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Prologue
Quaide Livingston’s gut tightened as he walked into the FBI office and his gaze landed on his personal assistant’s desk. Every day for three years he walked in and called out good morning to Dove…even though he’d just left whatever hotel bed they’d shared.
The anticipation of setting eyes on the stunning blonde wearing those sexy glasses perched on her cute, upturned nose never got old. Neither did watching her struggle to remain aloof as he passed her desk to his office.
He saw the way her fingers tensed over the computer keyboard because she was recalling how she gripped the sheets, his shoulders and even his ass the previous night.
When Quaide saw the empty desk, he checked the coffee station for her. No sign of Dove in her sexy fitted blouse.
He slowed his steps and swung his gaze to the copier machine. She wasn’t there either.
She was three minutes behind schedule. In the grand scheme of things, three minutes was nothing.
Maybe she’d hit a snag getting home from the hotel. It was in a different part of town than the usual hotel they frequented to keep their forbidden affair under wraps.
Dove might have gotten stuck in traffic. Or she couldn’t tame that cute cowlick on her forehead that drove him crazy for different reasons than it drove her crazy.
His fingers seemed to tingle around the phone in his hand, the urge to text her strong.
They’d agreed to keep communication to a minimum at the office. Early on, they both realized their attraction made them want to spend every waking moment connecting to each other. When just stepping out of the office and speaking to Dove wasn’t enough, he started finding reasons to text his work requests to her.
That led to a flirtation that neither could let slip to the rest of the office. The FBI frowned upon intraoffice relations, and they’d definitely disapprove of Quaide fucking his secretary.
As he stepped into his office a few feet away, he threw one last look at Dove’s desk. Where was she? Shealwaysgot here before he did.
What if something happened to her on her drive to work? A flat tire or, god forbid, an accident?
He changed directions and forced himself to nonchalantly stroll to the office next door. Rapping twice on the open door, he poked his head in.
“Hey, Harv. Did you happen to hear about any accidents or construction on the interstate this morning?”
Harv had been working for the FBI since the eighties and was tired to the point of looking haggard every single morning. Just seeing his coworker trudge into the office every day had spurred Quaide to take the big leap.
The one that would also open up his entire world to having Dove permanently in his life.
If she accepted him, that was.
Tugging his bloodshot eyes away from his computer screen, Harv raised a brow. “No, I didn’t hear of anything. Why?”
“Just wondering. Dove isn’t here yet.”
As usual when Quaide spoke of his assistant, he forced a neutral expression onto his face. He couldn’t let on that last night he’d thrown her legs over his shoulders and pounded them both to a screaming orgasm. Or that he’d taken her into his arms and kissed her long and deep with all the emotion burning in his heart. Emotion he had yet to confess.
“I’m sure she’ll roll in any minute,” he quickly added. “While I’m here, do you still need those reports on the Doyle case?”
“Yeah, send them over when you get a chance.”
“Will do.” Quaide ducked back out and returned to his office. Again, his gaze landed on Dove’s desk situated outside his door.
No Dove.
She wasofficiallylate for work.
He fiddled with the phone in his pocket. He could text her and ask if everything was all right, but that would sound controlling and clingy. Quaide was a top FBI agent in the prime of his career. He might be a man in love, but he couldn’tactlike it. And least of all reveal it to the entire office and get Dove, himself—or both of them—fired.
He could text her for the Jazairi files, but he didn’t do that either.
He went into his office and shut the door. Through the glass, he had a perfect view of Dove when she was actually seated there. Looking at her empty chair gave him a sense of longing he only felt when they skipped their nights together.
