Hearts Are Wild

by Synithia Williams

  “I’ll be right back.” Felix went out the front door, and she took the opportunity to take stock of the Wyn Security safe house. In one word: simple. The front door opened to the kitchen on the left and living room on the right, and a bedroom and bathroom were the only other two doors in front of her. One bedroom. Great.

  She jumped a little at the sound of the front door when Felix returned. Exhaustion made her eyelids heavy. Months of light and sporadic sleeping was slowing her system. She collected herself and tried for a smile. He had their bags and a couple of grocery sacks.

  “When did you go to the store?” she asked and wrapped her arms around her chest.

  “Amelia went for me. I didn’t think there’d be anything here.”

  “Amelia?” Her voice was high and insecure. Oh Lord, she was tired. On no planet did she want him to hear her jealousy.

  “You were in with Winter when she stopped by.”

  She stopped by to say hello? What the fuck, Felix? Arabella nodded and looked in the bags. If he wasn’t going to elaborate, she wasn’t going to ask. Maybe she’d been wrong in her quick assumption that he wasn’t involved with someone else.

  She took a deep breath to put her emotions in check. “What are you going to make?”

  He’d always been a better cook than her.

  “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

  “Really?” She was standing closer to him than she thought, so when her head whipped toward him, they were only inches apart, arms nearly touching. She gazed down at his lips, over his strong jawline, up to his round cheeks, before meeting his eyes again. Her body tingled with a need for him. What would it be like to be a woman who was good for him, someone who made him a better man? But she wasn’t. She was only trouble. They were only trouble together.

  He said nothing then turned back to unloading the groceries and retrieving pans from a cupboard.

  “I’m going to take a shower.”

  The stink of the day was on her, and if the water were hot enough, maybe she could scrub it away. Maybe she could melt into a lump and then reshape this whole mess from the beginning. Maybe all of her problems would go away. She’d been so focused on Felix as her last resort, she hadn’t taken into consideration what that meant: She had to play by his rules in the field, she had to be close to him every waking minute—some unconscious ones, too—and, now, she had to sign divorce papers. Yeah, dragging him into my mess was a great idea.

  The bathroom was small but sufficient. There were towels, toothpaste, and small bottles of shampoo and conditioner like a hotel provided. The shorts and tank top she’d grabbed from her suitcase lay folded by the sink as she used up all the hot water. Ideally, she’d hit the sack after her shower and sleep until the sun woke her, but there was one bed, and she didn’t want to be presumptive. And, as she put on lotion, the smell of red meat sauce wafted in from the kitchen and made her mouth water.

  She stepped out of the bathroom to discover the coffee table set with Felix’s mastered Italian dish, a salad in a bowl, and French bread with butter.

  “Good timing.” Felix sat down on the plain brown couch with two glasses of water. His large frame dwarfed the furniture, and a smile threatened her lips.

  “I must’ve been in there a while. This is a feast.” She swiped a wet piece of hair behind her ears.

  His gaze raked over every inch of her bare skin, and some parts not so bare, and she felt her cheeks heat. “It was easy to prepare,” Felix said.

  She took a seat to his right and folded her legs on the big couch cushion. Felix had his plate in his lap and had eaten half of his bread already. The first dinner he’d ever made for her had been this exact one—down to the salad in the bowl on her right.

  What happened to us?

  “Thanks for dinner.” She forked a bite of noodles and sauce into her mouth and closed her eyes at the familiar, delicious taste. When she opened them, Felix’s stare was intense. It wasn’t jealousy set in his cheeks, fury in his eyes, or love on his lips. She felt the color leave her cheeks. Did he feel anything for her anymore? “You’ve been quiet all day. Care to share?” She stabbed at more noodles and twisted her fork.

  “I can tell when you aren’t telling me the truth.”

  “And what did I lie about this time?” She rolled her eyes even though she wasn’t looking at him. This rhetoric was getting old. She wasn’t lying anymore.

  “Darek coming after me and not you. Your tell, which never fails by the way, failed.”

  She sat her fork down and took a chunk out of the French bread. So he was still mad she’d lied. He’d kind of glossed over that point so far, and she’d thought he might be over it by now. A lot of bullets had flown since she’d first shown up. Couldn’t he see that if Darek got to her, he might find Felix, too?

  “I wasn’t really lying, because I was talking about myself. And I was thinking about myself. That’s probably why there was no twitch.”

  He nearly choked on his food and coughed to clear his throat. “You know about the twitch?”

  A grin started to form on her lips, and she nodded her head slightly. “Yeah, I know. You’re just the only other one who ever caught it, so I figured I was in the clear when I needed to keep covers intact. I never want to deceive you.”

  “You sure could’ve fooled me.” He set his plate back on the coffee table and picked up his salad.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d help, and I couldn’t take that chance.” Even with everything that had happened, she’d do it all over again. Today had been frustrating, but Felix had always been her best bet. “I promise when I’m in the clear, I won’t bother you again. I’ll get out of the game and go settle down somewhere else.”

  “Settle down? You?”

  He didn’t believe her, and that was fine. He didn’t have to. Hers wasn’t his life.

  “Yeah. I can’t stay in this game forever.” The shine of her covert life had worn off, and all she was left with was paranoia and loneliness. “And, civilian life seems to be working out well for you.”

  “Not really.” His salad was suddenly very interesting. “I miss it.”

  “You miss parts of it; I will too.”

  “How do you know? You don’t know me.”

  “Get real. I’m the only other person in this world who truly knows you.” And vice versa, which was scary as hell. She’d always been real with him, when it was just them. She’d told him about the slew of nannies who had raised her, the time as a fifteen-year-old she was hospitalized for a week with a lacerated spleen from an especially zealous soccer game and her parents never called or visited to see if she was going to live or how she was doing, and how pretending to be someone else for her profession was sometimes a relief from her own life.

  His brows rose. “And yet somehow you’ve concluded that I don’t want to go back. Well, you’re wrong.”

  “Am I? You’ve been out for, what, two years now? Have you even tried to go back?” He could tell himself that he was stuck and didn’t want this life in Seattle all he liked, but she knew better. He’d discharged and hadn’t gone back in after a couple of months for a reason—one that haunted him to this day from the looks of his scowl.

  “It would be another long commitment, and I want to be sure.”

  “Right. One of the most decisive people I know can’t go back to doing something he loves. I’ve seen you at Wyn Security. You enjoy what you do.” He’d found his niche. And now she wanted hers. In the real world. As Arabella Nox and not some cover ID.

  “No. I don’t,” he ground out. She’d touched his most sensitive nerve yet.

  “Yes.” She stuck out her chin. “For some crazy reason you do.”

  “I’m a babysitter.”

  “You’re protecting people. That’s who you are. Home or abroad. And that’s what you really love. Things have been a little hairy lately, but you haven’t lost a step.”

  “Some things are just too ingrained.”

  “Makes me think that I’d be fine turning ove
r a new leaf.”

  “What would you do?” He set his plate on the table, crossed his ankle to his knee, and outstretched his arm over the back of the couch, nearly touching her with his fingertips. Her skin broke out in goose bumps at her yearning. If he reached out, she wouldn’t bat his soothing graze away.

  “Maybe this.” She shrugged and picked at her spaghetti. She could protect the shit out of people when she wasn’t trying to kill them.

  “We haven’t done much protecting. And let’s not forget you went off and kidnapped the guy we were hired to watch.” His brows rose—he still wasn’t over that yet, either.

  She swatted her hand toward him. “Eh, I get the gist.”

  “And where will you go?”

  A five o’clock shadow was starting to form on his strong, square jaw, and it made him more ruggedly handsome. She wanted to reach out and run her thumb over his stubble and sink into his chest and sleep. With his arms around her, she could be at peace.

  “I don’t know. I might stay in the States. There’re a lot of people I don’t want to run into abroad.”

  She could stay here with him. That was what she wasn’t saying.

  You have to move on.

  Felix didn’t want to be her future, but he would forever be a part of her past. She’d stay true to her word and sign divorce papers. Then she’d find a city that wasn’t Seattle or any other town Felix was in and start a new chapter of her life.

  • • •

  Felix watched as Arabella, in tight black shorts and a cream-colored tank top, God help him, put her dishes in the sink. She may as well have been traipsing around the apartment naked—her clothes left barely anything to the imagination. And since he was proficient in Arabella’s curves, she was basically naked all the time. He gritted his teeth and told his dick to calm the hell down.

  “I’m exhausted.” She glanced at the bedroom then to the spot on the couch she’d just vacated.

  “I figured we’d share the bed.” His gaze wandered to her shorts because he couldn’t help himself. Her legs were long and tanned, and he wanted to run his palms up them while kissing every inch. Always. But they were grown-ups. And age didn’t guarantee you got what you wanted. “We’re adults. We can do that, right?”

  She pivoted on the balls of her feet toward the bedroom. “Yep.”

  Her spunk had dissipated throughout the day—she was feeling the pressure and so was he. But murderous assholes didn’t get caught in an instant just because you wanted them to. The two of them had set up everything they’d needed to today, and with some luck, they might even have the bank connection established tomorrow.

  “I’m going to take a shower.” He set his dishes in the sink and proceeded to pull boxers out of his go-bag before closing the door to the bathroom.

  Tomorrow something had to happen so they could get this hell party over with. The ball had started rolling with the afternoon firefight, and he didn’t see it stopping until both sides came to blows. The sooner they did, the sooner she was on her way—to a normal life of all things. He’d never been able to picture Arabella in the real, mundane world. She was too bold, action oriented, and just damned sparkly. She was never going to be happy as normal; she was too great for normal. He went through the steps of the shower absently, trying not to focus on the fact Arabella in her skimpy clothes was lying in the bed he was about to get into. Once he was clean and in his red boxers hanging low on his hips, he slipped into the dark bedroom to find a sleeping Arabella lying on her back, hands laced behind her head as if she’d intended to think, not fall asleep.

  He slowly and silently lifted the covers on his side, the one by the door, and sank into the mattress. Good. He needed sleep if they were going to make progress tomorrow—at least more sleep than he’d had last night. Although given the opportunity, he’d still repeat last night than sleep anytime. And wasn’t that the fucking root of all his problems.

  They were getting a divorce. He’d asked and she’d agreed. And he still thought that was a good idea, even if she wanted out of the life—which had been a holy shock. He’d absolutely never thought he’d see the day when she didn’t want to be in the thick of the action. So she wanted to settle down—what did that even mean? Only spy in one country? Move on to corporate espionage? Have a white picket fence and 2.6 kids?

  He turned his head to face her on the pillow. The outline of her forehead, nose, and chin was smooth, peaceful, and perfect. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with his. What would Arabella’s offspring look like? Damn adorable, that’s what. Ah, fuck. They weren’t having kids together. There was no sense in even dreaming about it. Their relationship didn’t work like that, and his life didn’t get to be perfect. His past had taught him that.

  Felix woke with a start at the feel of a hand on him. Arabella nestled against his torso, fingers splayed on his chest. She must’ve moved during the night. He glanced around the room. Nothing else seemed out of place, and it was still pitch black outside.

  He steadied his breathing as she rustled next to him, pressing into him. He was already hard from the innocent contact of her body and the smell of rich amber. Fuck, he was conditioned to get hard on a smell now. If she kept rubbing up against him like this, he was going to have a problem. Baseball. Baseball. Baseball. Her fingers curled into his chest, and he stared holes into the curtain that was barely shadowed by a streetlight—he had to get out of this bed. The couch would be sufficient for a couple more hours of sleep. Putting his arm on her back, he tried to roll her away from him and simultaneously rotate out from under her and off the bed.

  “Don’t go.” She clamped her arm down hard on his chest to keep him in place. “Please.”

  Her soft voice caused an aching in his chest cavity, deeper than any muscle tissue. Her words took any sarcasm or fight away and replaced it with longing and hope.

  “I won’t.” He settled back into his spot and rubbed her arm with his thumb. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “But you are, aren’t you?” Her quiet voice cut through the darkness and stabbed him in the heart.

  Air left his lungs.

  “Not right now.” He wasn’t prepared to have a conversation about them. The only thing they should be focusing on was keeping her alive. And him—he’d like everyone but Darek to stay alive.

  “I don’t know how I could’ve changed it,” she whispered.

  He had to concentrate to hear her small voice in the dark. Her head was nestled into the crook of his shoulder. They used to have a lot of conversations in this exact position. A small, sad smile tugged at the ends of his lips. They’d had a lot of great moments together.

  “Do you remember the first time I made you dinner?” He ran his palm up her arm and into her hair. Her hair was so soft and long. He loved it.

  “Just like the one tonight.” She nodded her head and her hair tickled.

  “Yes and no. We were different people back then. We were reckless and living on the edge. We didn’t know if there was going to be a tomorrow, so we were impulsive.”

  “What’s changed? I still don’t know if I have a tomorrow.”

  That wasn’t his point. “When I asked you to marry me that night, our lives, our view of the world was different. Believe it or not, I think it was simpler.”

  “How did it all change so drastically?”

  “We had jobs that we loved and gave our all to.” He took a beat for a breath; these words cut deep into the wounds their relationship had created—ones that had never healed. “Neither one of us put our relationship first. Or second. Or third.” A fact he wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self to change.

  She sniffled. Shit.

  “We didn’t change anything. That’s why we barely kept it together for a year,” Felix spoke softly.

  “It was a good year.”

  He nodded in the darkness. It had been a good year. The best of his life. He could ask her to stay. Ask her to be with him forever—commitment and all. But the words were
n’t rolling off his tongue. They were lodged somewhere between remembering the first time they’d kissed and the fuck-up that got her kidnapped.

  Their first kiss had been under a French sunset—like some kind of damn movie, it had been that perfect. He’d had a layover in Paris on his way back to the States, and who should walk right up to him and start busting his balls about Andre? Arabella. She’d had on a sassy, navy blue dress and fancy hat, and her eyes had burned with such passion. She’d accused him of almost ruining her mission, and he’d laughed. A big, hearty, full-body laugh. She’d been the one to get the information—she’d succeeded and he’d failed. Their arguing had somehow led to dinner at a café near the Eiffel Tower.

  He’d paid a violinist on the corner to play the theme song from Phantom of the Opera, Arabella’s favorite, and he’d taken her in his arms and danced on the cobblestone sidewalk. He’d never felt so light on his feet in his life as they’d swayed, body to body. When the song was half over, he’d gazed into her eyes and felt the same pull that had reached across the tent and through the heat and sand and danger of South Africa. Her lips had met his—desire mixed with a soul-drugging high that took him years to come down from. It was a feeling he’d never forget. He’d coaxed her mouth open with his tongue, rubbed his thumb over her cheek, and she’d batted her eyes. That’d been all he’d needed—twenty-eight years of non-commitment, and then one touch of Arabella’s lips, and he was monogamous to this day. Their courtship had been short, sexy, and sinful, and by the time he was twenty-nine they were in Wyoming saying “I do” and making promises that neither one of them had understood. Not fully, because they hadn’t followed through on them.