Page 62 of Hidden Attraction

Her lover.

Every throb of her heart came with a matching pang of pain and regret. When they left the safehouse for the final time, their relationship would change. The mission would be over—they did what they came to do.

But they didn’t have nearly enough time together.

She skittered her gaze over the stubble of growth on his jaw, sweeping up to the angles of his god-like features, unyielding even in sleep.

Julian lay on his back, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. After their lovemaking, they’d talked a bit about nothing while a storm cloud gathered over them, on the verge of breaking.

Neither of them wanted to bring up the real topic on both of their minds—what happened when this was over?

Finally, Julian suggested they try to catch a nap. They had a long night ahead of them with the flight back to the States.

But Alyssa couldn’t sleep. She lay there, studying her partner, her lover…and dammit, her friend. She wasn’t ready to leave all this behind.

Her throat thickened, and for a terrible moment, she thought she’d burst into a fit of tears. She pulled in slow breaths and thought how funny life was, handing her a good thing—such a special thing—only to rip it away from her.

She rolled over and grasped her phone to check the time. They had spent hours in bed, but they still had hours more to wait before they caught that flight. Even if she drifted to sleep now, her rest would be broken. She had no choice but to stay awake, and that meant she needed caffeine.

The cupboards in the house were empty. They’d even finished off the tea. If she wanted that coffee, she had only one option—to slip out and buy some of the rich brew from the vendor who set up his cart at the head of the alley.

With a quick glance at Julian, she thought about waking him with a cup of coffee. One of the few things she could do to show how much she cared. After they landed in the United States, there would be no more small gestures.

No small touches exchanged out of sight, no baskets of flatbread or flirting.

Her gut sank with the loss she had already begun to feel, and the sensation urged her out of bed.

The drawn shutters blocked all but a few slivers of early evening sun streaming into the space. When she left the bed, Julian didn’t stir. His breathing stayed deep and even. His body was a muscled line of pure heat beneath the tangle of the thin sheet.

She stood there for a second, bare feet on the scuffed wood floor, weighing her option again.

Was it wise to leave the safehouse, even to walk the short distance for coffee? From beyond the walls, she heard the faint hum of traffic on the street.

People were out and about, making the commute home from their workdays. The street vendors were often busy at this time of day. She could be spotted.

Her heart pounded above the quiet of the space.

There was safety in numbers, right? Julian had taken her to a crowded restaurant to discuss their findings about the Red Cross worker and her son.

Mind made up, she tiptoed to the front of the safehouse to dress. Her clothes were still scattered around the kitchen. Her shirt dangled from the doorknob like a forgotten trophy, and her pants and underwear were wadded up on the floor.

Carefully, she gathered them and dressed swiftly. When she pulled on her top, she sucked in a hasty breath. The fabric still smelled like Julian.

Her hands trembled as she drew the top down her torso, and she tied a scarf over her messy hair, forcing herself to breathe through the pain of losing him just as she found him.

The instant she opened the door, a blast of fresh air hit her nose, sweeping the musty scent inside the safehouse away. Before she let the door click shut behind her, she replayed the lock code she’d seen Julian enter several times in her mind.

A horn blast from several streets away was muffled by the buildings. The low whine of engines of the small vehicles and even the scooters filled the air, concealing the sound of her steps as she hurried to the end of the alley.

And the fresh notes of coffee carried on the air currents.

She moved swiftly, feeling safe within the two walls that made up the alley. She stole a glance over her shoulder at the emptiness and the closed door of the safehouse.

Up ahead, she saw the bright tunic the man selling coffee wore. He was speaking to a customer, bobbing his head as he accepted coins and handed over a paper cup.

She hurried forward, almost able to taste that coffee and feel the caffeine flow through her veins.

When she exited the alley and the street spread out before her, she approached the coffee vendor with a smile and a word of greeting in his native tongue.

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