Page 38 of Ford
Thanks for that, bro.
But she’d been here, in Moscow, all that time.
They’d barely caught up last night, York the Driven needing Coco to start hunting down the ISP and source of whoever had intercepted RJ’s emails.
He hadn’t been pleased that Coco and RJ knew each other. If possible, he’d turned even crabbier, as if RJ had somehow stolen his thunder.
Although, maybe the darkness crashed right after she’d kissed him.
Yeah, she’d kissed him. More of an impulsive, panicked move, but she’d found herself maybe trying a little too hard to make it real.
He tasted good. And had soft lips and a mouth that, yeah, at first didn’t respond, but then…
Then.
He’d wrapped his arms around her, clearly seeing the need to put a little believability into the kiss. Never mind that it was for show. After nearly a week on the run, ragged-edged and buzzing inside, kissing him made the world slow down. For a brief, comforting moment, York was holding her, and she didn’t even care that he didn’t really like her. He was safe. Strong. Capable.
She had let herself relax.
Let herself kiss him.
It wasn’t attached to feelings—more of a release of her tension, and maybe for him, too, because although she didn’t mean to urge him on, he deepened their kiss, turning it from exploratory to need. Became an unexpected bond between them that pushed aside the questions and suspicions and nourished something she hadn’t realized she needed.
The need, at least for her, to cling to someone.
To know she wasn’t alone.
Perhaps she’d clung a little too hard because he looked almost angry when he marched them back to the metro.
Hadn’t really looked at her since.
The man needed to lighten up. It wasn’t like she wanted a proposal. Just help her find out who was trying to kill the general, get her on a plane, and he could wash his hands of her.
She’d chalk up her crazy behavior—and the wild outfit York made her wear—to being on the lam in a former communist country. That felt fair.
Coco had given her clothes that felt more her speed—a pair of yoga pants, an oversized shirt, and socks. Now RJ got up and headed to the bathroom down the hall. She spotted York leaning against the windowsill in the kitchen holding a cup in his hands. He looked up, and she caught his gaze on her as she slipped into the bathroom.
Oh, the hair. She found a pick in Coco’s closet and fought it for a while, then gave up and pulled it back into a ponytail. Coco had given her a toothbrush last night, and she used it to feel human again, washed her face, and finally emerged, mostly herself.
Coco was in the kitchen with York, finishing off a piece of cake, one foot drawn up and nudged next to the table, watching her computer run a program.
“Hey, sis,” she said as if she and RJ might be back in Montana hanging out on a Saturday morning. “I made a batch of your mom’s applesauce cake. There’s coffee on the stove. Bad habit I can’t seem to break.”
Coco wore a pair of runners and a sleeveless shirt, a wrap in her short red hair that only accentuated her high cheekbones, the freckles across her nose, and her often too-perceptive gray-green eyes. “I think York and I have pinned down the source of your email hijacker.”
RJ sliced a piece of cake from the pan on the stove, poured herself a cup of coffee, and brought them both over to the table, sitting down beside Coco.
York hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, and she glanced at him.
He wore a frown, his lips pursed.
“What’s his problem?” she said to Coco. Finally, maybe she had an ally.
“Oh, that’s just York. He’s been grumpy his entire life.”
York made a noise, drained his cup, and set it on the counter. “Are you done with the sofa? I need some shut-eye.”
Yeah, she hadn’t thought about the fact that in this one room flat, she’d taken the only place to sleep. “Sorry.”