Chapter 2
JULIAN
Itell myself I asked her to dance because she’s useful to my cover.
That’s the first lie.
The crowded dance floor adjusts around us without me having to pick a path as I lead my partner. That’s how well we’re already synched together.
That part is useful. A man dancing with a woman at an embassy gala blends in effortlessly. People automatically assume you’re a couple, or you want to fuck her. Either way, you’re caught up in your partner and can’t be bothered paying attention to anyone else.
Diplomat on a date, or on the pull. Either way, he’s harmless.
Iris moves with me easily, like she belongs in my arms.
Like she belongs with me.
The second lie is that I tell myself it doesn’t rattle me. That I can still carry out my mission.
She’s the perfect decoy.
That should be the only thing I’m thinking about.
It isn’t. Her lush body pressed against mine has taken over all my senses.
My hand settles more firmly at her waist as the music slows, and I pull her closer. Her breath catches.
The awareness between us sharpens into something electrifying, and my cock is instantly so hard I have to shift our positions or I’d ram my erection into her.
And still I can’t help myself.
I lean down a little just to draw in her scent. She smells faintly of something flowery. It could be her shampoo or her lotion. It’s not strong enough to be perfume, and for some crazy reason that pleases me.
When have I ever cared about a woman wearing perfume or not?
She caught my attention as soon as she stepped into the ballroom, hitching up her shoulders and taking a deep breath.
Steeling herself as if she were walking into battle.
Something about the way she looked around the room with a worried frown on her beautiful face called out to me.
And when I glimpsed the shapely leg flashing through the slit in her dress, my body moved toward her before my brain caught on to what I was doing.
Fuck. I’m in trouble.
Her fingers flex once on my shoulder, like she’s reminding herself I’m real. “You look very comfortable,” she murmurs, her mouth close enough that the words brush my skin. “Either you dance a lot, or you’re very good at pretending.”
“I’m good at many things,” I say smoothly. Pretending is definitely one of them. Like right now, when I’m pretending I’m as calm and collected as I made my voice sound.
She hums. “That didn’t answer the question.”
“No,” I agree. “It didn’t.”
Her gorgeous green eyes lift to mine. They’re bright, inquisitive, and far too perceptive for my liking. As soon as I found out she’s a journalist, I should have walked away. Their curious minds and impeccable instincts provide a risk I can’t afford. They see patterns where others don’t.
Kind of like an MI6 agent.
And yet, here I am, pressing her body lightly against me, just because I wanted to know what that feels like.
Because when I saw her, I knew I couldn’t face going on with my life without knowing what touching her feels like.
And it feels fucking incredible. Worth any risk.
“Let me guess,” she says. “You’re one of those people who never answers a question directly.” Her dark
“I answer plenty of questions directly.”
“Just not the interesting ones.”
I smile. It’s reflexive with this woman. She brings something out of me I haven’t allowed to surface in a long time. “The interesting ones are rarely safe,” I say.
Her brows lift. “That sounds like experience talking.”
“I’m older than you, so everything I say sounds like experience talking.” She’s probably only six or eight years my junior. But her sparkly eyes and enthusiastic interest when she looks at the surrounding people make me feel decades older. The things I’ve seen…and done have prematurely aged me.
She laughs quietly, and the sound hits low in my chest. I tighten my hand at her waist without thinking, thumb pressing into the soft fabric of her dress. She inhales sharply, a soft, surprised breath, and for half a second, the world narrows to that.
I should loosen my grip. I don’t.
I should step away from this bright young woman so my harsh, cynical world doesn’t destroy her.
And yet, I can’t.
“You’re very smooth,” she says.
“Am I?” Of course I fucking am. I trained for that. That is, I appear smooth and confident on the outside. But if she saw how much she actually affects me, how my insides are twisted up and my mind races just because she’s near me, she’d think me anything but.
“Yes,” she says. “It’s suspicious.”
“Everything is suspicious if you look hard enough.”
She studies my face like she’s memorizing it. “You always dodge like that?”
“Only when it matters.”
“And does this matter?” She asks softly, her eyes still sparkle, but there’s a glimmer of seriousness in them too.
Her body is warm against mine. The slit in her dress flashes when she moves, just enough to be distracting. She’s close enough that I can feel the heat of her, the subtle shift of her weight as she follows my lead without hesitation.
This is exactly the proximity I usually avoid. And the things I don’t let distract me.
“I’d say so,” I reply. “Wouldn’t you?” The conversation has entered dangerous territory, but I can’t keep myself from seeing where it leads. This woman’s mind is as interesting as her body.
Inwardly, I shake my head at my foolishness. First, I noticed her scent. And now I’m interested in her mind. I’m definitely fucked.
She considers my question, lips curving. “I think it matters, because you’re hiding something.”
An involuntary, quiet laugh escapes my lips. “You’re very observant.”
“That’s what they pay me for,” she says. “To figure out secrets and lies.”
Her honesty disarms me more than it should. And for a brief moment, I regret I can never be completely honest with her.
With anyone.
“Sometimes people don’t want their secrets exposed,” I note. “Does it not scare you that you might find out things that might put you in danger?”
She shrugs. “I’m afraid of lots of things. I just don’t let it stop me.” She tilts her head. “Are you threatening me?” There’s a smile on her lips, but she instinctively leans away from me.
I don’t like it, so I pull her closer again. “No, it’s not a threat,” I murmur against her hair. “I’ll do my uttermost to never place you in danger.”
She relaxes in my arms, and a part of me I didn’t notice was tense relaxes as her body shows she believes me.
That’s dangerous too.
The music swells, slower now, more intimate. I let go of her hand and move it to the other side of her waist from where I’m already holding her. Spreading my fingers, I tighten my grip on her.
She slides her hands up my shoulders, interlacing her fingers behind my neck. “Why diplomacy?” She asks, casually, but her pupils are dilated as she gazes into my eyes and her breath catches.
“Public service,” I say without missing a beat. “A desire to build bridges between cultures.” The answers are rehearsed and repeated often, so they come out smoothly and people always believe them.
This woman, though, she doesn’t. She snorts softly. “You don’t strike me as a bridge-builder.”
Another involuntary smile stretches my lips. “No?”
“You strike me as someone who knows where all the exits are.” Her gaze is serious, but a challenge glimmers in the back of it.
I meet her gaze and hold it while I measure how much to give her. “Old habit,” I finally say.
“Yes,” she murmurs. “That tracks. You’re ex-military, or maybe ex-law enforcement. Maybe both.”
She’s surprised me again. Ex-military is true. But law enforcement is current. “Something like that.”
We sway together, slowly. I could do this all night. Which is dangerous…for both of us. Anyone close to me will have a target painted on their back should my cover ever be blown.
She tilts her head. “So what are you really doing in San Isidro, Julian Cross?”
“Oh, we’re using full names now.” I lower my voice. “Just enjoying the music. The company.”
She shakes her head, laughing lightly. “You’re a master in deflecting.”
“So you keep telling me.” But I actually told her the truth. For once, I’m caught up in just enjoying myself. This woman has crawled inside my guard in just a few moments.
She studies me, clearly deciding whether to push. Then she smiles again, shaking her head. “Fine,” she says. “Your turn.”
“My turn?”
“Yes. Ask me something.”
I glance down at her mouth before I stop myself. “Why journalism?”
She answers immediately. “Because I like truth. And because I’m bad at letting things go.”
That hits closer than I like. “Dangerous combination,” I say.
“You keep pointing out the dangerous part of my job.” She tilts her head, gazing up at me. “That makes me worried about what your world is like.”
My breath hitches. When was the last time someone worried about me? I mentally shake myself and give her one of my practiced diplomat smiles. “My world is very boring. Lots of paperwork and meetings.”
She watches me for a beat. Something in her eyes tells me she knows I’m lying, but then she smiles again. “Yeah, sure. Going to exotic locations, attending glitzy balls, flirting with women you just met.” She lets go of my neck with one hand and waves around in the air. “It all sounds very boring.”
Her quip startles a proper laugh out of me. A deep belly laugh I haven’t heard myself deliver in years. “Absolutely,” I agree. “Meeting a beautiful woman and making her dance with me. It’s all very tedious. All very boring.”
The small, shy smile that graces her lips when she realizes I just called her beautiful makes my heart stutter. This situation is getting away from me.
She leans in, her lips just shy of my ear. “You’re very good at making people feel comfortable,” she says. “You say all the right things and make all the right moves.”
I close my eyes for half a second. “That’s the idea.”
“And what do you get out of it?” she asks. “What is it you want?”
I open my eyes and meet her gaze. “Right now?”
“Yes.”
I should say something safe. Something flippant. Instead, I say, “You.”
Her smile turns slow and heated. “Hm. Mutual wants are easy to meet.”
My pulse kicks hard.
This woman is a liability. An unknown variable.
An unplanned complication wrapped in silk and confidence and far too much intelligence.
She’s also the best cover I could ask for because anyone watching sees a British diplomat dancing with a beautiful journalist, his attention wholly and convincingly occupied.
If I were smarter, I’d make sure this didn’t go any further.
If I were a stronger man, a decent man, I’d tell her goodbye and go up to my room alone.
But I am neither of those things.
“I should warn you,” I mumble. “I’m not looking for anything complicated.” At least I’m decent enough to tell her that.
Her fingers tighten behind my neck. “Good. I don’t have time for complicated.”
Our faces are inches apart now. The air between us feels charged, heavy with things neither of us is saying.
“This is a terrible idea,” I murmur.
She smiles like she agrees. Like she doesn’t care. “Probably.”
I’ve never wanted someone this quickly. This completely. This much.
It’s irrational. It’s reckless. It’s dangerous.
She’s fucking dangerous.
And yet, I can’t stay away.
The music fades. Applause ripples through the room as couples separate, but neither of us moves right away.
Her breath is hot against my neck as inhale and exhale in synch. A question hangs in the air.
I make a decision.
“No promises,” I whisper. “No future.”
“Just tonight?” She asks, interest flickering in her eyes.
“Just tonight.” I hold my breath as I wait for her answer.
She considers me for a heartbeat, then nods. “All right.”
I offer my arm. She takes it without hesitation.
If I can have her for just one night, I tell myself. She’ll no longer be a distraction, and I’ll forget about her after she leaves in the morning.
And now I’ve lied to myself three times.