“And you’ve got none.”
What was he talking about? “I’ve got six.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to take anything else off. Also, you’re not counting my belt.”
“If we’re counting accessories, you should probably note I’m wearing earrings.” I focused on what I really wanted. “Who do you work for? Interpol?”
“No.”
“Are you faking your American accent like Fletcher? Are you MI-6?”
“No.” His shoulders lifted with a deep breath, like he knew which one was coming next.
It was the one I’d suspected from the night I’d caught him spying on Gio. “Are you CIA?”
“No.”
The room went still, like his answer pushed ‘pause’ on the entire world.
Then, his hands slowly lifted to the collar of his shirt.
His face didn’t change as he released one button, followed by another, and another, until the shirt was open, revealing the scars from CIA work. He pulled it down over his arms, his toned biceps flexing as he yanked the sleeves off and dropped it to the floor.
It was odd that he’d revealed his secret, and yet I was the one whose heart was pounding. I could barely catch my breath. He was a goddamn spy, a man who made his living in lies.
“My turn,” he said. “I’m not going to be in the field forever.” He stood from the bed. “I’m not asking for anything. All I need to know is if there’s a possibility of this... continuing.”
I felt dizzy. My palms were sweating against my thighs as he made his steady approach.
“Is there?” His deep voice was hypnotic.
My bottom lip trembled, and I gave him the lie he both did and didn’t want. “No.”
He set his hands on the armrests of my chair, which forced me to lean my head back. It was the only way to keep looking up at him.
“The bra,” he commanded, “and I’m going to take it off.”
“Okay.” It was barely a word.
Cool fingertips traced around my body as he knelt before me. He got the first hook undone, then paused. He looked confused and tried again. “How many hooks are there?”
“Three.” He went back to work, struggling, and I laughed lightly. “I thought they trained you to be good with your hands.”
“I’m trained to handle things that are a threat to national security. Is there one in your bra?”
A smile burned across my lips. “What’s your full name?”
“Ethan Randall Foster.”
“Randall?”
“It’s my father’s name.”
The fabric sprang free, and like last time, as soon as he pulled the bra away, his mouth was on me. He captured anipple between his teeth, and I gasped as pleasure ripped through me. He’d shaved at some point today, but it had been hours ago, and his stubble chafed against my newly bare skin. God, it felt good.
He’dbeen studying that manual again.
“The spy has parents?” I asked.
