Chapter 12
Cole had been to caves in Afghanistan he’d rather live in more than he wanted to live in this godforsaken hellhole.
“This is amazing!” Hadley exclaimed, eyes wide like she was standing at the entrance of Disneyland.
He looked around, trying his hardest to see the wonder she was seeing. He couldn’t.
The home they’d been assigned wore the same polished face as every other house in this neighborhood: pale stone veneer, steep roofline, black shutters.
The lawn was manicured to perfection, the driveway wide enough for a couple of luxury SUVs.
It had all clearly been designed to make sameness look elegant. All show, no substance.
Nothing at all like the renovated 1940s farmhouses he and Hadley lived in. Now those had good, sturdy bones.
“If you say so,” he muttered.
“Oh, come on.” Hadley looped her arm through his as they made their way up the steps of the suburban cookie-cutter nightmare that was to be their home for the next however many days/weeks/months. “It could be worse. At least we won’t be stuck in some crack den while we do this mission.”
A crack den would be easier to secure, he thought grimly. But at least Hadley was going to be comfortable. He supposed his unease was a small price to pay.
Hadley let out a squeal that had him reaching for his gun—the gun he wasn’t wearing because Franklin had confiscated it—before he noticed she had her face plastered up against one of the glass panes around the front door (glass panes that were a fucking nightmare for security) and was looking through the open concept living space into the backyard. “There’s a pool!”
That’s when the skin at the back of his neck started to tingle. The only time that ever happened was when he was being watched.
He glanced over at Hadley. “Neighbors are watching.”
“How can you tell?” she stage whispered.
“Trust me.”
The background story Franklin had given Hadley was shockingly similar to her real story.
She was Emma Lockly, a graphic designer who was moving from a city apartment to a house in the suburbs with her husband, Clark, who was a pharmaceutical company executive.
So, if any of the neighbors (including their targets) noticed her over-the-top excitement, they probably wouldn’t think much of it.
Surely anyone who was used to a tiny one-bedroom apartment in the city would be thrilled with the sprawl of this place, right?
She was playing her part to perfection, even if she wasn’t really acting.
His role as doting husband, however, would take a little getting used to. Which was why he had to actually think about what a real husband would do with his excited wife before they walked into their new McMansion in the suburbs for the first time ever.
Cole had hefted Hadley off her feet into his arms before he thought to warn her. The shriek she let out made him regret that decision a little. But only a little.
Because holy fuck did she feel good in his arms.
He imagined the way she immediately put her arms around his neck was instinctual. Just to steady herself. How acutely aware he was of just how much of her body was touching his? There was nothing instinctual about that.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her mouth so, so close to his.
“Husbands carry wives over the threshold,” he answered in a rasp so pained it barely sounded like his own voice. “Right?”
She blinked up at him. “Oh, yeah.”
Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
His brain ground to a halt—hell, the whole world ground to a halt—for a few seconds before he recovered from his shock and kissed her back.
It wasn’t the kind of kiss she deserved. She deserved sweet, worshipful kisses from a man willing to take his time. Cole kissed her with a desperation born of fear that he’d never get another opportunity like this one.
So, the kiss was hot, fast, and wild. Hadley moaned into his mouth and shifted in his arms, pressing herself against him like she’d never get close enough. Like she wanted to crawl inside him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this was a bad idea. They were on a mission. This was all pretend, and she deserved way better. None of that stopped him from kissing her, though. Mostly because she tasted like heaven and hell and everything he’d ever wanted in his life.
He was doing the math on how quickly he could get her to a flat surface and strip her clothes off—3.8 seconds, if anyone cared—when she pulled back (thank God, because there was no way he could’ve stopped) and rested her forehead against his.
“What was that for?” he asked, breathing like he’d just run a fucking marathon.
“Wives kiss their husbands when they’re being carried over the threshold. Right?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Think that was a good enough show for the neighbors?”
He sure as hell hoped so. Especially since he’d been about two seconds away from fucking her against the front door, neighbors be damned. “Probably.”
“Should we, um…go in?”
Sure. Why the fuck not? The faster they got into the house and got this show on the road, the faster they could finish this fucking mission. Preferably before a terminal case of blue balls took him out.
“Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Lockly,” he muttered.