Page 26 of A Lady’s Handbook of Espionage

He grasped her hips and rolled her under him. Her surprised gasp cut off when he thrust into her – hard, deep, the way he knew she needed it. She clenched around him, and he moaned.

Memories of Hong Kong couldn’t capture this. The beautiful flush of her cheeks, the clutch of her hands, how her nails dug into his shoulders, and the sounds she made when he went harder. Her thigh hooked over his arse, and she canted her hips, fucking him back.

The bed frame knocked against the wall, loud enough that the entire house would know exactly what they were doing.

Let them hear. Let everyone know she was his.

When he looked down at her, a question burned in his throat.

Am I still the only man you’ve ever wanted?

But maybe the answer was unnecessary. She stared at him like there’d never been anyone else. Like they could be anywhere – this bed, a filthy alley, a crowded ballroom – and she’d still only see him, and it was like time stopped.

His hand closed around her throat, not squeezing, just holding her in place while he fucked her harder. Her nails cut deeper. A tremor went through her that told him she was close.

“Let go,” he told her, pounding into her. “Come on, little thief. I want to see it. Let go for me.”

She arched against him, head thrown back as she shattered. Beautiful. Wild.

He thrust one last time and spilled inside her, his own release sweeping through him. Dropping his forehead against hers, he let his breathing come down. He gathered her against him. Splayed a palm against her spine and curled the other into her hip.

Mine.

*

Callahan woke to muffled whimpers.

He lay still, every muscle coiled tight. Then, his sleep-addled brain registered the source of the noise.

Isabel.

She was curled in on herself, her fists clenched. The expression of anguish on her face made Callahan’s chest constrict.

“No,” she muttered. “Please, I can’t—I won’t—”

“Isabel,” he said, voice low and calming. “Wake up. It’s just a dream.”

A choked sob escaped her. The sound hit him like a knife between his ribs.

“Trouble,” he tried again. “Come on, open those eyes for me.”

Her eyes flew open, wild and unseeing. Before Callahan could react, she’d launched herself at him, one hand going for his throat.

He caught her wrist, careful not to grip too tightly. “ Easy. Easy now. It’s just me. You’re safe.”

Her chest heaved with panicked breaths, then awareness crept into her gaze.

“Ronan?” she whispered, uncertain.

“The one and only.” He slid his hand in soothing circles over her back.

Isabel sagged against him. “ Merde .” She rubbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm done. Might requisition some armour, though. For next time.”

A small sound escaped her – not quite a laugh, but close enough.

They stayed like that for a long moment, Isabel’s breathing gradually slowing.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“What are fake husbands for, if not to rescue their fake wives from nightmares?”

A small smile was her only response, but the haunted look still hadn’t left her eyes. Her fingers curled against his skin like she feared he’d disappear if she let go. Vulnerable in a way he’d rarely seen her.

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Distract you, then?”

She nodded.

“Did I ever tell you why I was in Athens?” he asked.

Isabel blinked. “I . . . what?”

“Athens. 1870.”

“When you were running through the market?”

“I’d been sent to intercept a rogue agent planning to sell secrets to the highest bidder. We had intelligence suggesting he was meeting his contact in one of the markets in the old city.”

“Clever,” she murmured. “Easy to blend in, lots of potential escape routes.”

“Precisely. It took me a week to pinpoint the location of the rendezvous. I spent days strategising my approach and memorising their routines. I failed to account for the possibility that our intelligence might have been compromised.”

Isabel leaned forward. “What happened?”

“At least half a dozen armed men came at me from nowhere. One second, I’m watching the exchange; the next, I’m fighting for my damn life. I managed to escape, but not before catching a dagger to the ribs. I was outnumbered, bleeding, and rapidly running out of options. That’s when I ran into you.”

“You looked like death warmed up,” she said, expression softening. “All wild-eyed and covered in blood.”

“And you helped me. Why?”

Her gaze dropped to her hands, to the tiny scar across her knuckles. “I liked you.”

“You liked me, hm?” He smiled.

“Don’t sound so smug. You have a certain charm.”

“And?”

“I didn’t have anything that was mine back then. Everything was for Favreau. Where I went. What I stole. Who I . . .”

She didn’t finish, didn’t need to. Callahan’s jaw clenched, thinking about Favreau’s hands on her.

“But you were different,” she continued. “My secret. The one thing he didn’t control. I’d get sent to a city, and beneath all the plans and schemes, I’d think maybe you’d find me. Time with you was the only thing I ever stole for myself. I couldn’t just leave you there bleeding out in Athens.”

An emotion constricted in his chest. “And I couldn’t arrest you. Not even when Wentworth was breathing down my neck about it.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence, the earlier tension all but dissipated.

“Agent,” she said. “Will you—” She shut her mouth. “Never mind.”

“Tell me. I promise not to judge.”

She swallowed. “I have nightmares every night. Unavoidable. Except for Hong Kong and last night – because I woke up to your arms around me.”

He cupped her cheek. “Are you asking your fake husband to hold you?”

He felt the slight tremor that ran through her, the way she leaned almost imperceptibly into his touch.

Then a nod. Small. Uncertain. As if she wasn’t used to asking for anything, especially comfort.

Like she was surrendering. This woman, with all her barbs and thorns, was trusting him with this one thing.

“Come here, fake wife,” he said tenderly, gathering her in his arms.

“Just until I fall asleep,” she murmured.

“Whatever you need, Trouble.”