Page 6 of A Lady’s Handbook of Espionage

Callahan gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise, fighting for control. He wanted this to last. Wanted to remember every second of having her. She met him stroke for stroke, her body rising to meet his. Demanding more.

“Harder,” she moaned. “Fuck me harder.”

Callahan couldn’t help but laugh. “Now who’s got a filthy mouth?”

She bit his neck in response.

“Jesus,” he hissed, hiking her leg higher over his hip, changing the angle. The new position let him sink deeper.

“Yes,” she gasped. “There. Right there.”

He liked this – watching her. The way her small tits bounced with each thrust. The way she bit her lip when he hit that spot inside her just right. All the little whimpers she tried to hold back, but couldn’t. This was the secret language of her ecstasy.

Powerful. That’s how it felt seeing Spectre come undone.

Nothing existed but this. Not her enemies. Not his duty. Just skin on skin and the sound of their bodies coming together.

She clutched at him, greedy, her thighs tightening around his waist to pull him deeper. This wasn’t a dream or a fantasy he’d conjured during lonely nights. This was real. She was here. Under him. Around him. Taking what she wanted.

Taking him like she was made for him.

But she’d always been a thief, hadn’t she?

Callahan slipped a hand between them, seeking the bundle of nerves between her thighs. Circling once. Twice.

With a soft cry, she buried her face in the curve of his neck as she climaxed. His rhythm faltered as his own release crashed through him. His grip on her hip went slack.

For several minutes, they just lay there, tangled and sweaty. His heart slammed against his ribs so hard he wondered if she could feel it.

“Well,” Spectre finally murmured, “that was . . .”

“Temporary madness?” he said before he could think better of it.

A minute flinch. “Of course. Simply working through the tension between us. And now it’s—”

“Been worked,” he finished. “Thoroughly.”

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. He suppressed a wince. Open mouth, insert foot. A defensive reflex to build the walls back up before she could use it against him. Shagging her didn’t change the fact that she was a thief, and he was an agent of the Crown.

“Right.”

Spectre pushed him off, gathering the sheet to cover herself.

Callahan opened his mouth, though what he meant to say, he had no earthly idea. What came out instead was a gruff, “Go to sleep. We’ll get you on the steamer tomorrow.”

She turned away, presenting him with the rigid line of her back. “Goodnight, then.”

He listened to her breathing even out as she succumbed to exhaustion. With a sigh, he rolled onto his side and shut his eyes.

The cadence of her breath lulled him to sleep.

*

Callahan woke to morning light falling across his face.

The other side of the bed was empty, no sign of Spectre beyond the imprint of her head on the pillow and a scrap of paper left behind. He snatched it up and read.

Agent,

The ledger is balanced, the debt repaid in full. Our business is concluded. Enjoy Hong Kong. -S

“Damn it all to hell.” Callahan surged upright, ready to tear through the city to find her—

Only to freeze at the sight of the wardrobe doors flung wide open and empty.

Every last stitch of his clothing had vanished. His suitcase was gone.

Fuck.

He lunged for the window, nearly tumbling as the sheet tangled around his legs. Down below, the Praya was already awake for business – trundling handcarts, peddlers and street hawkers bargaining and bartering in a dozen different tongues.

And a familiar figure cut through the tangle with his suitcase clutched in a dainty hand.

Callahan sprinted from the room clad in nothing but his bedsheet, caution and dignity be damned. Gasps and scandalised giggles nipped at his heels as he barrelled through the lobby. He scarcely registered a shout over the roar of blood in his ears.

He burst into the street. More shouts followed.

Spectre glanced over her shoulder at the commotion. Her eyes widened before crinkling in amusement, a mocking grin flashing across her face.

Then she hiked up her skirts and dashed off.

That fucking thief.

He took off after her. Early morning light gilded the Praya’s cobblestones as he sprinted down the road. The blasted sheet hampered his stride, but he pressed on. He should have tied her to the damn bed.

She reached the waterfront and, to his horror, popped the latch on his case—

And upended every last one of his belongings over the seawall.

Callahan could only watch in slack-jawed disbelief as shirts, trousers, smallclothes, and travel papers rained down to be swallowed by the waves. She had the bloody cheek to throw him a jaunty wave before spinning on a heel and melting into the crowd.

Leaving him alone. A panting, wild-haired madman in a toga.

Nearly naked in front of half of Hong Kong.

Damn her eyes, damn her quick fingers, damn every last infuriating, intoxicating inch of her—

A hand landed on his shoulder. “Here now, sir. What’s all this about?”

Callahan turned to find an officer of the Hong Kong Police looming over him. The man’s gaze flicked down over Callahan’s heaving chest, the bedsheet barely preserving his modesty, then back up. Disapproval radiated from him.

“Well?” the officer barked. “Out with it, man. You’re making an unholy spectacle of yourself.”

Callahan opened his mouth and then shut it with a snap.

What could he say? That he was a spy for Her Majesty’s government?

That he’d just been soundly fucked and robbed by his nemesis?

That he’d allowed her to lure him into a dalliance, strip him of every possession and stitch of clothing, and then watched her vanish into the fetid circle of hell from whence she’d come?

No. Better they think him a cuckold than a complete incompetent.

Callahan tamped his rage into something approaching civility. When he trusted himself to speak without cursing, he drew himself up to his full height.

“Just a minor misunderstanding,” he gritted, “with my wife. You know how they can be, yes? Changeable as the weather. My apologies for the disturbance. It won’t happen again.”

The other man’s eyes narrowed. But after a long moment, he shook his head, clearly washing his hands of the whole sordid affair.

“See that it doesn’t. I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but Hong Kong has standards to uphold. You’d do well to remember that, sir.”

“Noted.” He snatched for the sheet pooling around his ankles, wrapping it about himself once more. “If you’ll excuse me?”

The officer gave him a last hard look but allowed Callahan to limp away with the battered dregs of his pride.

By the time he stumbled into his rooms, he was nearly blind with fury. When he found her again, she would pay for this.

But first, he needed trousers.