Page 39

Grace

Last night was Grace’s turn to not get any sleep, his heart still racing from his display of boldness in the hot tub.

At least now he knew Mirage was feeling the same as him.

Grace had jerked off three times before midnight—addicted to and welcoming this new excitement—and his dick was still hard.

Grace held himself in a relaxed grip .

He’d forgotten how fucking good wild hormones felt.

He was still high on dopamine when he met Spectre in the gun range for his six a.m. target practice.

His ballistics team had a generous buffet of handguns laid out for him to inspect, but he could barely feast on their beauty.

Not when Mirage was a few yards away, testing his new throwing knives.

Grace wanted him closer…like on top of him.

Grace wasn’t beaming or showing rows of white teeth. His expression was still stoic and unreadable…but on the inside.

He liked how light and warm it felt in there.

To stay focused on today’s training, Grace had bypassed breakfast in the cafeteria with Mirage and made himself eggs benedict in his apartment.

When Mirage was outside first thing in the morning, his dirty-blond rebellious hair looked like the golden sunrise, and he smelled too damn good at the start of the day.

A seductive aroma of invigorating citrus soap and clean sun-dried linen.

A couple of hours into training, Spectre was pulled away by management, so he told them to knock off early.

Grace thought it was Kismet.

They had all evening to explore this newness between them.

The training team cleared out, leaving him and Mirage alone.

“Hey, I’m gonna hit the weight room for a couple of hours, then scare everyone out of the cafeteria for dinner,” Mirage said, standing close enough to have to tilt his head a little to hold their eye contact. “Pasta’s on the menu.”

Grace nodded with his jaw tight. He’d love to have Mirage for dinner.

Mirage gave him the tiniest smirk. “Good. I’ll be ready about five.”

Grace watched him go in those loose fatigues and the white T-shirt that molded to his back.

Damn .

Grace finished his shave and shower and was reading his department emails when a thought came to him.

He contemplated for a few minutes, trying to talk himself out of the ludicrous idea before convincing himself to grow a pair.

If a cold motherfucker like Meridian can pull off some romantic shit, then so can I.

Grace went into his kitchen and rolled up his sleeves as he surveyed the available groceries.

He had plenty of pasta—it wasn’t only Mirage’s favorite—so he just needed a suitable protein…and maybe the fixings for a salad.

He wanted to show off, but he was also sweating with panic.

Grace wished in that moment that all the feelings hadn’t come back.

He was fine with the lust and craving but not the other shit.

He loathed anxiety, uncertainty, and God forbid…fear of embarrassment.

Even though he was a crusty son of a bitch and didn’t have much to say, he wanted to show his partner that he had more layers than he showed.

Grace took scallops and prawns out of the freezer to thaw, then pulled the rest of the ingredients for prepping and placed them on the island, already feeling his mood shift. Cooking had always been his method of unwinding after a mission.

He had a couple of hours to spare, and he’d never invited Mirage inside his place, so he wanted to make a good first impression.

It was already dark in his home, and he thought lighting candles would be going too far. Instead, he opened the electric shades for the full view of the crescent moon and stars, then chose some light jazz instrumentals to play from his sound system.

His pasta was ready and the seafood perfectly seared.

The last step when he plated it was to top it off with some grated parmesan and chopped chives.

He made his homemade dressing for the simple tossed green salad chilling in the refrigerator crisper.

He jumped back into the shower to freshen up, and forty-five minutes later, he was leaning against the window with a cognac in his hand, waiting for the sound of the elevator opening on their floor.

Please don’t let me look like a goddamn fool.

He didn’t know who he was begging… The first-date gods, he guessed.

By the time his anxiety began to get the better of him, he heard the locks releasing to Mirage’s apartment.

Grace opened his door.

“Hey, you ready?”

Grace leaned against his door, staring at Mirage’s lips before his gaze traveled down the length of his body.

Mirage stared, waiting several minutes before he said, “Grace. What is it you want me to do?”

“Come inside.”

Mirage blinked. “Did you say, ‘come inside’? As in your apartment?”

Grace nodded.

“What about dinner…? It’s pasta night.”

Grace glared.

“Fine. I’ll come inside.”