Page 49 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
“Not desperate. Eager.” Her pulse jumped under his lips when he pressed them to her throat. “I’d take my time with you and find all the places that make you gasp. The ones that make you beg. And when you’re shaking . . . when you can’t remember your own name . . .” He brushed his mouth against hers, not quite a kiss. Just a whisper of contact that had her leaning toward him. “. . . I’ll show you what it means to be worshipped until you forget you were ever anything but holy.”
Her eyelids fluttered closed. For a moment, she surrendered. Softened beneath him.
And then he fucked it all up.
“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered against her lips, “and I’ll make it worth your while. For every question you answer about the Syndicate, I’ll give you pleasure.”
The change was immediate. Her entire body went rigid, and the softness in her eyes hardened.
Shit.
“Trouble—”
“Get off me,” she said, shoving at his chest.
Callahan moved back. She scrambled from the bed and grabbed her clothes, yanking them on with quick, angry movements.
“I’m going to my cabin. If you try to chain me again, trust that I won’t tell you a damn thing.”
“That came out wrong.” Callahan raked a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”
“No.” Isabel straightened, fully dressed now, and pinned him with a look so cutting he almost flinched. “You meant exactly what you said. I’m worth more to you as an informant than a woman.”
She slammed the door behind her.
“Well done, you absolute fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself.
15
Isabel paced the deck as the ship approached the harbour.
For days now, she’d been avoiding Callahan. Every time he’d knocked on her cabin door, she’d slammed it in his face. She’d mapped the entire ship – every shadowy corner, every hidden alcove – just to disappear whenever she spotted him.
She hated to admit how much his words hurt her. The idea that he was just using her for information. For hismission.
But maybe she should be grateful, too. It was a reminder of who they were to each other.
Isabel leaned against the ship’s railing, salt spray misting her face as Boston’s harbour came into view.
A warm hand settled on her shoulder. “Izzy?”
The tension went out of her at Emma’s voice.
“Are you all right?” her sister asked.
Isabel forced a smile. “I’m counting the minutes until we’re off this floating prison.”
Emma fidgeted, brushing her pale blonde hair behind her ear. She wore a lovely pink travelling dress that suited her new alias and station – Genevieve, the soon-to-be Countess of Kent.
“You know James and I will be here for you, yes? Just say the word and—”
“No. We have to stay apart for your safety. As far as the world is concerned, you’re Genevieve Hamilton, heiress eloping with an earl. No previous attachments.” A cynical twist of her lips. “It won’t be any different from when you didn’t hear from me for a year.”
Emma flinched. Hurt flashed across her face, but she said nothing.
At least her sister knew Isabel hadn’t abandoned her. The year she went quiet, she’d been with Favreau, then Hong Kong, then fleeing wherever her feet could take her.
Keeping Emma safe had always meant pretending she didn’t exist.
