Page 142 of The Unlikely Spare

“I think we’ve invented a new camping delicacy.” I hold up a sausage that’s achieved the texture of volcanic rock. “Carbonized mystery meat with notes of lighter fluid.”

“Ah, catch yourself on,” Eoin says, though there’s fondness in it. “That’s what my da used to say when we complained about dinner. Means stop your whining.”

“Well, consider me thoroughly caught on.” Despite its suspicious appearance, I take a bite because apparently fleeing terrorists has lowered my standards considerably.

I concentrate on eating dinner rather than thinking about that kiss with Eoin and exactly what it means.

After we’ve both choked down some food, we head back to our structurally-sound-thanks-to-German-engineering tent.

The inside of the tent seems impossibly small, especially when the lantern light catches the angles of Eoin’s face, throwing shadows that emphasize the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth that I’ve memorized but can’t stop staring at.

Eoin checks his weapon—again—then tucks it within easy reach.

I want him.

I want him so much.

And it appears that want is strong enough to override everything else in my brain.

The smart thing would be to get into my sleeping bag and pretend this crackling tension doesn’t exist.

But when have I ever done the smart thing when it comes to Eoin O’Connell?

“So, that was some great honeymoon roleplaying going on,” I say as I strip off my T-shirt and shorts. “I’m rather interested to discover how committed you are to the role…”

Eoin’s eyes darken. “Nicholas.” His voice is soft, but there is a warning in it.

I raise an eyebrow, stretching my arms up, noticing how his gaze settles around my abs.

“Yes, darling husband?” I lean back on my sleeping bag, propping myself up on my elbow.

“Stop that,” he growls.

“Stop what? I’m simply lying here, innocently preparing for sleep in our matrimonial tent.”

He turns his head to look at me properly, and even in the dim light, I can see exasperation mixed with something darker in his eyes. “You know exactly what you’re doing. And you know why nothing can happen tonight,” he says.

“Such dedication to duty,” I say. “Though one might argue that maintaining our cover story requires certain…commitments to authenticity.”

“You’re playing with fire.” There’s that warning tone again, the one that sends heat pooling low in my stomach.

“Maybe I just want the advantages that come with the deception. After all, I know all the disadvantages, don’t I?”

My words hang in the air between us like a challenge, but something in his expression shifts, and suddenly, this game doesn’t feel fun anymore.

“Can you forgive me?” he asks.

Trust Eoin to cut straight through to the heart of the issue.

I bite my lip. “I don’t know,” I say honestly.

He tries to rustle up a smile, but it’s fragile at the corners.

“I guess I’ll take uncertainty over a definite no.”

We stare at each other as Eoin’s smile fades, his face turning serious.

“I’ve been undercover so many times before, but…”