“Better get started then.”
Challenge accepted.
Ronan shoved his thigh between her legs, pushing up enough to make her gasp. His hands were already moving, aware of where to search. The hunt was half the pleasure.
His touch skimmed the outline of a small blade strapped to her thigh. “One. Did you strap this here thinking about me finding it later?”
Isabel arched into him with a shuddering sigh. Needy. “Everything I do is for you.”
Something primal lit up in his chest. Heat flooded his veins as he slid his hand down to the hem of her dress. He bunched the silk, shoving it up until he touched the second blade on her opposite leg. “Two. Do you know what it does to me, knowing you’re armed to the teeth under all this finery?”
“Why do you think I wear them?”
He moved to her bodice next. His hand dipped inside, and his fingertips traced the scars of his initials carved into her skin before locating the weapon nestled between her breasts.
“Three.”
Her nipple pebbled against his palm, and he fought the urge to tear the whole damn dress off.
He found the fourth blade tucked into the small of her back. “Four.”
Isabel’s eyes fell shut. She was panting, a flush climbing up her chest. Callahan couldn’t resist following the enticing path with his mouth.
“How—” Isabel broke off with a gasp as his teeth grazed her collarbone. “How do you know there’s not more?”
He nuzzled the soft spot behind her ear that always made her shiver. “Because I know every trick you might think to hide one of your little darlings. Just like I know if I slipped my hand up your skirts right now, I’d find nothing between me and what’s mine,” he whispered, biting her shoulder softly. “God, I love you.”
“I love you desperately.”
He marvelled at the miracle of it. That this brilliant, fierce woman had chosen him. That she continued to choose him every day.
“I want you to come for me, little thief.”
He brought her to completion in that alcove. He’d done this to her in the dark corners of half the great houses of Vienna – watched her come apart with his name trapped behind her teeth, her fingers leaving bruises on his arms. They’d cut themselves open for each other. Bled out their secrets. Found that their jagged edges fit together. He knew her body like his own – where to touch, how much pressure, when to slow down and when to push her over. Because he and Isabel Dumont had taken their broken pieces and stitched them into something stronger.
When she finally stopped trembling, he pressed his mouth to her temple. “Ready to get back to work, Mrs Callahan?”
“Lead the way, Mr Callahan.”
