Page 23 of Undercover Shadow
But it wasn’t. Not even close.
Neither of us spoke of love. But it was there in the way she curled into me like she belonged there, in the way I held her like she might disappear if I loosened my grip.
The truth settled into my bones with absolute certainty. I was deeply, irrevocably taken with Leila Nassar.
The realization terrified me—this was exactly what I’d sworn never to let happen. But I couldn’t move, couldn’t let go, couldn’t do anything but hold her and accept this truth even if it changed nothing.
Leila raised her head. “Whatever you’re thinking or planning, whatever noble sacrifice you’re contemplating—don’t.”
I nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She settled against my chest, and I held her, the woman I couldn’t resist, and tried not to think about how empty my arms would be when she was gone.
7
NIGHTINGALE
Tag’s arms tightened around me as I shifted against him, and he kissed my temple.
“Are you all right?” His voice was rough with concern. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I said, though when I moved again, I couldn’t hide my wince. The truth was, my body ached in unfamiliar ways—a deep soreness between my legs, tender places where his mouth had been, muscles I’d never used before protesting new activity.
“Leila.” He shifted so he could see my face. “I should have been gentler. I should have?—”
“You were perfect.” I touched his cheek. “It was perfect.”
His hand moved to my hip, not with desire this time but with care. “Give me a few minutes, then I’ll come get you.”
I sat up when he got out of bed. “Wait. Where are you going?”
“I’m going to run you a bath.”
I was about to protest, given how cold it was, then realized that sometime in the last hour, the heat must’ve kicked on. When he turned on the light, I knew the generator had too.
“Stay where you are, Nightingale.”
My heart lurched at his use of the code name I’d received from him, and while I waited for his return, I thought about that night. It was the third week of training for the unit, and the focus was on communications when there were multiple assets to manage, each requiring a different accent, and sometimes a different persona.
I’d switched between a Russian arms dealer’s mistress, a frightened British tourist, an elderly Syrian grandmother, and a young French student, pushing myself to prove to him specifically that I’d not only get through the training, but I’d excel at it.
Afterwards, Tag had pulled me aside. “You sing in any voice needed,” he’d said, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Like a nightingale. In fact, that’s your code name.”
“Yeah?” I’d asked, trying to sound casual despite the way my pulse quickened at his approval.
“It suits you,” was all he’d said before turning away, leaving me with a memory more intimate than he’d probably intended. Or maybe that was my imagination, the same that had been reading too much into every word he said since we’d met.
“Come on,” he said, stepping out of the bathroom and over to the bed. “Time for me to take care of you.” Before I could stand, Tag lifted me in his arms as if I weighed nothing. I buried my face in his neck as he carried me to the oversized claw-foot tub and gently set me in it before climbing in behind me.
I sighed as the warm water enveloped me, easing the ache between my legs and soothing my muscles.
“Let me,” he said when I reached for the washcloth and soap.
His touch was infinitely gentle as he moved over my skin with reverent care. He washed my hair, massaging my scalp until I was nearly purring. When he helped me lean back to rinse, his hand supported me.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much.” I caught his hand, bringing it to my lips. “Thank you.”
