Page 113 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
Isabel’s lips parted. “You mean you’re—”
Emma smiled. “Not showing yet, but yes.”
“I—” She dabbed at a traitorous tear that threatened to fall. “Tell me everything. When I write.”
“Of course,” Emma said, features softening. “I love you, Izzy. Please take care of yourself.”
Isabel watched her sister melt into the crowd, then dragged her gaze back to Callahan. He hadn’t moved.
She inclined her head.Come here, that gesture said.Come and let me look at you properly.
He came, closing the distance between them until he stood near enough to touch.
“Have you taken to following me again, Agent?”
The formal address sat strangely on her tongue. Ironic, that. As if something in the bedrock of the world hadn’t shifted when she’d stood over Favreau’s cooling corpse. As if the man watching her now wasn’t at least half the reason her moorings had been cut so cleanly away.
Callahan’s lips twitched. “You know me, Trouble. I’ve always been enamoured of shiny things behind glass.”
“And here I thought time might have cured you of your criminal predilections.”
“Oh, I remain a man of questionable morals,” Callahan said, his voice dropping to that low rumble that made her skin tingle. “In fact, right now, I’m thinking about dragging you behind that exhibit and reminding myself how you taste.”
Heat rose in Isabel’s cheeks. She glanced around to see if anyone had heard. A woman in a high-necked gown gave them a suspicious look.
“Behave,” she hissed. “This is a place of academic inquiry, not a den of iniquity. Did you want something specific, or are you just here to torment me?”
He stepped closer. Close enough that she could smell him – whiskey and soap andhim. “When a woman tells a man she loves him and then vanishes for three days, it raises questions.” Another step. “I had to see you. Make sure you hadn’t run off to Paris or wherever the hell you go when you’re avoiding things that scare you.”
Isabel fought the urge to back up. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not scared.”
No, she was terrified. There was a difference.
“Trouble. I know exactly what’s happening in that head of yours. You want to bolt like a scared rabbit.” His thumb brushed her wrist, finding her racing pulse. “But you also want to kiss me until neither of us can breathe. Which is it going to be?”
Isabel went still.
He was right. Some wild, panicked part of her was calculating escape routes. The nearest exit. The crowd she could lose herself in. How quickly she could disappear into London’s maze of streets.
“Running’s the only thing that’s kept me breathing.”
“I know, love.” His fingers slid between hers. “And you’ve protected yourself so well. But you don’t have to be alone anymore.”
She thought of Favreau’s eyes going glassy. The pool of blood spreading beneath him. She’d spent the last three days afraid she’d imagined it. Afraid to settle, to let herself be happy.
“What if I went?” Her voice was barely a breath. “What would you do? Would you let me?”
Callahan’s expression was so tender it cracked her heart wide open. “Yes. And then I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, because where you go, I go. But I’d love it very much if you came home with me.” He dipped his head, his lips skimming her cheek. “Let me show you all the reasons to stay, little thief.”
Heat unfurled low in Isabel’s belly. She could picture it – his flat, his bed, his body over hers. Under hers. His hands everywhere.
“You make it sound so simple,” she whispered.
“Simple? No. Worth it? Absolutely.” His breath was hot against her skin. “My flat, sweetheart. Come on. Let me worship you.”
“Ronan,” she said, swallowing hard. “People are staring.”
His mouth stayed where it was. “I don’t care. Say it, Isabel. Say you’ll come home with me.”
