Page 4 of The Wrecked One

“Julia, um, she picked up photography again when she fell in love with Finn,” I went on, needing to get back to the point and out of my head. “She can teach me what to do before I apply for the job.”

Mya slowly approached me, eyes softening. “How do you do it?”

I angled my head, letting go of the tags I’d once had to force Julia to stop wearing so she could move on. I’d taken the baton and now carried Tucker with me everywhere instead.

Mya palmed my cheek, and I did my best not to revel in this woman’s touch since I’d soon be going without it for an unknown amount of time. “You’ve been through so much. Your dad walking out on you all, your brother dying, then the loss of your mom. Not to mention you sitting in a prison about to be executed not that long ago . . . and yet, you always smile, joke, and never seem to let anything get to you.”

At the mention of my mother and my father, my stomach turned. Old, unhealed wounds tried to punch through and attack, but I punched right back, sending the pain to the past where it belonged and needed to stay. Fuck time travel. “Well, when you bullet-point the mess of my life like that?—”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes widened with regret, and I captured her wrist, not wanting her to feel guilty.

I brought the inside of her hand to my lips and kissed her there. “I’m okay, promise,” I lied since I’d become so good at it over the years. I’d bet a psychology department at a university could make a case study out of me. “I may soon be playing the role of Jimmy Olsen to your Lois Lane, but secretly, I am made of steel. Can’t fly, and apparently can’t dodge bullets, but I’m tough.” I winked and smiled, attempting to hide the scars that felt like they’d been carved into my soul with a machete. Scars that were invisible to the eye. “No worries.” I lowered her arm back to her side, letting go of her hand.

“You can be honest with me, Oliver. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to pretend. I know I’m not great at feelings-conversations myself, but I’m a wonderful listener.”

“Ha. Just not when it comes to the word no. That word flies right over your head.” I despised the tight band of pressure in my chest and the past pain now leaching into my veins like poison. “Anyway, I thought playing make-believe is exactly what I need to do. You’ll go as yourself, and I’ll pretend not to have feelings for you as your sidekick photographer.”

“You have feelings for me?” Her question effectively cut a hole through my heart. Did that possibility scare her? “What’s been happening between us, is it more than sex for you?”

Well, hello, conversation we’d yet to have out loud.

Fuck.

Mya had commitment issues, that much was obvious. What I didn’t know was why. And I wasn’t even sure if she knew, to be honest.

I swiped my hand up and down the back of my head as I tried to think through how to handle this woman, staring at me like she was about to pull a Julia Roberts from Runaway Bride and take off. And yes, I saw that movie twice because an ex-girlfriend forced me to watch it. In hindsight, maybe she was sending me a don’t-get-attached message. It had worked, hence the ex-girlfriend qualification.

But there was one woman I could never handle that message from, and she was standing before me now.

“I, uh, well, it’s too early between us to know anything, right? So, if you think we can’t be together in private because it’ll mess up our covers in public, then so be it. After the mission, we can figure this thing out between us.” And the Academy goes to . . . Damn, I was a worse actor than Mya.

She relented with a nod and a quick, “Okay.”

But that word felt as fragile as my mental state should have been back in that prison in Dubai before I almost lost my head. Oddly, I don’t remember being that messed up about it. I’d had nothing to live for then. I’d accepted my fate. Now, on this team, and with Mya in my life, I had everything to live for. And it felt damn good.

Taking her hand, I promised, “I’ll impress this Fuck You Very Much Media Group with my photography skills, and you’ll create a legendary cover story for me so they’ll hire me as your sidekick.”

She smiled, and when she squeezed my bad bicep, I hid a snarl from the pain so she wouldn’t realize she’d grabbed the wrong arm.

“But are you sure we can’t be together up until we leave for the mission, at least?” I couldn’t help but light the match and hope a fire sparked when it came to this woman. I’d gone too long faking how I felt to reverse course now.

Mya’s dark lashes fluttered as she lowered her gaze down my chest to my belt, then she let go of my arm, wordlessly peeled off her tank top, and tossed it atop my hoodie.

I stared at her beautiful breasts. “In here?” I smirked. “You sure? In your serial killer lair?”

She stepped forward and fisted my shirt. “I don’t care where I am. The world melts away and becomes quiet when I’m with you.”

It took me a moment to process what she’d admitted. She’d never said anything like that to me before, and it gave me a bit of hope.

Seizing her cheeks between my hands, I forgot all about the bad-juju energy around us the second my tongue slid between her lips.

My cock was painfully stiff in my jeans, and she began shimmying against me, searching for relief.

“I hate you for making me horny like this all the time,” she murmured between kisses, and I reached around and squeezed her ass cheek.

“Sure you do, buttercup,” I rasped before picking her up and carrying her over to the desk. “Just remember, no one is here to hear you.”

I set her down, and she playfully lifted her brows as I unbuttoned her jeans. “Mmm. Plan on making me moan, do you?”

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