Page 92 of Covert Mission
I catch her wrist and pull her toward me, dragging her to stand between my knees. Her body is rigid when I band her waist with my hands. The breath leaves her lungs when I press a kiss to the soft spot below her breasts. “You think I’m upset about what happened between us?”
“You look like I flushed your favorite pet fish.”
I inhale against her. “No, nothing like that, but I know you’re going to do serious damage to my heart.”
My face scrunches up and my eyes close in regret.
I can’t believe I just said that.
I’ve got my forehead pressed against her sternum and my nose resting between her breasts when a slow exhale stirs my hair. She frames my face with her hands.
I do combat with a groan that tries to build inside me, and I nearly lose when she slides those delicate fingertips into my hair.
“What happened?” she asks in a soft, concerned voice.
I don’t want to tell her. I want to hold onto what we shared. This is the stupidest, most selfish thought I’ve ever had.
She needs to know. This is her life, not mine. As much as I want to fix things for her, that is not my job. This thing isn’t going anywhere. I got those vibes from her loud and clear.
I pull her into my lap and bury my face in her hair. It’s wild and free, a riot of waves this morning. Tangled from my hands, curly from her sleeping on it when it was wet.
Her arm slides around my neck, delicately hooking me to her, and her other hand comes to rest over my thudding heart.
The rhythm is uncoordinated and extra hard, surely transmitting through the bone for her to feel.
She sighs fretfully. “You’re not okay, Lucas, and I want you to tell me what’s wrong. Did something happen with your case?”
“There’s been a new development.” I pull her tighter in my arms as I force a swallow. “In your situation…”
She inhales sharply and stiffens. “Oh my god, Lucas. Is everyone okay?”
“Your team is fine.”
She tries to twist out of my arms. Her voice rises as her fingers bite into my arm. “What’s going on, Lucas?”
“Another man was looking for you early this morning.”
In a flash, her energy shifts, turning cold. Her voice is low and oddly calm. “Who is he?”
“The guy says his name is Thomas.”
Tensely, she asks, “Did he come over here to this area?”
“No, he’s in town. Evan ran into him over by the FamFind set-up this morning when he went to check on things.”
A quiver sets loose in her muscles telling me exactly how upset she is about this news. But her voice is cold and distant. “What does he look like?”
“I haven’t seen him. Evan is the only one to talk with him.”
She forcefully pushes off of my lap and hurries across the room to her pack. “My boss said a guy was coming to meet with me about some things we have in our inventory.”
“Camile.”
She rifles through the clothes in her pack. Jerks on a pair of panties, then a pair of shorts. She’s about to pull her shirt over her head when I stride across the floor and press my front against her back. “Camile, listen to me.”
“I have to go.” She wiggles into one of her FamFind shirts—without even bothering to put on a bra—and pulls out of my hands. Her knee knocks her backpack off the small bench where it was sitting. It falls between our feet, spilling its contents.
Camile makes a startled sound and freezes. Probably because she knows exactly what I’m looking at.