Page 109 of Gilded Saint

“That was part of my alias’s persona. I have what’s called a southern accent, but I played it up for the part of Leo.”

“I noticed the strength of your accent fluctuated.”

“It’s typical for Southerners,” I say, although I’ve noticed it’s true for most accents. Alcohol, emotion, the situation—they can all diminish or strengthen an accent.

“The part of Leo, huh? So, what’s Sam like? And that’s who you truly are? No more aliases? Are you done with this?”

“I’m done.”

“You have a boss?”

I nod slowly, as the answer isn’t clean cut.

“I have to figure out my next steps. Our next steps.”

“Maybe we can take some time together?”

“Oh, yes. I think after five years undercover, I’m due for some PTO.”

“What’s that?”

“Paid time off.” I don’t know if I’ll stay with the CIA. It’s something I’ll have to think through. Technically, I’m still part of the Navy. Arrow took charge of the op so it would remain off radar. No one from the Intelligence Committee could have access to the op, as the syndicate has connections to the group.

Her chin rests on my shoulder. I could fall asleep like this, holding her.

“You can choose a name. Who do you want to be?”

“I’ve always liked Ella. Or Isla.”

I dated a girl named Ella years ago, and that did not work out. That’s a no-go. Isla isn’t doing it for me. If Willow weren’t such a unique name…“Willow means freedom.” I looked it up one day when I was on a train returning to London. “Oddly enough, you freed me.”

She buries her face into my throat and I just squeeze her harder. Now that I’ve got her, for better or worse, I’ll be holding on to this one with everything I’ve got. A name comes to me out of nowhere.

“What about Lily?”

“Lily.” She says it like she’s trying it out on her lips. “I like it. Lily Watson.”

“Sleep on it. We have some time, but not too much. We’ll need to have all the requisite documents made for you.”

“Sam and Lily Watson. It has a nice ring. You know what else I like?”

And then her lips press to mine as she shifts, grinding her heat and weight over me.

My hands clutch her hips, stopping her. Not that I want to stop her, but I can smell myself, and every single muscle throbs.

“Hold that thought.” She skims past my cheek, and her teeth nibble at my ear. I slap a palm against her ass. “I need a shower. And painkillers.”

She pushes back, eyes wide. “You didn’t take anything? Get in the shower. There’s a medicine cabinet in the galley. I’ll get you some tea and see what I can find.”

In the shower, a memory of our first encounter surfaces through the steam. This shower isn’t tiny, like many boat showers are, but it’s not designed for two. I lean my head back in the stream, and as the water pours over me, it feels as if the past is circling the drain, and we’re sailing to the future. Leaving the past behind and navigating life to come.

When I exit the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my waist, Willow awaits, perched on the edge of the bed, holding white pills in her palm and a glass of water. I knock back the pills and chase them with a gulp of water.

“Thank you.”

My gaze grazes over her, taking in her hopeful, bright eyes, her full, upturned lips, and the fall of the silk over her pert breasts. She tilts her head up, and I bend, taking her lips in a slow lazy kiss.

She grapples with the towel, and cool air envelops my bare ass.

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