Page 11 of The Wrecked One

“Ugh. I should go,” he said a few heated moments later, “or we’re going to have to reach out to the team to alter the security footage to hide the fact I was in your room for so long. And on Valentine’s Day, of all days.”

I closed my eyes and bowed my forehead to his while noting the annoying ringing had finally stopped in the other room. “No one knows about us back home yet, so I guess you’re right.”

At his subtle throat clear, I forced open my lids and lifted my head. “What is it?”

He let go of me and backed up. “I overheard Carter on speakerphone with his wife back in Pennsylvania before we left for this op . . . she was tipsy or something, and she admitted to overhearing us going at it like rabbits in the laundry room in Ireland.”

“Ohh.” Now my head was firmly placed in Ireland, and to that particular memory of Oliver banging me on top of that washing machine like I’d begged him to do. That’d been one hot night. One of many. “Now my cheeks are warm.”

“Does it bother you that Carter knows about us?” He angled his head, hands returning to his pockets.

Since Carter was one of our two bosses, Gray Chandler, son of the Secretary of Defense, being our other one, it probably should’ve turned me a few shades of pink in embarrassment. But my cheeks were heating more from the sizzling memory of that night than from worries about repercussions from up the chain.

“No, I’m not upset,” I finally relented. “And after this op, I want everyone else to know.” It was time I stopped running.

“Wait, what?” Narrowed eyes met mine. His reaction was doubtfully from fear, more so from shock.

I nodded as my answer, despite that not really being the proper response. “I don’t want to run anymore. When this is over, will you help me stop running?” I wasn’t sure if it was fair to ask him that, but I didn’t want to take any chances and lose him. Here goes, the words I’ve never officially said since the night I dropped my clothes in Ireland. “I want you, Oliver. I want to be all in with you.”

His lips stretched into the most handsome, genuine smile I’d ever seen from him, and he closed the space between us and pulled me into his arms. “Absolutely. Yes.” He nodded eagerly. “I can wait as many days as this op takes to be with you, knowing that when this is over . . .” His voice broke with emotion, and he paused for a beat, which had me equally choked up. “I’m not going anywhere, Mya. I’ll never leave unless you truly want me to.” Leaning in, lips near mine, he murmured, “Even then, jury is still out, since I can be a stubborn pain in the ass.”

3

MYA

TWO WEEKS LATER

“Hold on to me.” Oliver flipped down the shield of his helmet, concealing his eyes before facing forward. “And tight,” he added when I’d yet to heed his command to wrap myself around him on the motorbike. Somehow, his gravelly morning voice managed to compete with the busy sounds surrounding us outside our hotel.

I reluctantly circled my arms around his waist, but apparently, he wasn’t satisfied with my grip. As soon as we started to move, he immediately braked, forcing me forward. I slammed into his rock-solid frame. Hugging a tree or a steel pole would’ve probably felt the same. The man was solid, to say the least.

And of course you did that. Knowing him, there was probably a shit-eating grin parked on his lips now that I was snuggled against him like he wanted.

Of course, I wasn’t exactly complaining about being forced to be this close to him.

It was the last day of February, and thirteen and a half days since we’d last touched. Aside from a shoulder brush, and some quick, hot glances while working leads on what would be a feature story for FYVM Media, this was as close as we could get publicly.

And forget privately. We knew being together in one of our hotel rooms was forbidden after what happened last time.

Finally relaxing on the seat, I looked off in the distance as Oliver skillfully weaved in and around other bikes and cars. The morning sun was still working its way higher in the sky as he shifted lanes and started for Chao Phraya river, which cut through the heart of the gorgeous city.

I need caffeine. Oliver and I had pulled an all-nighter last night in the business lounge of our hotel. The public space was not only needed to keep our hands from wandering, but we really had needed to focus. Because finally—freaking finally!—Hugo Soren had made contact.

Well, his assistant did. The work we were doing in Thailand had caught his attention—hopefully that was code for The Collective’s attention—and I was being summoned to a meeting with Hugo that morning. I’d needed all my ducks in a row. The problem was, no one ever explained what to do with those damn ducks after they were lined up.

“This is our chance,” I’d squealed after reading the email the other night.

“There it is. I missed it,” Oliver had said, starting to reach for my cheek. But then he abruptly pulled his hand back with an awkward throat clear. “Your dimple.” He’d scrunched his face up right after those words. “Hate it was the result of another man, though.”

That part of our relationship would probably never change—the teasing—and I was pretty sure neither of us wanted it to.

After a few more minutes of zipping along while I kept a secure hold of Oliver, we were now near Tha Chang Wang Luang, the pier on the river near the Grand Palace and next to the small public park Nagaraphirom.

Oliver pulled onto Maharat Road and parked by a mobile motorbike drink cart. He helped me down and removed his helmet before stepping forward to undo the strap of mine. His hand skirted along the line of my chin and around to my ear, provoking goose bumps to form on my arms.

Eyes on mine, his touch was anything but innocent, but it was his chance to steal a moment with me. A moment I couldn’t help but take and latch on to.

While Oliver set the two helmets on the bike seat, despite the fact these were replacements from being stolen last week, I faced the busy river. It buzzed with activity as river taxis, long-tail boats, and ferries moved up and down the waterway, carting locals to work and tourists to landmarks. Once I overheard Oliver ordering our drinks, a Cha Yen for me and a black coffee for himself, I joined him on the pedestrian-packed sidewalk to wait with him.

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