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I glare at the building as he enters it. I know exactly what he’s doing there and why, but I can’t do a damn thing about it without a warrant, and that’s much easier said than done. The movies make it all look so simple and easy, but being undercover just complicates things even further.
; With a sigh, I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes.
June.
All I think of is June.
She’s so fantastic, so interesting and bright. June makes my heart light up and when I’m chatting with her, nothing else matters. The entire world just fades to grey and she’s standing there in front of me in a burst of beautiful colors.
June is the only reason I haven’t given up on the op. I know that the minute this operation ends, the minute Martin Peterson is arrested, I’m going to be back in Nellenston. I’ll be back at my old job, at my old life, and my old house.
I won’t be around June anymore, and right now, I don’t know if that’s something I’m ready for.
***
“What’s your job, anyway?” June asks, sliding my drink across the bar to me. “Somehow, you always manage to avoid that question. I realized this last night,” she shakes her head, like she should have pushed me earlier, but she’s right.
I’ve been trying to avoid that question for as long as possible because I hate lying to June. I despise it. I would much rather avoid specific questions than create some sort of fabrication, but it seems as if my games have come to an end. It’s time to start talking.
“I’m a writer,” I lie smoothly, but it doesn’t sit right with me this time. Usually, lying isn’t a problem. Usually, it’s easy. With her, it’s not.
With her, I want more.
I want June to see the real me, to get to know the man I really am. Being an FBI agent has its perks and I’ve always loved undercover ops, but I’ve never cared for someone the way I care for June.
And I hate that she’s getting to know this fake version of me.
I want her to know the real me. I crave that. I want her to know the real Ryder: the one who doesn’t sleep well at night, the one who is sometimes afraid. I want her to know that man. I want her to know the man I truly am.
Will she be able to do that if I keep up this charade?
Probably not.
Definitely not.
“Oh?” She leans forward, and it takes every ounce of strength to keep focused on her eyes. Her breasts are so close to me. If I just reached out, I could touch her, stroking her collarbone down to those two beautiful, gorgeous breasts. Her pale skin practically glows in the dark space. In another life, June would be a vampire goddess.
“Oh,” I agree quietly.
She cocks her head and looks at me with a question in her eyes.
“What do you write?” Her words are quiet. I can barely hear her over the music in the club, but the night is winding down and people are slowly trickling out, so we’re practically alone. Much too soon, the music will be turned off and the lights turned back on, and then the night will be over.
Soon it’ll be time to go home and I’ll return to the quiet studio apartment I’ve been holed up in.
“Romance novels,” I tell her, and I’m not really sure why I said that. Officially, my cover is that I write mystery novels. If people look me up online, they’ll even find a website and a book for sale with a second available for pre-order. Anyone searching the name Ryder Hawke will find that I’m a quiet, law-abiding citizen and a little bit of a recluse.
Those who dig a little deeper will find that I have a penchant for BDSM, which is why it wasn’t strange I managed to score an invitation – and a membership – to Anchored. It would have been stranger if I hadn’t been accepted. Still, my reasons for joining are incredibly selfish. I didn’t join to secure my cover or to fit in better. I joined because I need to feel a submissive melt beneath my palms. I crave that.
Only now that I’m here, something has changed.
I’m not just craving any submissive.
I want her.
Only her.
