Chapter 31
OLIVIA
My keys clanked on the glass side table as I tossed them down, but Ethan didn’t startle at the noise like I had hoped he would. Instead, he scanned his surroundings. The loft apartment wasn’t huge, but what would I do with all that space, anyway?
Plus, I was happy to spend most of my time in an aircraft.
We’d barely said a word to each other on the half-hour car ride here, and I was glad to wait.
I felt stronger at my place. During the drive, he’d taken my left hand, tracing the pink line on my palm that hadn’t quite finished healing.
His eyes were unreadable. He stared at the scar like he was confused yet fascinated by it.
Now we were standing in my dark apartment.
“You want the tour?” I flipped on the lamp beside the front door and gestured to the area on the first level. “Kitchen and living room.”
His gaze traveled over the European furnishings that came with the apartment. Modern and quirky, like someone had spent too much time and money at an upscale version of Ikea. The dark, intense eyes swept to the open-slatted staircase.
“What do you suppose is up there?” he asked.
I didn’t answer him. I took off my coat and put it away in the entry closet, then scooped up my keys and put them in the bowl where they belonged. All the while, he stood there, watching me.
“You want something to drink?”
“No.” His deep voice echoed under the vaulted ceiling. “I want to know what the rules are.”
My movements slowed as I sharpened my thoughts. He wanted to get right to it? Fine by me. “I’m going to ask you direct questions and you’re going to answer every one of them. None of that ‘I’ll answer what I can’ bullshit that Fletcher fed me.”
He sauntered toward me, wearing an expression that was dangerously seductive. “All right. Anything else?”
Those eyes, even in the low lamplight, made it difficult to focus. And like before, in a single blink, I was off the ground and in his strong arms.
“What are you doing?” I cried.
“I’m sorry, is carrying you to bed against the rules?”
He wasn’t able to move silently while holding me, and his feet thudded when he climbed the stairs. I was torn. Part of me was excited by this, but a larger part didn’t like surrendering to him.
It was dark in the bedroom with low, angled ceilings, but moonlight poured down through a skylight onto the platform bed.
I wanted control back. My brain scrambled, searching for a new rule to regain some power.
“If you lie, you have to take something off.” I did my best to make it sound firm, like an order, and not ridiculous like it really was.
He set me down on my feet, a full grin on his face. Oh, holy God. I’d never seen him truly smile before. Goosebumps burst down my arms and breath hung in my lungs.
“Strip interrogation?” he whispered, leaning in and dropping a quick kiss on my lips. “I like it. Same rule applies to you.”
“You have more clothes on than I do.”
He toed off his shoes and sat on the end of the low bed, pulling off his socks one by one. Then, his elbows came to rest on his bent knees, and he looked up at me. “Now you’re ahead of me.”
Ethan probably expected me to sit beside him on the bed, but in a strategic move, I strolled to the white chair angled in the corner and sat facing him. The chair was higher than the bed, and that, plus the distance, felt like an advantage.
“Tell me about Constantine’s death.”
He didn’t hesitate. “It was during Kara’s rescue when I was carrying her out of the house. Constantine was armed and came up behind us. I didn’t have time to evaluate the shot before I took it.”
“It was self-defense?”
“No,” he said. It was a lie, on purpose. His hands went to his red tie, loosening it—
I shook my head. “The jacket, first. Why doesn’t Fletcher know about it?”
The window above the bed was like a spotlight on him as he shed his jacket. In the moonlight, the holster straps and black gun were a stark contrast to his white dress shirt.
“Fletcher and I don’t work together,” he said. “I only informed the people who needed to know.”
My pulse picked up. “Now you can take off the tie.”
Confusion flooded his face. “I’m not lying about that.”
“You told me you killed Constantine,” I said. “Did I need to know that?”
He undid the silk at his neck, sliding it free from the collar. “A bit technical, don’t you think?”
Yeah, but I’d take them where I got them. That was one less lie he could tell. “What’s your—”
“Pretty sure it’s my turn.” His expression said he was about to go big or go home. “Why don’t you do relationships?”
Of course he’d zero in on the one question I didn’t want to answer. I crossed my legs and looked down at my red heels while searching to find a way out or to distract him. The silence stretched as he waited.
“That’s a lie by omission,” he said finally, hushed. “The dress, if you don’t mind.”
Well, maybe that could distract. I rose from the chair, my gaze locked on his. I clasped the zipper at my side and drew it down, letting the dress fall from my body until it was a puddle of fabric at my feet.
He let out a groan of satisfaction at the sight of me.
I’d splurged on all the lace and silk. The strapless bra and panty set, plus the thigh-high stockings had cost a small fortune, and had totally been worth it.
The lingerie was empowering. It made me feel like one of the women in the sexy magazines my older brother pretended weren’t in his closet growing up.
“See something you like?” I asked.
“No, I really fucking don’t.” He peeled his holster off quickly, adding it to his stack of discarded items.
The air was thick with electricity and lust. It clung to my skin, painted on with every pass of his gaze over my body. I lowered into the chair and again crossed my legs, assuming a strong posture.
“You’ve only got three lies left,” I said.
“And you’ve got none.”
What was he talking about? “I’ve got six.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to take anything else off. Also, you’re not counting my belt.”
“If we’re counting accessories, you should probably note I’m wearing earrings.” I focused on what I really wanted. “Who do you work for? Interpol?”
“No.”
“Are you faking your American accent like Fletcher? Are you MI-6?”
“No.” His shoulders lifted with a deep breath, like he knew which one was coming next.
It was the one I’d suspected from the night I’d caught him spying on Gio. “Are you CIA?”
“No.”
The room went still, like his answer pushed ‘pause’ on the entire world.
Then, his hands slowly lifted to the collar of his shirt.
His face didn’t change as he released one button, followed by another, and another, until the shirt was open, revealing the scars from CIA work. He pulled it down over his arms, his toned biceps flexing as he yanked the sleeves off and dropped it to the floor.
It was odd that he’d revealed his secret, and yet I was the one whose heart was pounding. I could barely catch my breath. He was a goddamn spy, a man who made his living in lies.
“My turn,” he said. “I’m not going to be in the field forever.” He stood from the bed. “I’m not asking for anything. All I need to know is if there’s a possibility of this . . . continuing.”
I felt dizzy. My palms were sweating against my thighs as he made his steady approach.
“Is there?” His deep voice was hypnotic.
My bottom lip trembled, and I gave him the lie he both did and didn’t want. “No.”
He set his hands on the armrests of my chair, which forced me to lean my head back. It was the only way to keep looking up at him.
“The bra,” he commanded, “and I’m going to take it off.”
“Okay.” It was barely a word.
Cool fingertips traced around my body as he knelt before me. He got the first hook undone, then paused. He looked confused and tried again. “How many hooks are there?”
“Three.” He went back to work, struggling, and I laughed lightly. “I thought they trained you to be good with your hands.”
“I’m trained to handle things that are a threat to national security. Is there one in your bra?”
A smile burned across my lips. “What’s your full name?”
“Ethan Randall Foster.”
“Randall?”
“It’s my father’s name.”
The fabric sprang free, and like last time, as soon as he pulled the bra away, his mouth was on me.
He captured a nipple between his teeth, and I gasped as pleasure ripped through me.
He’d shaved at some point today, but it had been hours ago, and his stubble chafed against my newly bare skin. God, it felt good.
He’d been studying that manual again.
“The spy has parents?” I asked.
“We don’t really call ourselves that, but yeah, I do.”
While he knelt before me, his hot mouth traveled from one breast to the other, his hands cupping and caressing me. The ache for him had started the moment I’d lain eyes on him tonight, and the orgasm he’d given me in the office had barely taken the edge off.
Desire flared inside me once again, burning out of control.
“Tell me,” he mumbled against my damp, sensitive skin, “what happened in the office.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking—”
He lifted his head, gave me a hard look, and it was like throwing me into a volcano. “Your underwear’s up next, so I suggest you don’t lie. Why did you shut down?”
I forced his mouth on mine, but he pulled back. He wanted an answer. Wouldn’t do anything else until he had it.
My eyes fell shut and I relinquished control, to both him and my emotions. “Because this is starting to feel too real.”
It had been terrifying, and maybe a little bit wonderful.
“Look at me.”
I blinked my eyes open at his dominating tone and found his face hauntingly beautiful.
“Ask me some questions so I can start lying,” he demanded.
“Why do you find me so distracting?”
He launched to his feet, undoing his belt with anxious hands. “It’s not because I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
The belt thumped to the floor. Of course he’d play that card. His compliment left me off kilter, and he knew it, because he helped me up from the chair and steadied me when I teetered on my high heels. He peered down at me, his eyes begging me for another question.
“Do you want me?” I asked.