Page 49 of Even If the Sky is Falling
Suddenly, he pulled his chair forward so that he sat directly in front of her. Only a couple inches separated their knees as he leaned forward, piercing her with a glare. “Mynation?” he asked.
Ah, shit.
“You know what I meant,” Shea said quickly, brushing a curl behind her ear.
“And what’s your outfit called? Castro’s Cuties? Havana’s Honeypots?”
“How incredibly offensive, Agent Roberts,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I’d hate to think that’s how you view women.”
Nick narrowed his eyes as he rubbed his chin. “My apologies, Ms. Perez.”
“Ms. Parsons.”
“I tailed you to the café where you meet with Mateo.”
Shea crossed her arms across her chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Nick leaned with his forearms against his knees, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her skirt. “It was raining when you rushed across Dupont Circle. You wore a dress, not unlike the one you’re wearing today, except it was red. Because no matter how much you blend into your new American life, you can’t let go of your Communist past, can you?”
Shea’s eyes darted back to Nick in fascination as he spun his little tale. He was really getting into this... And she was getting more and more turned on. She imagined herself in Washington, DC, running through the rain, trying to look cool while looking for the next message from her handler, a dead drop under a park bench perhaps.
“You stopped on Connecticut Avenue, under an awning for The Newsroom. You shook out your umbrella and fluffed your curls in spite of the heavy humidity. Mateo chose The Newsroom, didn’t he? But you wanted something nicer, more upscale. A place as pretty as you. A bistro to eat small cakes and drink even smaller cups of espresso. But you go where he tells you to go...where thesyndicatetells you to go. Sometimes he meets you inside with a cold sandwich and stale coffee. Other times, he just leaves you messages inLe Monde.But he didn’t meet you, or leave a message yesterday.”
Fully wrapped up in Nick’s story, Shea found herself leaning forward. “What happened to Mateo?”
Nick
Yes, what happened to Mateo, indeed...Nick didn’t know where he was going with this diatribe, but he loved how into it Shea appeared. Her expression was full of wonder and curiosity as he described his favorite convenience store in Washington, DC. Years back, when he went to Howard, he stopped at The Newsroom to pick up a number of international magazines and newspapers. And while he didn’t read French, he still picked up a copy ofLe Mondefor him and his Senegalese roommate to pour over.
It shocked him how easy it felt to slip into another character. He loved how she just fell into the game as well. After all the books he’d thumbed through, it made perfect sense for Shea to be a Cuban spy. She was certainly gorgeous enough to be a femme fatale moonlighting as a secretary.
“Mateo is dead.”
Shea’s eyes widened, but he could tell she searched her mind for her next line. She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping in resignation. “Was it you?” she asked.
Nick shook his head. “No. Believe it or not, Langley didn’t take him out.”
“But Langley offered him a deal, right?” she asked, leaning forward. “And you’re going to offer me the same deal, Agent Roberts.”
“Is that a question or a demand?”
“It’s reality,” Shea replied in a dry tone. “Mateo was a double agent, and apparently not a good one. He had been here longer than I, but got soft and enjoyed the comforts your decadent nation offered. The fact that no one from home has informed me of his now...vacated post, leads me to believe I’m next.” She looked him up and down with a shrewd gaze that made Nick shockingly hard.
Goddamn...He could imagine her in some sparsely furnished safe house, going over her options in her head, while inching her way toward a hidden revolver. Nick was so preoccupied with the thought of her trying to kill him for Castro, he almost didn’t hear her speak.
“Isn’t that what you believe?” she asked, pulling him from his thoughts. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”
Nick danced his fingertips along the fabric hugging her thighs. He imagined untying her dress at the waist like a ribbon on a present, unwrapping what he most desired. Shea let out a soft exhale and leaned back on his mattress as his hand moved to the hem at her knees. “You think I have a deal to offer you?”
“I hate repeating myself,” Shea said, letting her thighs fall open just a few inches. His hand slipped to the inside of her leg, stroking the soft skin at her knee. “I’ll take the same deal, plus the added bonus of citizenship and witness protection. I’ve been here too long and I can’t go back home. Mateo has now made that impossible.”
Nick tried not to stare at the way her hem rode up her thighs as she sat on his bed. He was still in character, he was supposed to interrogate her. But evenheknew that the US government frowned upon an agent caressing the enemy’s legs. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop touching her. She was too soft, too inviting. “Ms. Perez—”
“—Vera.”
He met her gaze and licked his lips. The bunker suddenly felt very warm. He pulled at the collar of his T-shirt and cleared his throat. “Vera. What you’re asking for—what you want—is very serious.” Nick tested the waters by pushing forward. Sliding his palms upward until his fingers disappeared under her blue dress. “I can’t take your demands to my superiors without some assurances.”
Shea breathed deeply and let her head tip to her shoulder. Her eyes fell shut as his hands roamed freely. He could tell his touch was pulling her out of her character in a good way. It delighted him to see her loosened up, to hear her soft panting, to feel her warm skin. “How would you like me to assure you, Agent Roberts?” she asked with a sigh.
