Code Name Page 7

  There was no way I was going to leave her on the couch, so I went to my bedroom and pulled the bedding down to make room for her. Back in the living room, I was able to get her Chucks off without waking her up. She stirred slightly when I lifted her in my arms and carried her into the bedroom, but she didn’t wake up until I laid her down.

  “What’s going on?” she’d murmured sleepily.

  “Go back to sleep,” I’d ordered softly.

  She didn’t question me, eyes sliding closed again. I watched her a moment, sure she was deeply under by the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. She never felt me move a lock of hair off her forehead with my fingertips.

  After I went back to the communal area, we worked on a plan late into the night. Joslyn contacted Brad Murdock, who was more than happy to give up his island for a matter of “national security”. He wasn’t told who was involved, and his staff will be told Barrett and I are nothing but filthy rich honeymooners with important connections. Their instructions will be to give us our privacy as much as possible and to tell no one we are there.

  Saint worked his connections, so Barrett and I will fly via private charter to Virgin Gorda under fake names. From there, we’ll take a boat to Marjorie Island, which was named after Brad’s mother. Such private transportation will allow me to carry on weapons and other equipment—like an encrypted satellite phone and advanced security cameras.

  I’m ready to call it a night, but I take a moment to peek my head into my bedroom. Barrett’s still fast asleep, though at some point, she changed into sleep clothes. I can’t see her bottoms, but she has on a comfortable-looking t-shirt. The clothes she’d been wearing are in a pile at the bottom of the bed.

  As I exit, I leave the door open a few inches so I can hear her if she needs anything. I quietly move into the living room. These apartments are small, but they are beautifully appointed. The floors are hardwood with thick crown molding. It’s furnished with masculine leather furniture that speaks to my tastes. Other than the master bedroom and bath, there’s a living room, small kitchen, a guest room, and a half bath. I would sleep in the guest room—except I’m currently using it to store around thirty boxes I’d moved from D.C. a few months ago. I haven’t had time to unpack them, and I don’t feel like wrangling the dozen or so stacked on top of the bed.

  The couch will do fine for tonight.

  I pull a spare fleece blanket out of the coat closet by the door. After I strip down to my boxers and flop onto the couch, I pull the blanket over my lap. I don’t want to give Barrett an eyeful if she gets up before me, but that’s unlikely. I’m a light sleeper, and I rise early.

  ♦

  It’s a soft, hesitant cry, sounding slightly muffled. It still wakes me as if it were shouted in my ear, and I sit up, fully alert. I bolt off the couch, making my way swiftly to my bedroom.

  I’d left the light on in the master bath, and I’m relieved to see that Barrett isn’t under threat from anything except perhaps a nightmare. She’s sitting up in the bed, covers pooled over her lap, one hand hovering at her chest.

  “You okay?” I ask as I move into the room.

  Barrett leans over, turns on the bedside lamp, and blinks at me slowly. Her voice is hoarse from sleep. “Yeah… sorry… didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “All good,” I reply and since she’s awake, I take the moment to offer her some food. “You hungry?”

  “Weirdly, no,” she answers with a slight grimace.

  “You should try to eat something. I’ve got some canned soup I can heat up.”

  She shakes her head, grimacing again, which prompts me to ask, “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Yeah,” she exclaims with a falsely bright voice.

  I cock an eyebrow. “Truth time.”

  “Truth is,” she replies in a slightly quavering voice, “I could use some water. Would you mind?”

  “Not at all,” I say, then exit the room. My first stop is the couch to grab my jeans and put them on, since I’m pretty damn sure prancing around in boxers isn’t overly professional. I head into the kitchen, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and then return to the master bedroom.

  Barrett fluffed the pillows against the headboard. She’s propped against them, her legs stretched out under the covers. Her gaze is bold as I walk toward her, her eyes scanning my naked torso for a brief moment. She doesn’t look away in embarrassment or chagrin, and it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I’ve never been averse to a beautiful woman checking me out.

  I hand her the bottle of water. Without invitation, I take a seat on the edge of the bed, right at her hip.

  I’m silent as she uncaps the water and takes a few small sips. Inadvertently, she rubs at her tummy as she does.

  “Must have been a really bad dream,” I say.

  Barrett blinks in surprise. “What makes you say that?”

  “You cried out in your sleep, and you’re anxious right now,” I point out with a casual shrug. “Not rocket science.”

  She doesn’t reply, only takes another small sip of water.

  “Want anything else? Some ginger ale, maybe?”

  “I’m good,” she assures me with pitiful smile. “But unfortunately, I’m wide awake now. Shouldn’t have fallen asleep so early.”

  I watch her a moment, wondering just how much the stress of this situation is going to wear on her. “What was the dream about?”

  Barrett doesn’t answer right away. Picking at the label on the bottle, she meets my eyes and admits, “My mother.”

  It comes back to me in a flash. Her mother was killed in a home invasion when Barrett was just sixteen. She had just left to start her freshman year at MIT, so she wasn’t there when it happened. Beyond that, I don’t know any other details.

  “It was weird,” Barrett continues, speaking in a semi-flat voice as she recounts her dream. “It was like a combination of what happened to me yesterday and what happened to her.”

  “What did happen to her?” I ask softly. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t push someone to relive a bad moment, but it seems she’s struggling to make sense of things.

  “She walked in on two burglars already in the house. It surprised them, and one of them shot her. They were caught and pled guilty. Young guys… early twenties. I don’t think they ever intended to hurt anyone, yet they did all the same.”

  “That’s senseless and tragic,” I murmur, forcing my anger down.

  “Yes, it is,” she whispers. She gives a slight cough to clear her throat as she puts her water on the bedside table. Her voice comes out stronger when she says, “At any rate, in my dream, she was the one jogging down my street and I was in your position behind her. I saw the man turning to her… knew he was going to kidnap her. And I tried to reach for my gun… the way I know you did, but I didn’t have one. I couldn’t do anything to help her. I even tried to scream to warn her, but nothing came out. All I could do was watch as he grabbed her and pulled her into the back of the van, then it just sped off.”

  My chest squeezes tight, aching for Barrett. The stress of her near kidnapping has clearly brought up old feelings of guilt and lack of control that she could do nothing to help her mother. She wasn’t even there—thank God.

  There’s no thought in what I do. I just know she belongs in my arms, so I lean forward to pull her into a tight embrace. I’ve only known her a few days, yet because I saved her life yesterday, I feel I have the right to do this.

  Because she trusted me with that story, I believe she thinks so, too.

  Or maybe it’s because I held her similar to this at the State dinner every time we danced, and it was obvious she liked it as much as I did.

  Regardless, she easily sinks into me and presses her cheek to my bare chest. She doesn’t even hesitate to wrap her arms around my waist as mine go around her upper back. I do nothing but hold her for several moments, and she lets me.

  Eventually, Barrett shifts slightly and turns her head. Whether it’s intentional or not—and I don’t real
ly give a fuck either way—her lips brush slightly across my chest before she tilts her head back.

  Christ, she’s beautiful. What started out as an embrace of empathy feels a little different right now. Like my skin is tingling where her lips touched my breastbone, and her soft curves feel lush pressed against my torso. Her mouth parts slightly and her eyes roam over my face, seemingly searching for something.

  We stare at each other, and it feels almost dreamlike. It’s easy to forget I’m her protector and she’s a job for which I’ll be well compensated.

  Instead, all I see—all I feel—is a beautiful, vulnerable woman in my arms. I’m incredibly attracted to her, but in the past, I never would have let myself act on it.

  Before I can even wonder if I should act on it, because perhaps I’m misreading the need I think I see in her gaze right now, Barrett surprises me by leaning into me, head tipped up so our mouths are just millimeters apart. With no control over my body, I dip my head closer to her.

  Her breath wafts out, blowing across my mouth in a gentle caress, and I realize I’m at a dangerous crossroads.

  I should drop her like a hot potato.

  Back right off this damn bed, man.

  But she fucking slays me when she whispers, “Kiss me, Cruce.”

  “Bad idea,” I warn gently.

  “Kiss me,” she says again. This time, it’s not a plea but an order. “Make me forget about things, even if just for a moment.”

  A moment?

  Is she really that naïve?

  Does she think all I would ever want is a moment with my mouth on hers?

  “Barrett,” I mutter, forcing myself to pull slightly away.

  Her eyes soften. Beg.

  Fucking begs.

  “Please,” she whispers, one of her hands slipping behind my neck and putting pressure on it.

  Urging me closer to her.

  Fuck if I don’t let her pull me, and then our mouths touch.

  It’s fucking electrifying, something I wasn’t expecting. In every scenario I’d fantasized, I’d suspected kissing Barrett would be a slow melding. Instead, a bolt of lust surges through me and my eyes roll to the back of my head.

  She gasps in surprise, and I know she feels it too. I know it because her hand grips the back of my neck hard, holding me to her.

  Fuck me.

  This has to stop, but… maybe we can let this go on for just a moment more. My head slants, her mouth opens farther, and my tongue invades. Barrett’s fingers move into my hair, gripping hard and holding me tight. One of my hands moves to her lower back to press her tighter to me, and I don’t spare a moment’s guilt over the erection that’s starting to occur.

  Goddamn, it’s an excellent fucking kiss, even if it is so very wrong.

  I pull back, my hands going to her shoulders to hold her away from me. Her chest is rising and falling, lips wet and swollen, and expression one of utter confusion.

  “We can’t,” I say in explanation.

  Confusion morphs to hurt, and that causes my chest to squeeze again.

  I shake my head. “Barrett… it’s not a good idea. I can’t afford the distraction.”

  Hurt gives way to anger, and her eyes flash hot. “I am not a distraction.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I growl, pulling her slightly closer to me with my hands at her shoulders. Leaning down, I put my face in front of hers. “I mean I can’t get lost, and that fucking kiss right there made me want to sink down with you and never come up. I can’t lose focus. My job is to protect you and nothing else.”

  Immediately, understanding dawns. Relief fills me when her face softens. She nods before lowering her gaze. “I get it. And I’m sorry I came on to you.”

  “It was mutual,” I say, rushing to her defense.

  Stubbornly, she tilts her chin up. “I started it by asking you to kiss me,” she insists.

  We stare at each other until she gives me a halfhearted smile. “It was a damn good kiss, though, right?”

  “Words fail to describe it,” I assure her.

  Smile widening, she leans against the pillows and my hands fall from her shoulders. My fingers want to continue to grasp onto her, but I reluctantly let go.

  Slowly, I rise from the bed and take a much-needed step back. She avoids eye contact by reaching for the bottle of water.

  “Can I get you anything else?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, eyes darting to me a moment. “I’m good.”

  “Okay, then,” I murmur, knowing I need to leave but not wanting to take that step.

  Barrett takes a sip of water, re-caps the bottle, and sets it down. Her eyes lock with mine. This time, she stares boldly with a slight smile. “I’m good, Cruce. Thanks for checking up on me.”

  I give her a short nod and turn on my heel, leaving the room without looking back. Pulling the door behind me, I once again leave it open just a few inches in case she needs me.

  CHAPTER 10

  Barrett

  I busy myself with pulling the clothes out of my suitcase to repack it. Last night while searching for something to sleep in, I discovered Cruce’s packing skills, well… frankly, they suck. He did nothing but toss everything in, smash it down, and zip it up.

  I finally just dump it all out on the bed, carefully folding everything into segregated piles to make sure I have enough for our upcoming Caribbean “vacation”. While my biggest fear would be that he forgot to pack underwear, I’m amused to find he emptied what has to be my entire lingerie drawer. There are over twenty matching sets of panties and bras, most lace and delicate silk. It’s one of my guilty pleasures and sadly underutilized.

  A knock sounds on the front door of Cruce’s apartment, and I head through the living room to open it. It’s unlocked and anyone could walk in, but I imagine manners supersede.

  I smile when I find Joslyn standing there.

  “Just doing a quick check to see if there’s anything you need,” Joslyn says as I step back to invite her in. “I can do a quick run out to the store.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say, having been through most of my clothes. Not like I needed anything dressy. The casual dresses, shorts, t-shirts, and jeans will work fine on a private island. “Are Cruce and Kynan still down with their… um… prisoner?”

  When she nods, I turn for the bedroom to resume packing. Cruce said we’d be leaving before noon, which is fast approaching. Joslyn follows behind. Once we’re inside, she casually starts helping me fold the remaining items.

  “Sure brought a lot of lingerie…” Smirking, she gestures toward the stacked sets on the bed.

  I roll my eyes. “That was Cruce. When he said we were leaving in a hurry, he meant it. He packed for me. As you can see, it’s pretty easy to guess where his mind was.”

  “I imagine that’s most men’s minds,” Joslyn replies with a laugh.

  It makes me chuckle. “I get it. Time was of the essence, and he was in a rush.”

  Silently, she folds a t-shirt and places it on a similar stack. By the way she’s chewing on her lip, I deduce she wants to say something, but it’s obvious she isn’t sure if she should tell me her thoughts.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  She shakes her head as if she’s going to deny my curiosity, but I’m not having it. “Tell me.”

  Her shoulders lift as if she’s unsure, but her gaze is direct. “I think there’s something between you and Cruce.”

  Instinct says to deny, deny, deny, but I hesitate. Why lie? It’s not like it’s a big deal or like she’s off base. There isn’t anything I should be embarrassed about.

  Besides, I’m not sure she’s wrong.

  “We had a moment last night,” I admit, smoothing out a wrinkle in a shirt so I don’t have to look at her. It may not be embarrassing, but…my belly still dips when I say, “Or rather… in the wee hours of the morning.”

  “Oh, do tell,” she says, eyes wide with interest. She sits on the edge of the bed, laundry forgotten. “Because I was
serious when I said I sensed something between you.”

  “We… um… well, we kissed.”

  “You kissed?” she exclaims loudly. Gleefully, she claps with clear delight.

  “Yes,” I murmur, hoping my lowered voice will encourage her to do the same.

  “I knew it,” she whispers fiercely. “I knew he was attracted to you, and I figured he’d make a move. Although, I imagine fraternizing with clients might be frowned upon in this line of work, but still… I’m all for the romance of it.”

  I shake my head, not willing to let Cruce take the blame—or credit. “He didn’t make the move. I did.”

  She blinks a few times, mouth slackening in clear surprise. “Oh, well… nothing wrong with that.”

  “He put a stop to it,” I continue. That same sinking feeling I felt in my gut when he gently pushed me away came rushing back. “Said he can’t afford to lose focus while protecting me. The bottom-line conclusion Cruce came to—we can’t do anything about our attraction.”

  “Well, I suppose an argument can be made for that. Like, maybe it’s not the right time. Besides, nothing is more important than making sure you aren’t kidnapped while ultimately catching the crazy people who are intent on doing so.”

  “Or maybe he’s not really attracted to me at all, and he only used that as an excuse,” I point out, zeroing in on what’s truly bothering me.

  “Now, that’s simply not true,” Joslyn says confidently. She stands, nabs a pair of yoga pants, then methodically starts to fold. “I’m telling you… I saw something on his face when he first brought you up here. It was a level of care that went above and beyond the expected worry about your safety. Trust me… I have good instincts when it comes to these things.”

  “Well, it doesn’t really matter,” I say, taking a stack of folded clothes and placing them in the suitcase. “Like he said, we’ve got more important things to worry about right now.”

  “Maybe it’s something you two can resume when it’s all over,” she suggests, handing me a stack of t-shirts.