Chapter Six
Jo
I was a wreck by the time I sat in the chair Nate held out for me, still catching my breath from the cold walk over.
I had expected us to be passing each other slices of pizza from cardboard boxes.
I had not expected a romantic setting with candles flickering on the table and for him to look even better than he had earlier, his tailored suit hugging his shoulders just right.
He left the room for a moment, and I slumped in my seat.
Am I a fool to think I can control this situation?
Or him?
I should have had a plan B. Something with chloroform. No, unlike in the movies, it actually takes five to seven minutes for a person to pass out from it, and that is if you have perfect conditions. Tranquilizers? Even if I had them, I would feel guilty leaving anyone in that state.
I sat up straighter. Toughen up, Josephine. You can do this. Just keep him occupied without sleeping with him. Unless he comes out of that kitchen in nothing but an apron.
A flash fantasy of him doing just that brought a wistful smile to my face. Did he look as good out of the suit as he did in it? I closed my eyes and let myself imagine his muscles flexing as he walked toward me. With one strong sweep, he would clear the table and haul me to him. His kiss would be.
“You okay, Jo?”
My eyes flew open at his amused tone, and I blushed clear to my toes. He was standing beside the table, fully dressed, with two plates of salmon and vegetables.
I swallowed hard and said the first excuse that came to mind. “Just saying grace.”
Oh, shit, I should not have said that. There are lies and then there are instant tickets to hell. Throwing God under the bus as a cover for lusty daydreams cannot be good.
He gave me a long look, then placed my plate in front of me. “My family used to say grace when we were kids. My aunt insisted on it.”
I’m definitely going to hell.
“That sounds like a nice way to grow up.”
“It was,” Nate said, sitting down across from me. “Not that we were particularly religious. But she wanted us to remember gratitude.” He stopped, made a face, and nodded at my food. “She’s actually why I’m here. I frequently don’t agree with her, but she often ends up being right in the end.”
It sounded a lot like how I was with Dad. I had to remind myself that I barely knew this man, but that wasn’t how it felt. “She sounds like a beautiful woman.”
“She is.” His voice softened. “She’s one of the few people I trust.” He blinked, as if surprised he had said it aloud, then quickly poured the wine.
Trust was something that didn’t come easily to me, so I understood how important some people could be compared to others. My father was someone who’d never let me down. Ever. Which was why I wouldn’t give up on him, no matter what people said he’d done. I knew he was innocent.
Nate’s eyes met mine. “What about you? Where’s your family?”
“It’s always been just Dad and me,” I admitted, my throat tightening.
“What kind of work does he do?”
I sat back, realizing I was sharing too much. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
Nate reached across and gave my hand a squeeze, his fingers chilled from the wine bottle.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” he asked quietly.
“Of course not,” I said too quickly and withdrew my hand.
He leaned back, cool and deliberate. “What are you hiding from?”
I froze. “Nothing.”
“A man?”
I swallowed hard. “No.”
“Did you steal something?”
Technically, no. My father’s research belongs to the world, not some corporation that would only use it to make itself even richer. I picked up my fork. “Sure, that’s me, elite diamond thief, holed up here until it’s safe.”
He shook his head.
I stabbed a vegetable and continued, “No, wait, I’m a high-profile witness for a mob case and your uncle worked for the government as a safehouse.”
He frowned. “You’re mocking me.”
I smiled my best smile. “A little. My reasons for being here could involve international espionage, or I could simply have been between jobs and Silas gave me a place to find my footing again.”
“Because he knew your father?”
“Yes.”
He sighed and I let out a breath of relief. “When was the last time you went out on a date?”
That question threw me off guard and the truth shook me. “A while. How about you?”
“Last night.” He handed me the fork with a cocky smile.
Last night? “Let me guess, she’s a model.”
There was a twinkle in his eye when he said, “No, but she could be. She’s a good-looking woman.”
I didn’t want to think about how I compared.
He continued, “Very different from you.”
My head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
“There was no mystery with her. Nothing unexpected.” Those beautiful eyes of his darkened. “No spark.”
I inhaled sharply and reminded myself we were not a couple and there was no way we ever could be. Or should want to be.
Anything we did risked complicating the situation.
Best case? It was a distraction.
Worst case? I told him too much, got him involved, and accidentally got us both killed.
After Nate topped off my wine, I pushed the glass aside and stood. “Thank you for dinner.”
He rose to his feet. “Leaving so early?”
“Early to bed, early to rise. The life of a fugitive arms dealer is a busy one.”
He stepped closer.
I held my ground and my body hummed for his.
His phone pinged in his coat pocket. He ignored it, sliding his arms around me, pulling me close.
I didn’t fight it, because I didn’t want to. Every part of me was hyper aware of him. His expressions. His scent. I wanted. Needed to know if what I was feeling was from nerves or some primal attraction.
“One kiss,” he murmured against my mouth.
“Yes,” I breathed out my permission.
And then he kissed me.
Slow at first, measured, deliberate. His lips were warm, unhurried, confident.
Every rational thought short-circuited. For a few seconds, I was not a fugitive or a liar. I was just a woman starved for human connection, tasting something I had not realized I had missed until now.
When his hand slid up the back of my neck, I felt it like a live current. I wanted to lean in, to lose myself, but instinct screamed don’t do this.
Don’t risk everything for a quick pleasure you’ll only regret giving in to.
I broke away first, stepping back, breath shaky. My arms wrapped around my ribs defensively.
His gaze lingered, sharp and searching. “Well, that.”
“Can’t happen again.”
“I was going to say was fucking amazing.”
I shuddered because yeah. It had been. No. Not doing this. I rubbed a hand back and forth nervously over my forearm.
He caught the movement, caution flickered in his eyes.
Part of the success of any alias is giving people something to remember, something that looks permanent but is not. This time, I had chosen tattoos: fine lines curling like smoke, winding into a dragon across my wrist and forearm. A conversation piece. A disguise.
But disguises only worked if they held.
I followed his look down and froze. A faint smudge of black trailed along my sleeve where the ink had begun to rub away.
Shit.
If he found out who I really was, what I was working on, we could both be in danger.
His expression did not change, but his voice did, steady, low, impossible to read.
“Is your tattoo fake?”