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Part of it is to make her feel better about her mistakes. Part of it is because I’ve never told anyone all of it. Some people know some things. I give out little pieces of ammunition, never enough for anyone to have more than one or two rounds to hurt me.

As she curls against me, still in her pretty white dress while I’m in my good slacks and untucked, unbuttoned white shirt, I stroke her hair, and we plan out our fake romance.

“Where did you go after Rome?” I ask.

“London.”

“I was ‘born’ in London. I’ve been back many times. I’d love to go again one day, to see it all glittering and rebuilt. I haven’t been back since the early seventies. I’m sure it’s changed.”

We exchange a smile, and Teri picks up our tale. “Okay. I was in London. You were born there—sometimes, I can even hear the faintest trace of an accent. You went back for a visit, and there you were— sitting in the same coffee shop where I was meeting with my divorce lawyer.” She pauses, frowning. “It went through so fast, faster than they told me it would... Matteo must have done something shady to have it go through the courts so quickly.”

I nod. He probably didn’t want Therese to ask for his assets or alimony. If she just wanted out, he probably gave it to herin hopes of making his problems disappear, maybe in hopes of keeping her silent if approached by the police or feds.

“Right. You were in the coffee shop, and I happened to overhear the sad tale. I was over there to see my old stomping grounds—to pay respects to friends long lost,” I think of the men who never made it out of the Blitz. Who never made it back home. I swallow hard. For some reason, the pain reaches deeper this time, like it’s spread and grown roots.

When something hurts your heart—and your soul.

“I got to thinking about my own life.” I swallow. The best agents put a piece of themselves in the role to keep them grounded and help them carry off the part. I’ve been leaving enough pieces to put together an entire jigsaw. “It made me realize that I’m not getting any younger. I’m settled and established, but something’s missing. I want to settle down with someone. I mean, Iwantedto settle down. In the story. That’s what we’ll say.”

“We talked and realized that we were both Americans. I realized that you were older, more settled, more mature.”

My hand tangles deeper in her hair as she talks, leaning against me. Even in all the humidity and traveling she’s done today, Teri’s hair is still like silk and smells sweet, like honeysuckle and violets.

“You were the kind of man I wanted. You were a solid, attentive, committed man who was still willing to travel and build a better life. You appreciated my quick thinking, my plans for the future, and the fact that I was still young and sexy.” She says the last line with a bright pink blush.

I can’t help it. I kiss her temple, stealing a deep breath to pull her scent into my memory. “That’s where people are going to doubt. Youareyoung and sexy. Beautiful and sweet. I’m literally old and gray. Bald.”

“If I were sixteen or even eighteen, I’d worry. I’m not worrying. There are plenty of couples with a big age gap. Ours isn’t that big—at least to the rest of the world. There are probably different rules for paranormal couples, aren’t there?”

“Age isn’t the key factor. It’s compatibility of thoughts and spirits,” I explain, head starting to spin. She talks about this like it’s real. Fuck, Iwantthis to be real. I hold her tighter, feeling her soft breasts press into my side. Both of our stomachs rumble in unison. “It’s almost nine!” I realize with a guilty start. Part of keeping Teri alive means feeding her!

“Pizza?”

“I’ll order in. There are only a couple of pizza places in town, and I know the owners of both. They won’t question why I’m here. They’ll assume I’m just doing some home improvements, maybe planning to fix this place up and flip it. But tomorrow, we have to stop behaving like wild honeymooners and go out to get some groceries.”

“Sounds good to me. Particularly that one part.”

I freeze, my hand on the small of her back. Does she mean the pizza? Or the wild honeymoon behavior?

Gentlemanly me decides it has to be the pizza. “Pepperoni?”

Chapter Eight

There’s only one bed.

It’s a favorite plot device in romance books, but I never thought it would happen to me.

“I’ll take the couch.”

“What couch?” I stand in the doorway of the bedroom while Reggie exits the bathroom in a snugly fitting white t-shirt and black sweatpants that ride low around his waist. The cotton of the shirt is so thin that I can make out the lines of his carved biceps and chest. Matteo’s body was longer. Leaner. Reggie is slabs of solid muscle. Thick muscle. A living shield.

My breath vanishes, probably because my entire nervous system is on strike. My brain can’t do basic functions. It’s too busy wondering what it would feel like if Reggie and I did more than just kiss. Reggie slips from my protector to my protector and sudden fantasy. I no longer care about billionaires and bad boys. Give me a hero with history on his side, strong arms to wrap around me, and a square chin that warns he can’t be trifled with. I’ll take Reggie over those fake mafia pretty boys to keep my fantasies warm.

My pussy throbs without warning, and the tempo picks up as he moves past me, almost brushing my braless breasts with his arm.

“That one.” He points to the loveseat that would fit half of his height.

“Your knees will have to hang over the arm!” I point out indignantly. “Not happening. If anyone takes the loveseat, it’sme. I can curl up in a little ball.” I demonstrate, lying on my side with my knees curled to my chest.