Page 27 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
It shouldn’t have mattered what this man thought of her. She’d forfeited the right to care about anything so fragile as pride the day she’d first let Favreau press a priceless necklace into her palm and a possessive kiss to the inside of her wrist. When she’d weighed her precious scruples against her family’s needs and made her choice.
And damned herself in the choosing.
“Sorry to disappoint. I’m afraid I’m all out of feather beds and champagne at the moment.” With a sharp twist of her hips, Isabel broke his hold and danced out of reach. “I know my hospitality leaves something to be desired at present, but needs must.”
Callahan glared at her, his hand clamped over the bloodstain spreading across his shoulder. Even in the dark – dishevelled and radiating murderous intent – he was so damn beautiful it hurt to look at him.
Callahan’s icy gaze raked over her. Isabel tried not to fidget. She was aware she hardly looked her best these days. There were dark circles under her eyes, a gauntness to her cheeks. She’d lost weight. Each mark was a tally of the slow, brutal war she’d been fighting. The cost of betrayal was etched across her body.
The woman he’d fucked in a Hong Kong hotel room had eroded piece by piece until only this remained – a cornered, feral thing.
“Christ, Trouble. You look like a stiff breeze would knock you arse over teakettle. When’s the last time you had a proper meal and not just the memory of one?”
“Why, Agent, I didn’t realise you cared. Here I thought you were only interested in collecting the bounty on my head and hauling me in front of a magistrate.”
“Among other things.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me. When you scarpered off with my clothes in Hong Kong and left me bare-arsed in the street . . . is that how you treat all the men foolish enough to fall into your bed?”
She couldn’t exactly tell him that it had killed her to leave him like that in Hong Kong. That playing the part of the confidence artist withered a small corner of her heart.
But so had hearing his words.
Temporary madness. That’s what he’d called fucking her. As if they hadn’t been circling each other like two predators in the woods for years.
But she donned that mask again because this man was her walking ruin.
“Oh no. You’re special,” she said, winking. “I’ve never taken my pleasure without an escape route planned.”
Callahan didn’t smile. His hand drifted down to toy with the blade sheathed at his hip – an unsubtle warning. “Careful,” he said softly. “This time, I won’t hesitate to use it.”
“What happened to that famous English chivalry?”
“Must have left it in my other coat. The one you chucked in Victoria Harbour.”
She shrugged. “Then I suppose we’re even. And you’ve long since ruined any chance at getting me on my back again.”
The way his pupils flared said he remembered every filthy, glorious second of having her naked and spread beneath him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped, a flush crawling up her neck.
“Like what?” Now, he gave her that grin that made her heart give a little stutter. “Like I’ve already had you? The memory of you coming on my cock is seared into my brain, Trouble.”
He was lethal. The way he wielded seduction like a weapon.
“We both know you’re not here for a tumble,” she said.
“Alas, business before pleasure. I’m on the hunt for a person of interest. An Isabel Dumont, to be precise. Dark blonde hair, green-eyed, and petite. Looks and behaviour resemble an internationally notorious thief of my intimate acquaintance, come to think.”
Non. Non. Non. Bon Dieu.
Hearing her real name on Ronan Callahan’s lips sent a jolt of dread through her. Because of course, he was tenacious enough to discover her identity. Of course, he couldn’t leave it alone.Of bloody course, he’d show up again at exactly the wrong moment when she needed to run as far and fast as possible.
This was why she’d left him in Hong Kong. Caring was an extravagance she couldn’t afford. Not anymore.
Breathe. Shove up the walls.
Pretend like you always do.
She arched a brow and kept her tone flat. Bored. “And what has this Miss Dumont done to inspire Her Majesty’s hound to chase her through London?”
