Alec's Royal Assignment (Man on a Mission 3)

“Yeah, we both need one now.”

They washed each other leisurely beneath the shower spray, drawing pleasure from bodies that were well matched physically. Angelina loved the way his muscles rippled beneath the surface of his smooth skin when her fingers stroked over his arms, his chest, his abs and lower. He wasn’t a muscle-bound weight lifter—his powerful body had a purpose more important than just showing off. Just as hers did.

She couldn’t get over how much her body pleased him, an enjoyment he didn’t bother to hide. Not to mention the inevitable reaction his body had to hers. But when she would have caressed his arousal, he held her off. “Not this time,” he told her firmly.

He shut off the water and they toweled themselves dry in silence. Neither had any false modesty. Neither pretended not to look, to sneak peeks at each other’s bodies. They looked openly, pleased at what they saw.

They fell into bed together, and Alec drew her into his arms, flush against his body. “So why?” he asked, as if their earlier conversation hadn’t been interrupted by the shower they’d just taken.

She didn’t pretend she didn’t know what he was asking. “Because I was excited about something and wanted to share it with you, but you were not available.” That was only part of the story, and Alec obviously knew it because he waited patiently for the rest. “So I did other things. Things I would normally do on my day off. But then I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside the US embassy with no idea how I had gotten there. It was not a conscious thing—my feet just followed that path. And all at once I realized...”

“That you wanted to be with me?”

She shook her head. “More than that,” she admitted in a low voice. “That I needed to be with you.”

* * *

Alec sighed in relief as understanding finally dawned. “It’s not a crime, Angel,” he said softly. “Needing someone. It’s not a crime to admit it, either.” Maybe for her it is, he thought. Then he remembered what he’d told her before, and he could have kicked himself for not realizing. “I know I told you I want to be the one who gives you what you need,” he said, emotion making his voice rough. “And that’s the truth. But I didn’t tell you how much I need you. I didn’t...” The words wouldn’t come easily. The words that would explain so she’d never doubt him...would never doubt them again.

“I never needed anyone before. Not like this. Not like you. My family—yeah. My brother Liam. But that’s not the same thing at all.” He was silent for a moment and she didn’t say anything, just snuggled closer. Moved her hand so it was lying against his heart, and he drew courage from that silent confession.

“I didn’t realize a man could need this way,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize I could need this way.” It still wasn’t enough. He had to break through that wall in her head, in her heart. “It’s as if I’ve lived in a world of black and white all my life, Angel. But with you, everything is in color. Glorious, unbelievable color. Could I go back to my black-and-white world? Yeah. If I had to. I just don’t want to.”

His arms tightened around her. “Please don’t doubt what we have together. The jobs we do... I could be dead tomorrow. So could you. But we’d survive. That’s the way we’re made—we’re survivors.” He breathed deeply. “But don’t exile me back to that black-and-white world just because you’re afraid of needing me.”

He rolled over suddenly, taking her with him. Pinning her beneath his body. “You’re the bravest woman I know,” he told her fiercely. “You’re not afraid of anything, not even death. Don’t be afraid of needing me.”

* * *

Aleksandrov Vishenko settled back against the leather seat of his cherished 2011 black Lincoln Town Car—the last year the luxury vehicle had been built—his hard, cold eyes fixed on the man sitting next to him in the backseat, the man he’d bought and paid for years ago.

They were alone. At least, the man thought they were alone, a condition he’d imposed on all their meetings from the very beginning, and Vishenko had humored him. Vishenko’s chauffeur had driven his boss in the Lincoln to this deserted parking lot in the wee small hours of the morning for this arranged, illicit meeting, then had gotten out of the car and walked away, leaving them alone. Vishenko’s bodyguards were hidden everywhere. They could see, but they couldn’t hear. And that was good enough for Vishenko.

He hid his contempt for the other man because he was still useful. When the man was no longer useful, he would be dead. Vishenko knew that, but the other man did not. He might suspect, but he didn’t know. Vishenko had used that suspicion more than once to his own benefit.