She relented, unwilling to use her self-defence tactics on him. Plus, it felt nice to be held for a moment. Was that wrong?
“I don’t recall showing you my place,” he breathed, releasing her. She kept her expression cool and casual, batting her long eyelashes up at him. “Then again, you are a damn good operative.” He smiled, eyeing her up and down. “Just not good enough.”
She stared him down, narrowing her eyes. Oh, he had no idea how good she was at her job, she thought bitterly. He was just lucky she had a soft spot for him.
He watched her back, assessing her every move.
“You’re up early.” She sighed and walked over to his bar, pouring herself some orange juice.
He laughed at her insolence. “Good morning to you, too.” Leaning against the wooden pillar, he crossed his arms over his tanned, inked-up chest. She sipped on her orange juice, hoping the glass would hide her pained expression.
He was to die for. That soft spot she had for him? Christ in hell. That muscular, deep cut through his abdomen would be the death of her.
“Are you going to tell me who you are now?” he asked. “I’d love to hear it, Miss Vermont.”
The fact that he came out of the gate demanding to know more about her was actually endearing. He really seemed to give a shit. Most men would have resigned themselves to the enjoyment of her company. But she didn’t allow herself to swoon under his attention. He was probably just a control freak, like all the SOF guys.
She shrugged and ignored his question. “What does your tattoo mean?” She nodded to the ink that took over his arm and half his chest.
He chuckled and looked down. “It’s a lot of things. Mostly a celebration of my love for music.” He grinned at her.
“I feel like we actually like the same music,” she replied. “Which is weird because everyone hates my music.”
“Your music—as in the real Avery, not the operator sent here to spy on me?” His accusation was light, but his focus was intense.
She shrugged again, trying to show how little she cared. He was right, but she couldn’t let on. “Want to get breakfast?” He studied her for a minute, eyeing her up and down. She gave him her most innocent look. “What?”
“Sure,” he relented, shaking his head with a smile. “But I’m not spending my whole vacation with a spy. By the end of this, you are going to talk.”
“By the end of the day?”
“By the end of breakfast.”
Avery doubted that very much. In fact, she felt quite the opposite. By the end of it, he was going to talk.
It took him a few minutes to throw on his gear and brush his teeth. He was ready to go and flawless. She gritted her teeth, frustrated with how effortlessly handsome he was, and how desperately she wanted to pounce on him. Desire was an annoying thing, and she suddenly felt bad for all of her fans throughout the years.
The duo waltzed down the boardwalk, looking like models in an ad for the Maldives. A pleasant poolside breakfast turned into a snorkeling session together, which turned into a relaxing lunch at the beach.
Which turned into a nap on the beach.
No further pointed questions were asked. They were having such a fun time that they’d agreed on a temporary truce without saying a word. Avery had realized that being herself was gaining the most traction with him. It felt weird sometimes, because she’d nearly forgotten who she really was. Luckily, she still had her instincts. There wasn’t another option anyway, since anytime she tried a guise or calculated move, he called her out hard and fast.
Hard and fast—the way she wanted it. Rough. Controlling. Commanding.
As they laid down together on a small blanketed beach bed underneath a white canopy, she shuddered. His chest, abs, and cock formed a solid wall behind her. Her brain fizzled, but she assured herself that spending time with him was building a rapport. Building trust. Building a relationship. She was still on task.
As he spooned her from behind, he reached up and affectionately played with her hair. He smoothed it back and cleared it away from her shoulder, laying down a kiss when he could.
It secretly irked her how much he felt like her boyfriend for the day. Holding his hand on the beach was one of the most enjoyable things she’d ever done.
As he caressed her slowly, the sounds of the beach threatened to lull her into sleep. She’d barely slept the night before, and she was up early. She needed a serious nap to recharge, and then the war could start again…
They quickly found a strategic position in the bed, with one of his legs worked in between hers. They fit together like a puzzle.
Avery’s heavy eyes fell shut as soon as Mason stopped moving. His body went heavy too. Underneath the shady canopy, they drifted off together, with his arms holding her body tightly against his. She never wanted it to be over. Not the nap, not the vacation.
She fell into a deep sleep, making up for what she’d lost the night before. After what seemed like hours, Avery eventually woke when she felt Mason’s body twitch. And twitch again. Harder.
“No,” he muttered in his sleep. “No. No.”
And then he woke up with a start.
She looked over her shoulder and gently touched his face. “Hey,” she said. “Are you okay?”
He nodded groggily, his eyes red from waking. But something was wrong. His face was devoid of color. He looked… disturbed.
“You were upset. You kept saying no.”
She hoped he would open up to her. Hoped he would say something. She pressed on. It was her moment. She focused on him intensely.
He exhaled long and deep, closing his eyes again.
“Mason…”
“I’m fine,” he grumbled and jovially slapped her ass again. “Time to get up.”
He rose before Avery could say anything and left her wishing he’d stayed. She felt empty and disappointed to see him walking away.
How could she get him talking? Nothing was working. But she told herself to stay the course. There was always a way. She’d break the case. She could have it all.
She trailed him to the boardwalk. “Do you want to dance?” she asked, trying to get his attention as he walked. Their favorite DJ was just setting up his set for the evening.
Mason looked at her, then at the DJ. “Hell, yes.” He grinned and covered his bleary eyes with his sunglasses.
She felt just as bleary as he did, and understood what it felt like to be overworked. Overworked and just fucking lost. Holding his hand, she led him farther up the beach and closer to the music. The rhythm spoke to her soul, a deep and private part of her that she never shared.
They picked themselves up a set of drinks at the bar, shaking off the overlong nap. Avery decided to continue with the Japanese whisky and was thrilled when Mason followed suit. The long nap had rolled them right into the evening fun, and they both seemed ready for another adventure under the never-ending heat of the sunset.
They settled into high tiki chairs at the beachside bar, watching the other patrons pour in for the party. Mason trailed his fingertips over her hand, which was resting on the bar top. He grinned at her, and she wanted to jump into his lap. But she didn’t.
His affection was something she’d never felt before. It was kind and sweet—and unassuming.
As the sun dropped in the sky, she knew it wouldn’t be long before day turned to night. Would it be cold? She thought of throwing on her beach wrap. Considering this, she tightened her black string bikini, lifting her arms high above her head. Then, noticing that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her, she leaned back and started playing with her hair.
“You love making me watch, don’t you?” he groaned.
She smiled coyly. “I have no idea what you mean.”
He chuckled and had a sip of his whisky on the rocks. “I can only imagine how easy it is for you,” he said casually.
“What do you mean?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink in turn.
“Your targets,” he explained. “They must fall
pretty damn fast.”
She practically choked on her drink. “I have no clue—”
“Don’t even try it.” He grinned. “Not with me.”
She narrowed her eyes and shot back the rest of the drink.
The DJ started spinning fun, upbeat dance music. Mason began bopping his head to the vibes. They were fresh, Avery would give him that. She loved the style, and found her own body grooving to the flow.
“They usually like how I look, sure,” she said absently as she watched the DJ. “But they don’t care about me.”
A thick hand reached out and touched her chin, turning it toward him.
“I care,” he said intensely.
Avery’s throat tingled and her chest heaved. Emotion ran up and down her like a current, electrifying her.
Before she could say anything, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was slow and caring and lovely. And hot.
He pulled back. “What else are you going to show me?” Mason asked her, raising an eyebrow. “Same type of show that I got last night?”
Avery laughed, shaking her head at him, flipping her hair to the side. The memory of making him watch her touch herself, bringing herself to orgasm, was enough to make her wet as hell again—not that she needed help in his presence. She felt like she was on stage and he was her audience. The thought excited her, and she wondered how she could tease him back for what he’d done to her the night before.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked, searching for intel.
“Something you don’t usually do when you’re… on the job,” he said knowingly.
The conversation had already gotten away from her, as had the day, so she gave in. “I don’t usually do any of this while I’m on the job. I hope you know that.”
“So I’m special?” he asked with exaggerated surprise. His expression was cute as fuck, and she just shook her head in response. Damn right he was special. A little too special.
“Dance with me.” She motioned to the crowd growing around them. People were now standing and socializing, creating a club-on-the-beach vibe as the sun disappeared and left the party in the dark save for the sparkling lights hanging over them.
Mason popped out of his chair with a twinkle in his eye, watching her. They didn’t have to step away from the bar—they were already in the party area. She stepped up to him and maintained eye contact.
She was impressed as she watched him move from side to side to the rhythm. He was coordinated and talented. Their movements were understated, relaxed.
Sexual.
She pressed her body against his and looked up at his face. He tilted his whisky glass into her mouth. Percussion and bass seemed to vibrate through the sand and up into their bones.
Locked into each other, Mason and Avery danced together at the edge of the party. Since they were constantly plied with drinks, Avery’s attention was occasionally stolen from him, and she had to admit how good it made her feel to realize that people were checking them out. She felt like they were the hot couple. Men were eyeing her. Women were eyeing him. She heard someone whisper—are they celebrities? They must be famous.
She felt like a somebody standing next to Mason.
Like somebody who was more than their job.
Somebody important.
Somebody who mattered.
He never took his eyes off her. Not even when a group of young attractive women sauntered by to see if they could ensnare him. She felt like Mason was looking at the real her. Avery Nylander. Not just the agent. Not just the ruse.
She felt like Mason was her man. Her boyfriend. A real relationship. A real friendship.
She felt the warmth of his gaze.
She felt the whisky inside her empty stomach.
She was getting drunk.
She needed him more than ever.
Mason tilted her chin up and caressed her, drawing a line all the way down her throat. It was tender. It was caring. It was hot as shit.
She was drunk.
He moved in and took her mouth with his, hungrier than before, making it damn clear to any onlookers that they were definitely an item. She couldn’t help but grin as he kissed her harder, deeper.
As he held her and danced with her, Avery felt her barriers dissolve. Was she still a professional? When did she stop being on the job? She was kidding herself if she thought the game plan hadn’t changed altogether. She could never fuck him over. She could never report on him. The case was over, and she was screwed—and not the way she wanted to be.
Her job was shit. It had taken away her youth. She could have been doing this with a man for years. But instead she’d been chasing old men for their secrets. Where had her best years gone? Why wasn’t she dancing on a beach with a man who loved her?
For years, she’d been nothing but a statue. A conjured-up identity. A strategy. A tactic of war. No one to nobody.
Mason was a good guy. He was real. He was different. He wasn’t going to break. He wasn’t going to snitch about what happened in the Sahel or his orders in Mali. That shit was classified beyond classified, and he seemed to respect that more than anything. He was dedicated to his country and as loyal as they came. He passed the loyalty test, in her eyes at least.
The powers that be needed to sign off on his clearance, for god’s sake, if that’s what this was all about. Avery never knew the contract details—those were handled by her boss. Regardless, she’d put in a recommendation to clear. He didn’t deserve to be chased down and harassed.
He deserved a real woman who cared for him.
She had started to care.
Her eyes rolled back as his mouth captured hers. He kissed her in a way that said I like you. I want you.
His wide, beautiful mouth with its perfect smile—it was all she ever wanted to taste.
Although the thought of his cock sent chills up her spine.
He seemed to notice and pulled back slowly, studying her while he finished a drink. His beautiful eyes locked onto hers again, and against the backdrop of twinkling romantic lights, Avery felt like she would never enjoy another moment so much.
9
As Mason stared into Avery’s soft blue eyes and held her as they danced together to the sick DJ set, he saw more and more of the woman inside. There was a lot about Avery that was real. And when she was real, there was something between them that was real, too.
Of course, he knew she was an operative of some sort, which unnerved him, and he knew he shouldn’t be there. He should step away. But he just fucking couldn’t.
So Mason let himself exist in the moment and focused on the Avery who was right in front of him, and who had been by his side for most of the day. He allowed himself to feel what she made him feel: alive.
The sun had set, and the party raged on. They accepted round after round, enjoying every moment of vacation together. It was a damn sight better than vacationing alone.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” Mason finally asked her, playing with her black bikini string as she pressed against him. Who the fuck knew what time it was? It was late. Very late. They were drunk.
“Sure.” She took his hand.
He walked her up the ocean-view boardwalk that led to his villa. Pausing at an open stretch over the water, he leaned against the rail, holding her hand. The water crashed underneath the wooden boards, and the moonlight sparkled on the waves.
Her eyes glowed with anticipation, and she stood at attention in front of him. With her eyelashes fluttering, she looked like a young lady expecting her first kiss. He wanted to give it to her again and again.
“Where do we go from here?” he asked, making sure she understood his double meaning. He looked back at the beach and then at the secluded set of villas where his was located.
She bowed her head knowingly. “It’s up to you,” she replied softly.
He was adamant that they make the choice together, since they’d both have to live with it. “What do you want from me?” he asked as he played
with her fingers. “Why are you here?”
“To get you to talk to me,” she replied. “I want you to talk to me.”
Mason knew that was the truth, and he also knew if she was any agent worth a damn, she wouldn’t answer anything else. Everything she’d given him to that point, which was next to nothing, was probably all she’d ever give up. It was just enough to placate him, but not enough to topple her own credibility.
And therein lay the challenge.
“I don’t like to talk about certain things,” he explained, watching her intently.
“What things?” she asked quickly.
“I’m guessing it’s the things that you want me to talk about.” He observed her reaction carefully. “Those are the things I won’t talk about. I don’t ever, and I will never.”
She shrugged without missing a beat. “Probably so.” Her expression remained relaxed, and he could see it was a part of her professionalism. She wanted to keep her thoughts to herself. When she had her guard up, it was hard for him to see through.
“I don’t want to talk about my job,” he said bluntly, and then raised her hand to his mouth to kiss it. “I don’t talk about it. Ever. And I’m never going to. It’s not personal to you.”
Mason felt conflicted as he said the words. He was convincing himself, as much as he was convincing her, that it was the right thing to do. And it was true: he didn’t about work. He didn’t talk about anything that troubled him.
He didn’t bitch or complain.
He didn’t ask for a vacation. He was sent on one.
He didn’t say no to his boss. He accepted his fate.
And he didn’t snitch on his boss when he saw him violating laws. Offing detained rebels. Snorting coke. That was just the way it was.
What burned Mason the most inside was the suspicion that maybe he should tell someone about what he’d seen.
Maybe he should talk about how his boss was getting away with murder. And war crimes. And drug abuse on duty… while other lives depended on him.
He shook his head.
“Mason?” Avery prompted.
He brought her hand to his mouth again. “Never,” he confirmed. “I don’t want that to be a problem between us. Can you accept this?” He couldn’t imagine what he would do if she didn’t understand his position, if she walked away. He needed her.
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