Page 6

A fter a quick flyby with her drone, Quinn determined the alarm system wasn’t set after spotting the security panel through a nearby window. The current display status didn’t read “armed.” Most likely because it was still early and they had security cams running. Or, maybe because they were cocky enough to think they were untouchable. Because who in their right mind would break into a place that housed six former assassins?

Me , she thought with a smirk, quickly tapping into the feed and looping the security footage. Easy peasy.

She weighed the two options in front of her: spirit Zaitsev out of there with no one the wiser, or confront Brax and then steal the scientist. Maybe it was reckless, but she wanted a word with her ex. He’d be pissed about the whole her-trying-to-kill-him incident, but he’d have to get over that so they could have a rational conversation.

Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst—she was, after all, a realist—Quinn checked her Glock, then carefully concealed it in the holster beneath her black leather jacket. After grabbing a few key items from her duffel bag and stuffing them in her small backpack, she let out a low breath, mentally preparing herself.

Showtime.

She opened the door, slid out of the SUV and crept over to the warehouse, ducking back into the shrubs beneath the second-floor balcony. Her plan was to sneak inside there and confront Brax. Catch him by surprise and not give him the opportunity to slam a door in her face.

Working fast, she hooked the carabiner to her belt, backed up a few steps, then lifted the grappling gun and launched it. The hook wrapped around the top of the metal railing and she tugged, making sure it was secure. Pressing a button on the launcher, she pushed off the ground and zipped straight up like Spider-Man.

Quinn grabbed the railing and climbed up and over, landing in a crouch on the balcony. The blinds were closed, and when she tried the sliding door, she wasn’t surprised to find it locked. Not that it mattered. There wasn’t a lock in existence she couldn’t pick.

Reaching into her jacket pocket, she plucked out her trusty lock picking tools and got to work. In less than a minute, there was a soft click and she slid the glass door open. As her quick peek through the blinds earlier confirmed, the main room was empty.

After stowing her tools in her small backpack, Quinn straightened up, pulled it back over her shoulders, and turned toward the hallway. If her observations were correct, Brax’s room was on the left, the very last door.

Creeping forward, she passed the other rooms and paused outside of the last one. She pressed her ear to the door and listened intently. He might not be in there. There was a gym covering the entire third floor so he could be working out.

But, no. She heard the faint sound of the shower running. Hmm, things just got interesting. What would he do when she walked in and surprised him in such a vulnerable state? Anticipation filled her.

She sprinted across the neatly organized, yet sparse suite, and paused outside the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar and she froze, attention zeroing in on the steamy mirror which reflected back a very tantalizing image. The glass shower door was fogged up a little, but it didn’t hinder her view. Biting her lip, she took a long moment to admire his sleek, toned and very naked body.

Mmm. The man was still as delicious as she remembered. He was facing the other direction, rinsing shampoo from his hair, and his broad shoulders and back tapered into a narrow waist and tight ass that looked good enough to bite. She ran her tongue between her lips, remembering the things he used to do to her. The hundreds of orgasms he’d given her.

Her attention focused on the dagger tattoo on his arm and she melted a little. She’d always thought it was sexy as hell. Ugh. She hated that she still found him so attractive. Why couldn’t he have gained fifty pounds and possessed sagging jowls instead of that sharply-defined jawline? Or, better yet, lose all those luscious curls on his head and be bald?

As she ogled his perfectly pristine body, he turned in a lightning-flash move and yanked the shower door open. Quinn belatedly realized she’d pushed the bathroom door open further—for better ogling—and he must’ve seen the movement.

Standing there in all his naked glory, the water sluicing down his muscular body, his silver-gray eyes locked onto hers. When those gorgeous molten eyes narrowed, she reached for her gun.

◆◆◆

Braxton scrubbed his fingers against his scalp, massaging the 2-in-1 shampoo throughout his brown waves. His hair was getting too long for his taste and he wanted to cut it off, except he kept hesitating. The reason was stupid—because Quinn liked it longer and wild. She always told him she adored his curls even though he hated them.

Why was he trying to please the woman who’d left him and just tried to neutralize him? He had serious issues. Fuck that. Okay, it was settled. As soon as he got out of the shower, he was buzzing his hair all the way down to the roots.

His team had left to go out to dinner, but Brax wasn’t hungry. Since the moment he’d run into Quinn in the parking garage, he couldn’t think of much else. She’d been consuming his every thought since the deadly encounter. From her sage green eyes to her flaming red hair, she captivated him. Always had. And, for a very short, very perfect time, she’d belonged to him.

Those three months together had been the happiest of his life. She’d bewitched him in every way possible. And the sex was the best he’d ever had. Unforgettable in every way. He had been head over heels in love with her. Stupid, blind, dumb love. And then it all turned to shit faster than imaginable. He’d wanted to believe her, but all the evidence pointed to her being guilty. A traitor to her country. When he’d finally decided to take a chance and trust her, help her, she was already gone.

And now she was back, apparently part of The Agency, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. What exactly were her intentions? Well, she’d tried to kill him, so there was that.

The truth was, seeing her again had left him rattled. At one time, he’d been completely addicted to her—to her taste, her touch, her voice, her smell. He couldn’t get enough. With Quinn, he’d found true intimacy, allowing himself to be exposed in every single way. He’d shared more than his body with her. He’d shared his heart and his soul. Handed her both, along with his trust, and she’d destroyed it all the day she left.

As the last of the shampoo went down the drain, he felt a telltale prickle at the base of his neck. The one he’d learned to pay close attention to because it had saved his life on more than one occasion.

A quick glance in the mirror confirmed his suspicion when he caught sight of a shadowed figure in the doorway. Spinning, he threw the glass door open and faced the intruder.

Fuck me. His ex-wife stood there, a smirk curving her luscious lips. Ironic and a little disconcerting since he’d just been thinking about her. Again.

His eyes narrowed as he coolly reminded himself about how she’d tried to kill him.

“Hello, Braxton. I see you’re looking…” —her gaze dipped— “...robust.”

“How the hell did you get in here?” he demanded. The moment the words left his mouth, he wondered why he even bothered asking. Quinn was a highly-skilled operative who could get in and out of a house of cards with no one the wiser. “Scratch that. What the hell are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

He arched a dubious brow. “You didn’t want to talk the other night when you attempted to run me over then blow me up,” he reminded her, voice dry.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby. You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

He didn’t miss the way her attentive gaze roamed over his body. Or, how her hand covered the gun hidden beneath her jacket. His muscles locked. Why the fuck had she broken in? Was she there to finish the job?

“You know I hate games, Quinn,” he growled in a low, warning tone. He was one second away from taking her very gorgeous, very dangerous, ass down to the ground.

“I have questions and you’re going to answer them.”

“Are you working for The Agency?” he demanded, ignoring her desire to be in charge of whatever was happening between them. He had no intention of giving her the upper hand in the situation. Except he was currently naked and unarmed, which wasn’t exactly ideal.

“I believe you’re the one who was working for The Agency and then went rogue,” she said evasively.

“So that’s a yes.” He stepped out of the shower and she instantly pulled her pistol, aiming it at his chest. Innocently lifting his hands, he tilted his chin toward the rack of towels. “I was just going to grab a towel.”

“I suggest you stay right where you are, Graves. Besides, there’s not one inch of you I haven’t seen before.”

“True. I can say the same for you, Cherry.”

Her nostrils flared at the old nickname. From the first moment they’d met and she’d swept into HQ like a boss, red hair flowing, shoulders set, face determined, she’d reminded him of a powerful red firecracker. A cherry bomb.

“Don’t call me that and don’t move another muscle. It’d be a shame to have to shoot you.”

Brax knew she’d do it, too. Maybe not in the head or heart, but she’d put a bullet in his shoulder or thigh without blinking. Yet, her attention was currently focused a little more central than his thigh. Fuck. He didn’t want her to shoot his dick off, but he didn’t put anything past her.

No, he wanted to keep the jewels intact, thank you very much. Not that he’d put them to much use lately. After she left, he’d felt so blindsided, so utterly lost, that he’d vowed never to let himself be that vulnerable again. Although he’d considered a fast fuck on a few different occasions to satisfy the physical urge, he decided it was much easier to just jerk off.

Their gazes locked. And she still had the prettiest sage-colored eyes he’d ever seen. A perfect blend of green and gray. Unwanted heat began to infuse his body. Oh, shit. This could get embarrassing fast, he thought, unable to control his response to her.

Forcing his mind away from the memories of her naked body writhing beneath him, he pictured the evil assholes of The Agency. Remembered the way Tanner had been shot down and bled out in Ryland’s arms. How Cross had betrayed them.

Back in control of his traitorous dick, Brax propped a shoulder against the shower door and crossed his arms. “I’m waiting.”

Before she could respond, a noise came from the hallway and she quickly turned the gun away from him, directing it toward the sound. Brax immediately launched forward, grabbing her hand holding the weapon in a tight fist, spinning and slamming her against the wall. His naked front pressed down the length of her back and, goddammit, she still fit him perfectly. Despite the situation, he felt himself getting hard.

God, he hated the power she wielded over him.

She cursed under her breath when Neo skidded by, playing with one of his fuzzy mouse toys. “I hate cats,” she ground out, tugging against his hold, trying to wrench her wrist free.

“No, you don’t,” he responded, remembering how she’d fed the stray cats they’d encountered during their time in Hawaii.

Without warning, her body went from tense to loose, and she stopped fighting him. No point, really. He held her firmly and, even though she was smart and fast, he was much stronger.

So the vixen fought him with her feminine wiles instead.

“Miss me, Graves?” she taunted, wiggling her ass just the slightest bit.

He gritted his teeth, mentally chastising his unruly dick, as he growled in her ear, “You wish.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. Brax noticed the moment their breathing aligned. His eyes closed and his hold on her altered into more of an embrace.

“Should we be expecting your team back any time soon?” Her husky voice touched him in all the right places.

He perked up, eyes popping wide open at her question. Why? Did she want to take this somewhere?

“Maybe.” He shifted slightly, pushing his hips closer against hers. Just enough to remind her of what she was missing. “Why? Are you feeling nostalgic?”

He didn’t miss the soft sigh that escaped her lips. “Let me go,” she whispered.

“You’re the one who wanted to play, Cherry. So let’s play.” He lightly blew on her ear, knowing how she used to like that, and expecting to feel a shiver maybe…but certainly not an elbow in his gut.

With a grunt, he released her and she spun away. Gun aimed at his head this time, she began walking backward. “I’m not in the mood, Graves.”

When he took a wary step forward, she sent him a warning look and he froze. Maybe he should’ve disarmed her when he had the chance.

“I wouldn’t,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I suggest you stay put or I’m going to blow away your best asset.”

Brax flinched. “Why did you come here?”

“I’ll be in touch.” She spun and ran, but Brax didn’t bother to give chase. Instead, he strolled after her, admiring her pluck. And her ass in those fitted, black jeans. Quinn never ceased to amaze him. Or turn him on. The woman had balls of steel to break into his team’s warehouse and confront him in the shower. And, hell, he’d liked every moment.

Christ, they were dysfunctional.