Page 52 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
“Excellent. Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll telegram Wentworth to let him know you’ve arrived. Callahan, please see yourself out.”
She left the room.
Isabel curled her fingers into her dress as Callahan stood. This was it. He was leaving, and she was going to have to let him.
“Miss Dumont,” he said, standing and walking to the door. “It’s been a pleasure. Have a nice life.”
“Wait.”
The word slipped free before she could stop it.
His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn.
There were so many things she wanted to tell him. An apology for Hong Kong. An explanation for why she fled the way she did. All the secrets she’d kept buried beneath her skin like shrapnel. How weeks after she ran, when her ship finally docked and she found what she was looking for, she’d spent three days huddled in a ball on a stranger’s floor, bleeding and crying and so damn sorry for hurting him.
The words stuck behind her teeth. She couldn’t say them aloud, not today. Maybe not ever.
But she could give him something else.
“You asked for one real thing,” she said quietly. “And I was never honest during any of the times we met. But I wanted you to know that what happened in that bed in Hong Kong was real for me. It was the first time I’d—” She broke off, exhaling sharply. “You were the first man I ever wanted.”
He turned and stared at her for a long moment. His eyes were storm-dark, hungry in a way that made her thighs press together. She knew that look. Had seen it in Hong Kong, in Athens, and over and over again in her dreams. Then he strode over to her and grabbed the front of her dress.
“Agent—”
His lips crushed against hers, stealing whatever she might have said next. Not gentle. Not sweet. His teeth scraped her bottom lip, and she tasted copper.
He murmured against her mouth, “Open.”
She did.
Callahan’s tongue slid against hers. He gripped her hair with his other hand until her scalp stung, but she didn’t care. Pain, pleasure – they blurred with him. Always had.
She clutched his coat, fingers digging in as if she could somehow keep him there. Just a few more seconds. Just until she had control over herself and could let him go without breaking apart.
His kiss was almost violent in its intensity. Bruising. And she yielded, surrendering for this moment before he had to leave. She’d store this away with every other stolen memory between them – Athens, New York, Hong Kong, the pleasure he gave her on the steamer.
Her collection of things that weren’t meant to be hers.
In two days, she’d hate herself for this weakness. In two hours, she’d stare at the ceiling and reimagine every second. But right now, with his heart pounding against hers, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Callahan’s kiss tasted like goodbye.
His breath was hot against her mouth when he pulled back. Chest rising hard against hers. He leaned in, lips brushing her ear.
“Don’t run from Vale,” he growled. “Don’t make me hunt you down, little thief. Because I’ll find you. Always.”
He pressed his mouth to hers one last time. Softer now. Almost gentle.
“Be good,” he whispered.
The door closed behind him quietly, and Isabel touched trembling fingers to her bruised lips.
16
Five months later
Isabel’s fingers tapped restlessly against the window as the carriage navigated London’s streets.
