two long strides for him to be so close I have to tip my head to look up at him. Without my shoes, Ash towers over me. His eyes flick across my face, his expression looks at once fierce and lost.

The man wants to solve this problem and he isn't sure how. "I'm okay," I say. He shakes his head, refusing my lie.

My lip trembles, the emotions welling again. He startled them to a pause but they are still there, and they want out. I want to scream, to tear at something.I want to feel blood pouring over my hand while I steal a man’s life.

I blink and tears fall. Ash reaches up, swiping at them with his thumbs, cradling my face like he did last night.

His hands are so big, so gentle. I refuse to believe I'm not safe with him. Does he know that he is loyal to only me now? He nods as if answering my question.

I close my eyes, unleashing more tears. Giant arms come around me, sweep me up so that I'm cradled against Ash's chest. Held firmly yet my injured arm is free—the burn and its bandage are not pressed to anything, even as the rest of me is engulfed. His lips brush my forehead and the tenderness is what gets me. What lets the emotion break all the way free.

I grip his shirt and the storm hits. Sobs wrack me. Ash’s hold is tight and tender. "I'm here," he promises me, his voice rumbling under my ear. "You're safe. I'm right here."

ChapterTwenty

Yellow light spillsthrough the large windows in dull rectangles. The rest of my bedroom is a dark sepia. Temperance's smile is a slash of white. His long legs and broad shoulders are sharp lines in the murk. I suck in a breath, clutch my hand to my chest. "Jesus," I say. "You trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Nothing so dramatic," he purrs.

I flick on the overhead light, illuminating the luxuriously appointed bedroom—the king bed with its earth-toned sheets and gilded headboard, the crystal sconces, the terracotta walls. Italian elegance at its best. Temperance in his suit with its subtle pinstripe and modern lines looks so reasonable and powerful sitting there, as if this is his bedroom and I'm the interloper.

"Yeah," I say as I slip out of my heels. "You're not dramatic at all, hiding in my bedroom like a creeper." Turning to the dresser, I start to take off my jewelry—one diamond stud, then the other. Temperance moves behind me, his footfalls quiet on the thick carpeting.

"Help me with my necklace?" I say, sweeping my hair over my right shoulder so that he can reach the clasp. Breath caresses my bare neck, steady fingers grip the latch. It gives easily and he parts the heavy choker—which combined with Zade's expertise kept the bruises around my throat hidden from the public. Temperance brings it forward, his wrists bracketing my neck.

I take it, setting the heavy diamond-encrusted necklace in the velvet case along with the earrings. Temperance drifts away. Staring at the sparkling collar, I’m reminded of my grandmother’s story of arriving in America with just her own grandmother’s gold necklace to pay her way. It was a chain that reached to the center of her chest when she arrived at Ellis Island. Grandma had two links left when she showed them to me soon after my parents’ funeral.

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