Jeffrey: Just text us, Nick. Or call. Between the three of us, we can sort this out before anyone gets hurt. And before Mother finds out.
Andrew: Oh God, yes. If we’re not careful, she’ll have the wedding planned by the time you two get back to Gallantia. Text us, asshole. There’s no time to waste.
“They’re wrong,” Nick says.
I look up to find him tugging on a tight white polo and experience a flash of relief that he’s more covered than he was before. Concentrating is so much easier when he’s wearing clothes.
“Of course, they’re wrong,” I huff. “I would never physically attack my brother-in-law. That’s ludicrous.”
Though I might have fantasized about it once or twice.
But sometime in the past few days—sharing the holiday together and the plane flight here—I’ve stopped wanting to murder him. Now, I just want to work well with him, then get as far away from him as possible.
I also want his mouth all over me and my mouth all over him and his long, muscled body heavy on top of me while he makes me moan. But that’s not going to happen and certainly doesn’t need to be said aloud.
“No, not about that,” he says, his lips hooking up on one side. “Though that’s good to know. They’re wrong about my mother. She wouldn’t approve. The night before we left, she actually warned me to stay away from you.”
My brows creep higher on my forehead. “What? You told her we were coming here together? But we—”
“No, I didn’t tell her. She just…” He trails off with a shrug, his gaze dropping to his waist as he threads a leather belt through the loops of his pants. “She sensed something, I suppose. That we had…potential of some kind.” He glances back up, his eyes meeting mine with one of his penetrating looks, the ones that make my stomach flip and my nerve endings sizzle. “But she thought it would be a bad idea.”
I stiffen. “She thinks I want to murder you, too?”
“Not at all.” He crosses the room, stopping close enough for the clean, delicious scent of him to drift to my nose. “She thinks you’re more fragile than you let on.”
“What?” I laugh, but he doesn’t break, and my grin fades. “You’re serious?”
“I’m serious.” He reaches out, brushing a loose hair back into my bun. “She thinks you’ve got a delicate heart hidden beneath your tough cookie layers. One which might be easy to break.”
I blink, not knowing what’s more shocking—his mother’s opinion of me or the way my throat is tightening in response to his words. “That’s ridiculous,” I say, but my voice is rough, and I don’t sound nearly as sure of myself as I’d like.
“That’s what I told her,” he says, but he’s watching me so closely it’s unnerving.
And annoying.
I step back, flicking loose the hair he tried to tame. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. She won’t ever find out about this. Tell Andrew and Jeffrey there’s been a misunderstanding and that we’ll explain everything when we get home. I’ll text Sabrina and ask her to sweet-talk Beatrice into keeping quiet, and then you and I can focus on more pressing matters—like getting Beatrice away from Stefano before it’s too late.”
Nick crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll text Andrew and Jeffrey and tell them to mind their own damned business. But yes, the rest of that sounds good.”
I roll my eyes. “Why? Because you don’t want your big brothers telling you what to do?”
“Because I’m a grown man, and you’re a grown woman, and their texts were condescending. And insulting.”
I nibble my bottom lip before I admit, “They were condescending.”
“And insulting.”
I sigh. “Yes, that too, but they mean well. They love you, and they love my sisters, and they just want what’s best.”
“Not what’s best for me,” he says. “They can’t want what’s best for me because they don’t know me. Not the man I truly am. They know what I choose to show them. What it’s safe to show them. It’s the same with you and your sisters.”
I lift my chin, holding his gaze, silently weighing the risk before I ask, “Does that bother you? If so, you know you could…make a change. There wouldn’t be any shame in finding other work. You’ve already made a substantial contribution to the safety and well-being of the continent.”
“I don’t want to find other work,” he says, crushing my hope that convincing him to step away from the spy life will be easy. “But I’m also not going to take my brother’s advice when I know it’s misguided. Besides, they’re totally off-base. You and I have loads of things in common.”
I arch a brow. “We do?”
“We’re both committed to our jobs and our families. We’re both willing to make sacrifices in our personal lives for the greater good. We both love to travel and ski and figure people out, and you’re the only woman I’ve met who can eat birthday cake as quickly as I can.”