Second Chances: A Romance Writers of America Collection (Stark World 2.50)

"The chatter we've picked up indicates that the vials are here, in London. Silayev has just bought a house in Belgravia, and we believe he's holding the vials there until he can find a buyer," she said.

"Obviously, the Americans are keen to regain possession of the virus," said Harry, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers. "Which is why we're assisting the CIA on this mission."

"You're CIA?" Brandon turned in his seat, angling his shoulders toward Natasha. "You're not still at Aegis?"

In response, she pulled a CIA badge from the inside pocket of her trench, flashing it at him before tucking it away. "I haven't been at Aegis for years now."

"But you loved it there. Why did you leave?"

"I'm sorry, but that's classified." She tipped her lips up in a half smile. God, that half smile was maddening. It made him want to strangle her and kiss her, and damn the consequences of both. Instead, he smiled smoothly.

"Of course. Apologies." Brandon kept his voice deliberately flat. "Seeing as the vials are on British soil, and the mission falls under the MI5 umbrella, why doesn't the CIA leave it to us?" He glanced at Natasha. "No offense."

She smiled sweetly. "Because the CIA doesn't trust anyone, not even MI5. No offense."

The doors to the pub's kitchen swung open, and the heavy scent of deep fried foods wafted through the air. As a waitress rushed past carrying a tray laden with several orders of fish and chips, all conversation paused, an involuntary ceasefire.

Harry cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "Silayev is having a cocktail party tomorrow night and will be feeling out several potential buyers for the virus," said Harry. "Your mission is to infiltrate the party, retrieve the vials, and return them to the US Embassy. There are officials from the CDC on standby who will ensure the virus's safe transport to America."

"Harry, I have to ask ..." Brandon shook his head and blew out a slow breath through his nostrils. "Why me? Given our ..." He gestured between himself and Natasha. "History. Wouldn't another agent be better suited to the job?"

Harry tented his fingers and studied Brandon, narrowing his eyes. "No. Given your skills, experience, and the cover necessary to infiltrate Silayev's party, it's got to be you. Additionally, you've never worked a mission involving him or any of his known associates before, so there's no chance of him making you for MI5."

Resigned, Brandon nodded, scanning the pages and photographs in front of him. He glanced at Natasha, who he knew was deep in thought, running her index finger along her bottom lip as she studied the dossier contents.

"Agent Clarke-Davies, I've secured you an invitation to the party tomorrow night." Harry slid a sealed envelope across the table to Brandon, who took it and slipped it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. "You'll find your cover and all necessary information in that envelope. You know the drill." He turned his attention to Natasha and slid a matching envelope to her. "Agent Rowe will be working the party as a waitress; we've secured the cooperation of the catering company. Agent Rowe will secure the vials while you, Clarke-Davies, make sure Rowe is able to do so without any hindrance. We'll go over the finer points of the mission tomorrow. Questions?"

Brandon and Natasha looked at each other before shaking their heads. Harry stood and nodded once, his eyes darting back and forth between them. "Best of luck, agents." Shaking his head, he pushed open the door and set off down the sidewalk in the direction of the MI5 offices.

"So why did you leave Aegis?" Brandon asked.

"Why did you?" She threw the question back at him like a live grenade.

Why had he left Aegis, the private, international intelligence organization where he'd met Natasha almost eight years ago?

Because after their marriage had fallen apart and she'd left him, the shine of international espionage and adventure had lost its allure. Without his partner, his heart hadn't been in it anymore. Coming home to London and joining MI5 had seemed the best option at the time. But he bloody well wasn't going to tell her any of that.

So instead, he smiled, aiming for charming. "I'm sorry, but that's classified."

She laughed, her full lips pulling up into a genuine smile. She slid out of the booth, pulling her trench on as she went. "See you at headquarters tomorrow, C. D.," she said, tossing out a nickname he hadn't heard in years.

He found himself smiling as he watched her walk out of The Red Lion.

Bollocks.

"NO, THE PLAN IS that I secure the vials while you look out for me. That's the mission, and we're not changing it!" Natasha spoke through clenched teeth, arms crossed, not caring that she was yelling at her ex-husband in the middle of MI5 headquarters.

"Listen, you lot already lost those vials of Marburg once. We can't risk another bout of incompetence." Brandon leveled his cool gaze at her, and she wanted to scream in frustration.

Why did he have to look as though he'd just stepped out of the pages of GQ? He looked so good that she could've cried at how unfair it was. Unfair that she had to work with him, and unfair he had to look like that while she did.

His chestnut hair was shorter than when she'd last seen him, with a hint of a wave that she knew turned into curls if he let it grow long enough. Piercing blue eyes looked at her, framed with thick, long lashes that most women would kill for. His nose had a bump in it that hadn't been there six years ago, indicating it had been broken at least once. He wore a simple white dress shirt that emphasized his broad, muscular physique. It was unbuttoned at the collar and tucked into gray dress pants. At six feet two inches, he was nearly a foot taller than her and a good seventy-five pounds heavier.

"So, what?" She jabbed her finger at the blueprint of Silayev's house spread before them on the illuminated table, focusing on her frustration. "You're going to sneak upstairs, crack the safe, and secure the vials while I'm your lookout? Ha! And let you take all the credit? Right. No fucking way, C. D."

"Is that what you're worried about? That I'll get all the glory?" He braced his hands on the table and leaned toward her. "That would be a shame, wouldn't it?"

She opened her mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove his glory when he smiled, and it wasn't just any smile. No, it was the wolfish one that never failed to disintegrate her panties.