His lips twitched into a surprising smile. “And what you said before wasn’t already complicated?”
“I—” An embarrassingly loud growl escaped her stomach, interrupting her line of thought. Perfect timing, hunger pains. Maybe part of that pain in her stomach had been from her lack of any real food aside from gas station snacks earlier and not just the incredibly difficult conversation.
“Hungry?” His smile broadened.
“I think it was a good idea you bought the wine and ice cream. You feel like having that for dinner while I reveal classified intel to a man who has yet to come clean with me?”
He leaned in, and his mouth hovered near hers as if he were going to kiss her.
“You’re not planning on going with Avenger again, are you?” she softly asked.
His gaze moved from her mouth to her eyes. “Do you really need to know the truth about me to share your truth?”
She rolled her tongue over her lips. “No.” She knew in her heart this man was brought to her for a reason, now more than ever. “I trust you.”
Chapter Eighteen
A.J. secured a bottle of red wine from Grant’s wine cellar—this occasion now called for something better than what he’d picked up from Piggly Wiggly—and left to find Ana. I fell for the daughter of Russian spies, he thought in surprise while trekking up the steps. He’d never had much luck with the Russians in the past, but Ana wasn’t her parents, and he refused to believe anything different. No blinders on his eyes.
A.J.’s thoughts kept spinning like he was on a Tilt-A-Whirl as he grabbed a corkscrew and two glasses, then searched for where Ana had disappeared.
He opened the back door and glimpsed Ana off in the distance down by the pond. Wine in Solo cups it is, then. He paused mid-turn, his attention falling to the white rocking chair that had him squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He’d swear it’d been moving. Losing my mind. Letting the door shut behind him, he went back to the kitchen to exchange the fancy wineglasses for the red cups he saw stacked in the pantry when he’d been preparing for the chicken dinner.
He grabbed his cowboy hat and went back outside. One quick check of the chair to ensure it wasn’t moving—it wasn’t—and then he started down the steps and toward the path to get to Ana.
The man-made pond was fifty or so yards away from the house. About twenty-five by thirty in size. Probably stocked with some decent fish, knowing Grant.
Ana had her legs tucked beneath her bottom, looking every bit the gorgeous vision from his dreams. “You’re wearing your cowboy hat. Looks good on you.” She shielded her eyes with her hand and smiled while looking up at him.
His hands were full, so he couldn’t tip his hat like he normally would have. “We should get you one.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, her voice softer. She was most likely worn out from crying.
He sat in front of her on the blanket and stretched his legs out before him, while setting the items on the blanket between them.
“Ménage à Trois.” Her French accent had his skin heating. “Love that brand of wine.”
“Moi aussi.” He responded, Me, too, in French, unable to stop himself even though he literally knew nothing of the wine other than it was red.
And no, he did not need to think about the other meaning of the brand’s name. Two women in bed with him. Ana would be way more than enough woman for him. God, did she have any idea how she made him feel with those green eyes on him? What her luscious lips did to him?
“Parles-tu Français?”
And hot damn, that accent. He could listen to her speak French all day.
“Plus Portuguese, Spanish, and a little bit of everything when needed.” He smiled. “Russian, at times.” That merited a throat clear from him.
The mention of Russian was a reminder why they were about to binge on wine and ice cream. He sure as hell wished they were there for another reason. He was pretty sure he was still in shock from her revelation, too.
Seeing her crying on that porch, before she’d shared her story, had shattered any doubts in his mind about her that may have crept in when she announced her parents had been Volkov spies in Grant’s office.
Ana’s gaze fell to the red and white checkered blanket, her hand smoothing