Page 46 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

Lee's apartment smells like her shampoo, and I try not to be obvious about inhaling it.

Jasper climbs up my jeans and gives me a pitiful wail. I’m going to miss the little tyrant. He purrs and, with a flick of his tail, trots off to his avocado palace.

I’m sitting on the edge of her couch, elbows on my knees, trying to look relaxed while my heart beats hard enough to fall out of my chest.

She’s in the kitchen, barefoot in one of my old hoodies that hits her mid-thigh, hair still damp from the shower. She looks so fucking good it hurts.

For a second, I let myself imagine what it would be like if I could just stay. Pull her onto my lap, slide my hands under her shirt, and forget Fuller even exists.

But I can’t.

She pads over and drops down beside me, close enough that her bare knee brushes my thigh. Her hand finds my arm. She strokes absently along the inside of my wrist the way she does when she’s worried.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head. Her gaze searches my face like she already knows something’s wrong. “Everything okay?”

I force a smirk.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

She doesn’t buy it. Of course she doesn’t. Lee sees through bullshit better than anyone I’ve ever met.

Instead of calling me on it, she swings one leg over my lap and straddles me, settling her weight against my thighs. Her hands slide up my chest and into my hair, tugging lightly the way I like.

“Want me to wake you up?” she says, leaning in until her lips hover just above mine. Her voice drops into that low, filthy register that always undoes me. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

She feels so good on top of me that I almost let her. My hands automatically grip her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh. I could kiss her right now. I could bury myself in her and pretend for another night that we’re safe.

But Fuller's case against her sits in an encrypted file on my laptop. Every day I stall lets him strengthen it.

I gently catch her wrists and lower her hands.

“Not tonight, kid.”

She stills. The easy heat in her eyes flickers into something sharper. “Not tonight,” she repeats slowly and crawls off me. A few inches away from me on the sofa feels like miles.

I swallow hard. My throat feels like sandpaper.

I’ve dragged this out as long as I can. I’ve stalled. I’ve made every excuse I can think of. I’ve fucked her like it was the last time, three nights in a row because I couldn’t stop myself. But I’m out of time.

“Lee… we need to talk.”

Her whole body tenses. She pulls the hoodie sleeves down over her hands.

“Okay. Talk.”

I look at her, and every lie I’d rehearsed is like poison on my tongue. But I have to do this. If I don’t, Fuller will use me to destroy her. And if Lee has any idea of what I am planning, she’ll charge directly into the line of fire just to keep me from taking the bullet for her.

So I lie.

“I met someone else.”

Her lips part, but nothing comes out for a long second.

“You… what?”

I force myself to keep my voice even. I keep my tone to sound almost bored. Like this doesn’t feel as if I’m ripping my own heart out.

“It’s not serious with her, but… look, this thing with us was never serious for me either. It was fun. Hot as hell. But I’m not ready for anything more than that right now. And you’ve been…”