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I’d been lying so long, I’d forgotten how to tell the truth.
I looked away and we fell into silence. I should have left it like that, just been his prisoner until it was time to escape. But I could feel him staring at me, huge and patient and infuriatingly good. I had a ridiculous, childish urge not to hurt his feelings.
“Sorry,” I muttered, not meeting his eyes.
“What’s it like?” he asked.
I turned to him. “The pâté?” I asked, breaking into a chuckle.
“Being a spy.”
The chuckle died on my lips. “You already know that,” I said sadly.
He shook his head.
I scrunched up my forehead. “You and your friends...you’re CIA.”
He shook his head again. “We were hired by the CIA. And one of my buddies used to be CIA. But not me.”
I frowned again. “What are you? Delta? Green Berets? A SEAL?”
His sigh was sweet with humor but bitter with pain. “Nope. Just regular ‘ol Army.”
That bothers him. I stared at him, fascinated and a little shocked. I’d been caught not once but four times, now, by a regular Army grunt? But then there was nothing regular about him. He was good at this: at hunting someone down, at fighting them, at restraining them. The best I’d seen. I thought back to his question. “Solitary,” I said at last. “Being a spy is solitary.” Solitary was a euphemism. I really meant another word ending in y but I wasn’t going to admit to that.
It didn’t matter, though. His chest filled and his massive shoulders squared as if he knew damn well the word I meant and he didn’t want me feeling that way. The amber in his eyes seemed to burn hotter, brighter, and I felt...something. Like a hug without him touching me, or when my grandmother tucked a blanket over me, or when I was lost in a crowd once and a policeman took my hand and helped me find my mother.
It took me a moment for me to identify the feeling because it had been so long since I’d felt it.
I felt...protected.
14
COLTON
She stared at me and, just for a second, those pale blue eyes lost their coldness and looked so innocent, I felt like someone had punched me in the chest. Then she looked away, into the fire. Her breathing had gone shaky, like each breath hurt. I narrowed my eyes and looked around for something to thump, the protective rage filling me. Who did this to her?
“You know my name,” she said, struggling to keep her voice level, “but I don’t know yours.”
I just glared at her stubbornly, not willing to let her change the subject.
Her eyes pleaded with me to let it go.
Fine. “Colton,” I told her. “Colton Stockburn.”
It wasn’t much of a name but she repeated it silently, nodding. Then she pulled her knees up to her chin, wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on them, like she was a college kid at some sorority camp-out. Her voice went light and flirty, sugar-sweet but with a husky, Russian edge. “And how did you wind up catching spies for a private military group, Colton Stockburn?” She didn’t so much say my name as wrap herself around each syllable and I felt my cock go instantly hard.
I stared at her, amazed by the transformation. I knew now this was an act, something she’d fooled hundreds of men with. But knowing that didn’t stop it working. God, even in the oversized military gear and with her hair damp and tangled, she was beyond gorgeous. Her eyes sparkled like polished ice and her voice promised pleasures I couldn’t even imagine. I was way, way out of my depth. Even Danny had fallen for her tricks and he was a fucking genius when it came to women. What chance did I have? I felt like I was clinging to a cliff edge, slowly losing my grip.
And then I remembered how she’d been before, when we’d shared the food. I’d seen the real Tanya. Even connected with her, a little. When I focused on that, it broke the spell because I knew how much better that real connection felt. It let me see her flirting for what it was and it was more than just a way of manipulating me: it was armor.
I nodded to myself, feeling a little proud. And when I looked into Tanya’s eyes again, I could resist...just.
“Not a whole lot to tell,” I said. “Army. Afghanistan, mostly. A lot of house-to-house. You kicked in a door, didn’t know whether you were going to find a bunch of guys with guns, or a terrified woman. Or sometimes a terrified woman with a gun. Had to be ready to shoot or calm things down.” I shrugged. “I guess someone thought I was good at it because they got me to cross-train as Military Police.”
