Karen Whiddon - Mission - Marriage

Parking in the back drive of the first B and B they came to, Sean went inside and secured them a room. When he emerged, he looked grim.

“I rented one room.”

“Why?”

“Security reasons.”

Too tired to argue, Natalie simply nodded.

Opening her door for her, he helped her out. Natalie allowed this, telling herself his touch didn’t feel good, not at all. The shiver that ran down her spine was due to the chilly air, nothing more.

“Wait.” She dug into her knapsack and retrieved the bandana Auggie had given her. This she placed over her head, tying it under her chin. “Camouflage,” she said. “Best I can do at the moment.”

Sean raised a brow but didn’t comment.

They walked into the brightly lit sitting room, neither of them speaking, staring straight ahead. The tension between them seemed palpable—almost unbearable, like the electricity in the air right before a thunderstorm. Natalie had to grit her teeth to keep herself pleasantly smiling.

Their hostess, a plump, bespectacled woman with a shock of bright orange hair, led them to the rear of the house. “You two even have your own bath,” she exclaimed. “All of the rooms upstairs have to share the big one at the end of the hall.”

Once they reached the room, she handed them a folded paper listing breakfast options and left them alone.

Natalie eyed the double bed with dismay. “I’m guessing she didn’t have a room with a king? Or even a queen-size bed?”

“I’m sorry,” Sean said, sounding anything but. “I can sleep in the chair if you’d like.”

Eyeing his walking cast, Natalie tried not to think about how badly she wanted to touch him, to run her hands over his once-beloved skin while breathing in his never-forgotten scent, to feel him move inside her again. “I’ll sleep in the chair. Since you’re driving, you’ll need your rest more than I.”

He narrowed his eyes. Once, he’d been able to read her thoughts, her desires. Or at least it had seemed that way to her. Once. No longer.

They’d been so happy. Or, she amended, she had. Obviously, Sean had felt differently. She’d never understand how he could do such a thing to the woman he supposedly loved.

“I’ll sleep in the chair,” she repeated, in case he wanted to argue. “But first, I need your help with this.” Opening the paper bag from the drugstore, she removed her purchases. “I’m going to cut and color my hair.”

For a moment, he froze, reminding her how he loved her hair, short or long. After lovemaking he’d always run his fingers through it.

Ruthlessly, she shut down the memories. “I know it’s short, but I’ve got to make it shorter. I can’t be recognized again. It’s compromising our mission.”

A trained spy, Sean understood. She could tell from the set of his chin that he didn’t like it, but he knew the reasons why changing her appearance was necessary.

The way he studied her sent shivers down her spine. Finally, he nodded. “Unfortunately, you’re right. What do I need to do?”

“Let me wet my head in the lavatory sink.” As soon as she’d accomplished that, she combed through her already short locks and returned to the bedroom. “Now I’m ready.”

“I’m not.” He didn’t sound as if he were joking.

Ignoring him, she dug out her newly purchased scissors, holding them out, along with the comb. “Will you do the honors? I could do the sides, but I’m afraid I’d make a hopeless mess of the back.”

Accepting the scissors, he moved the desk chair over by the bed. “Sit here in front of me.”

One deep breath for strength, and she did as he asked. The mattress springs creaked as he took a seat on the bed directly behind her. “How short?”

Did his voice tremble?

“Chin length.” Her hair touched her collarbone now, which meant he’d be removing two to three inches.

As he combed through her hair, she sighed and closed her eyes. When they’d first met, he’d loved her long hair, insisting on brushing it every night. Sometimes those sessions had turned heated, and they’d made fierce and passionate love. Her entire body warmed just thinking of it.

She could tell from the catch in Sean’s breathing that he hadn’t forgotten either.

The first time he skimmed the comb through her hair, a chill skittered along her spine. How she wanted to turn her head and press a kiss into the palm of his hand, the way she used to. Instead she held herself perfectly still, trying to relax.

Impossible.

His breath tickled her ear, her throat. Any moment now … She braced herself for his whisper-soft kiss, so familiar she ached for it, so alien she dreaded it.

When it never came, she reminded herself to breathe. Too much time and deception had passed between them. They each had a job to do, for their country, their agencies and their own personal satisfaction.

Giving in to old memories, old lusts, would accomplish nothing.

“It’s done.” His voice sounded husky. When he ruffled her newly shorn locks, she couldn’t suppress a shiver.

To keep from doing something foolish, she jumped to her feet and went to the mirror over the desk.

She looked … different. The choppy haircut brought out the hollows of her high cheekbones, but it was more than that. Life had returned to her face. Her eyes were no longer a muddy brown, but the amber color they’d once been, the color Sean had always teased her about by saying they glowed with passion.

Passion. No matter how she might try to hide this, even from herself, passion burned in her and her body knew. Each moment she spent with Sean, hearing his voice, longing to feel his touch, marked her.

Natalie was no longer Natalie Major, the efficient Super-spy, the woman made of ice. Despite her best intentions, she resembled Natalie McGregor, the woman hopelessly in love with her mate.

From behind her, Sean made a strangled sound. In the mirror, she saw him standing on the other side of the bed. His dark eyes glowed, full of such heat she nearly gasped. Their gazes locked and held.

Slowly, she turned, her pulse beating erratically.

When he came to her, gathering her in his arms, the scent of him, the feel of his muscular body against her, was almost unbearably painful.

Still, she hungered.

His touch as intimate as the old days, he trailed his hands over her skin and caressed the small of her back.

Ah … this. Arching against him, she lifted her face for his kiss, starving. He met her halfway, crushing her mouth beneath his. His lips devoured hers, demanding, hard and punishing, making her whimper a weak protest at first. But as he deepened the kiss, she welcomed his mouth as though two years had been erased.

Finally, her world was … full.

Stupid. With a hiss, she jerked away. Though she immediately felt bereft, she hid it with a scowl. “Don’t do that.”

The lazy look he gave her had amusement mingled with the desire. “You’re mine,” he stated, with all the confidence of a lion surveying his pride.

“Not anymore.”

“Always.” His voice dared her to disagree.

Though she could have argued, Natalie chose not to dispute his words. He’d always been able to tell when she was lying.

Instead, she grabbed his head and pulled his mouth down for another kiss. Impatient now, anger blazing into desire and need, grief becoming longing and the shame of his betrayal subjugated into want, she used her tongue the way he’d always found unbearably arousing, stroking the inside of his mouth, suckling his tongue. Reckless, abandoned, she tore at his clothing, craving him naked, hard and deep inside her.

His breathing came harsh, unsteady.

“Natalie?”

“Don’t talk,” she growled. “Not now.”