Page 72 of Lone Spy

"Angela," Ash uses that tone again and this time it makes me want to cry. "You can trust me."

I nod, forcing the burning behind my eyes to subside.Puppies playing with a roll of toilet paper. A panda bear doing somersaults."I know I can trust you.” I reach out to touch Ash, trying to soothe him, to make him forget he's sure I'm hiding something.

When my fingers connect with his wrist a spark sizzles between us. "I know," I say again, my voice quieter. The tone you'd use in church to confess your sins. But I won't admit my blood lust to Ash.

Ash turns his hand and twines his fingers with mine, surprising me. I had to move to the edge of my seat to reach out to him. My feet on the fire-warmed rug, arm extended, fingers now trapped…held by his.

He's staring down at our joined hands. I follow his focus. My nails are painted a pretty pink—they're long enough to bead blood but short enough they don't get in my way every time I pick up a fork. Ash's fingers end in blunt, naked nails, his fingers thick and rough. Mine slender, soft.

"You're stronger than you think you are," Ash says without breaking his gaze from our fingers. "I'm sorry you have to use so much of your strength to hide from everyone."

He looks up at me then, and I'm not ready for Ash's gaze. I'm staring at him, my masks all forgotten. He held me while I sobbed and never said a word about it. He carried me. Followed me. "I'm sorry you have to hide too," I say.

Ash blinks, surprised by my response. We stare at each other, our fingers interlaced, the electricity between us crackling louder than the fire in the hearth.

ChapterThirty

I lean forward,my body in sync with the galloping mare under me. Each hoof fall is a beat in the rhythm of our dance. My gloved fingers are wrapped in her mane, the wind whipping it against the bared skin at my wrists. My cheeks ache from how hard I'm smiling.

The mare slows to a trot as we reach the top of the hillside. She snorts, slowing to a walk, stretching her neck down. I reach forward to pat her—strong muscle under soft fur. "Good girl," I huff, my breath catching up with us still. "That was amazing." An urge to wrap my arms around her almost unbalances me.

The mare’s name is Dream, which is so fitting. She is gray with a black and white mane, gentle brown eyes, and a powerful body. "Dream's a sweetheart," the groom, a deep-voiced, big-bellied man with auburn hair had assured me. "She will take good care of yen."

And she had. We'd been exploring the grounds of the castle for the last hour, Omar on a black Friesian named Falcon and me on Dream. We'd mostly walked until this hill, where Omar told me they usually canter to the top.

Dream had begun to prance, excited for the fun. Omar held back his mount, waiting for my agreement, and when I grinned at him and leaned forward, Dream took off like a shot. I grabbed her mane, and she carried me to the top of this hill—it felt like flying.

Omar's horse slows to a walk next to us. He's grinning as big as me. "You seem to be remembering how to ride," he says.

I laugh, leaning forward to pat Dream's neck again. "She's taking very good care of me."

Omar nods. He looks so handsome on his dark steed, the Scottish countryside rolling behind him. We are on a well-groomed trail. "I'm happy to see you enjoying yourself so fully," Omar says, his dark eyes roaming over my face, his own smile broad.

"Thank you," I say, "for inviting me. This is amazing." The trail dips down and into a wooded area, the tall evergreens casting chilling shadows. I'm glad for the thick tweed riding outfit that was found for me. It fits very well—they must keep one in every size for guests. Which is wild. Unlike the landscape here, which is as tamed as Dream.

The path through the forest is just wide enough for us to ride side by side. "Have you thought about what we discussed last night?" Omar asks, his tone even, as if we didn't discuss my lead protector betraying me last night.

"Yes," I say. "Of course I've thought about it." I worry my lower lip. His focus falls to it just the way I planned. We come out of the woods and back out under the cloud-thickened sky. A wind whips over the grassy hill, ruffling the short green blades, and tugging at my braid. "I appreciate your offer to help. I do."

"But…"

I look over at him, letting a sad smile tug at my lips. "I don't think you can help me. No one can."

"You're in grave danger. I can provide protection."

"How?" I ask, meeting his gaze.

"Be with me."

"Be with you?"

"I could keep you safe."

"Omar, I have a life. I'm going back to LA tomorrow. I have more promotion to do for my current film and am committed to my next project."

"I would never ask you to give up your work." He sounds almost insulted, but there is something else in his tone. He'd never ask me to give it up. But if I wanted to give it up…if I wanted to let him take care of me, he would. "But I would gladly provide security for you. If you were under my protection, there would be serious consequences if you were hurt.”

"Omar, that's…" I'm not sure what it is. Sweet? Crazy? Confusing? "I don't know what to say."

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