Page 43 of Only the Wicked
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, you didn’t make a mistake, but even if you had, if you love someone, you rally behind them, you don’t…”
I don’t have the words, I’m so frustrated that his father would do anything other than support his incredibly gifted son.
He cups my chin, tilting my head, and his thumb strokes my cheek. His eyes in this light are shades darker than the foliage, his gaze intense.
And then we’re kissing. Heat seeps down my spine and pools in the cradle of my hips. His skin is hot to the touch. My palm glides along rippling muscle, smooth and toned. His breath coats my neck, simultaneously cooling and heating my skin, and it feels like he’s holding me close, but straining to control himself. And I feel the same. I want him.
It's a problematic reaction. Because everything I’m feeling, all the desire, none of it’s manufactured. Everything I’m feeling is 100 percent real. In training, we learned about the Mata Hari complex that occurs when sexual relations mix with undercover roles, and I didn’t think I’d be susceptible. But I recognize what’s happening, and that’s the first step in preventing emotional entanglements, so I’m ahead of the game. I didn’t think of the Mata Hari complex when I was on the phone with Caroline this morning, but I should’ve.
He breaks the kiss and brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. Then lifts my hand and presses his lips to the back of it, entangles our fingers, and leads the way.
I like sex. Hell, I love great sex, as elusive as it is. That’s why I’m doing this. We’re having fun. As long as I remember my training, I’ll be fine. I can do this. And when the week comes to an end, he’ll go his way, I’ll go mine, and I’ll be a woman he met on vacation, and he’ll be a man I got to know on a personal level, for professional reasons.
The most successful operatives are as true to themselves as possible. That’s what Caroline meant. This week, I’ll be true to myself, and Rhodes and I will both enjoy this vacation. I’ll go down as a memory, and he’ll never know I’m part of the team infiltrating his private company.
Infiltrating his company. I can’t think like that. So I brush that thought away, and instead focus on his hand holding mine, the swoony sensation when he kissed the back of my hand, and the mix of leaves, grass, and dirt beneath my feet.
Chapter
Thirteen
Rhodes
The hiking guide rated the Glen Falls Hike a medium difficulty level, but it’s a joke. It’s the sort of frustration that under normal circumstances would have festered into a foul mood, given I prefer rock climbing. I like to push myself, sweat, and strain, not go for a leisurely stroll.
But yet, my mood’s fantastic. I don’t remember the last time I felt this light, just fucking happy. Maybe the last time I chewed some of Miles’ gummies.
The air smells green—that mix of fresh leaves, soil, and the slight tang of pine sap that gets sharper in the heat. “It’s around here,” I say, directing Syd to the real reason I chose Glen Falls. I hope it pans out. It’s been over twenty years since I’ve been here, and we didn’t take this route.
“Why isn’t this on the trail map?”
“Well, we’ve crossed onto private land.”
“What?” She squeaks the question in a higher octave, clearly not okay with trespassing.
“Based on the aerial footage, we should now be on private land.”
“You saw this trail from a satellite image?” She stops, mouth slightly agape, quizzical.
“I zoomed in.” It’s actually… Anyone can do that. “And I checked with a buddy.”
“That’s right. You’re from here.”
“Well, Charlotte. But an old classmate grew up nearby.”
“Does he still live here?”
“Nope. But he has family in the area.”
“So they know we’re out here today?”
“Eh, no. Probably not. He told me no one ever comes out here. This piece eventually butts up to a pasture, but he said no one ever really goes in the woods.”
“Have you ever been here before?”
“Long time ago.”
