Page 17 of Code Name: Reaper
My heart hammered against my ribs, and sweat slicked my skin when I jerked awake in the darkness. The dream I’d woken from stayed with me—Reaper’s hands threading through my hair, his mouth hot against my throat, his body covering mine while I arched beneath him and called out his name in breathless gasps. In it, we hadn’t been running for our lives. We’d been somewhere safe, somewhere warm, somewhere I could let myself want him without reservations or consequences.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes until stars exploded behind my lids. My subconscious had taken one adrenaline-fueled kiss and twisted it into pure sexual fantasy. The memory of his lips on mine, the way I’d responded without thinking, the electricity that had crackled between us while Russian voices echoed through the maintenance corridors—all of it had morphed into raw desire and impossible longing.
The worst part? Waking up had felt like losing a future I’d never have. Even after a couple of minutes, I missed the alternate reality where I wasn’t broken by loss and he wasn’tanother person who would eventually leave or lie or disappoint me. One where Mercury hadn’t vanished and my world hadn’t been turned upside down by betrayal and conspiracy.
I rolled onto my side and buried my face in the pillow, trying to smother the lingering heat that pulsed through me. Adrenaline made people do desperate things—grab onto the nearest source of comfort and mistake survival instinct for desire. Basic psychology. Nothing more. Except what my subconscious had conjured wasn’t about survival. It was about want, pure and simple.
Which was exactly why I couldn’t afford to indulge these fantasies. Not when Mercury was still out there, somewhere. My mentor—the closest thing to family I had left—might be alive or dead, and regret was eating away at me because I should have been there when she disappeared. Should have seen the signs, should have protected her.
She’d saved me more times than I could count, not only professionally but personally. I owed her the same.
By the time I pulled on jeans and a sweater, I’d managed to get my thoughts where they belonged—on the mission that actually mattered. Not on impossible dreams about a man who represented everything I couldn’t afford to want.
But even as I told myself that, even as I tried to rebuild the walls that the dream had temporarily demolished, I couldn’t shake the memory of how it had felt to allow myself to have more than duty and isolation. I couldn’t forget the warmth that had spread through my chest in that moment between sleep and waking, when I’d thought maybe I didn’t have to carry everything alone.
The cottage was quiet except for the soft sounds of Reaper moving around downstairs. Making coffee, probably. Being disgustingly competent at domestic tasks, the same way he was at everything else.
Don’t think about those hands. Don’t think about how steady they were when he picked locks or how surprisingly gentle they’d been when he cupped my face in the tunnel and?—
Stop thinking about it,I told myself as I made my way downstairs, the hardwood floor cold against my bare feet. I needed control. Walls. Distance between my traitorous body and the temptation Reaper represented.
I found him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug cupped between his hands. He’d already showered since his dark hair still held traces of dampness and curled slightly at the ends. The closer I got to him, the more I could sense the tension that radiated from him like heat from a furnace, though his face showed nothing but calm.
“Hello,” he said without looking at me.
“Hey.”
My voice was clipped. Good. Sharp meant safe territory. Sharp meant familiar ground, where we could snipe at each other.
He glanced up then, searching my face in a way that made my stomach flutter. I turned away and busied myself pouring coffee from the pot he’d made.
It was too hot, but I took a sip anyway, welcoming the burn as a distraction from the way he was watching me. I added a spoonful of sugar, stirred counterclockwise, exactly the way I always did it. Right now, routine served as armor against the pull I felt toward him.
“Sleep well?” His voice was measured, but I sensed worry underneath.
“Fine.” The lie came easily. I seemed to be collecting them lately. “You?”
“Like the dead.”
I almost snorted. Right. Like he hadn’t been lying awake, thinking about the same things that had invaded my dreams. Ididn’t believe that for a second. Not with the heat evident in his gaze.
When he moved to rinse his mug in the sink, I stepped to the side. While our shoulders brushed for an instant, I jerked away as if the brief contact had burned me.
His mouth tightened. “You need to let that coffee cool.”
“What?”
“You winced when you tasted it. It’s too hot.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d reacted. “The coffee’s fine.”
“If you say so. He shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest, then leaned against the counter. “I’m curious about your relationship with Mercury. The real one.”
I stiffened. “We need to focus on?—”
“I need to understand what we’re dealing with. Jekyll told Delfino there was a connection between them. A personal one.” He studied me. “I’m guessing there’s more to your connection with her too.”
