have no idea what the future will whack us in the knees with, I added that motherfucker to my speed dial. I know for a fact there’s not much he won’t do.
When I met Isabella Donnelly years ago, she was as tough as she is today. But when we were alone, she was different. She was funny. She was soft. And she was sexy as fuck when she’d melt under my touch. We would fuel each other until we lit up the night—at least when we could find time between assignments, or hell, sometimes during one. Those might’ve been the best since she and I get off on the same high.
Being a spy isn’t for the faint at heart—especially for the brute American and the beautiful, cunning Brit.
It’s been too long since I’ve seen her. Months ago, I engineered an unnecessary trip to the Middle East. It was my last of many attempts to get her to quit and allow me to finally do what was needed to get her out of her bind. My plan was to do what I’m doing now—create her a new identity. It would mean putting herself out to pasture like I had to do. It went against everything I am to work at a desk job, but I did it because it was the right thing to do and she could too, if it were important enough to her.
If I were important enough to her.
But because we are who we are, and like all my failed attempts before, I crashed and burned.
She’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted and I can’t tame her. I’ve tried everything. She thinks she’s got something to prove to the world.
She does have something to prove to the intelligence community, but it’s not how she can take down any man who dares come at her or how resourceful she’s proven to be. She’s got something bigger to worry about and it has everything to do with her freedom.
Then she snuck back into the western world, got blown to pieces, and they almost weren’t able to put her back together again.
I swore I was done. I’ve been a glutton for punishment too long.
But here I am—back for more.
For the first twenty-four hours I sat and stared at her, I was pissed. Pissed at her, pissed at the world, and pissed at myself because I can’t let this shit go and move on like a grown-ass man. I have every reason to step back and focus on my life here.
But the longer I’ve sat in this damn room, my anger has only multiplied … at myself. Because quitting Isabella Donnelley has proven impossible.
Over the past few days, I’ve taken every advantage of the situation. I’m not even sorry that it includes her barely being able to stand up straight or her not able to communicate outside of these four walls.
What I’ve done might lean toward disturbing. This is me and I have no boundaries. But that doesn’t mean I’m not paying for it.
And I’m learning when it comes to Bella Donnelly, the price for doing disturbing shit is steep.
“Mrs. Carson, here are your discharge papers with directions for recovery. Your husband has your prescriptions.”
For the millionth time since Bella became alert, she throws me a glare when the nurse addresses her as Mrs. Carson. I give zero fucks as to how she feels about her new alias.
She might be irritated but she’s not stupid and looks to the nurse. “He’s my soon-to-be ex. I appreciate all you’ve done for me. You’ve been lovely and I’ll never forget you.”
The nurse’s eyes widen and dart to me but I shake my head and try to reassure the older woman who’s been assigned to Bella. “She has a sensitivity to artificial food coloring and gets this way when she eats too much red Jell-O. It’ll work through her system with the stool softeners. No one is getting divorced.”
Bella’s blue eyes ice over and I see that fire inside her flicker. “I do not have a sensitivity to anything. I could eat a unicorn laced with pesticides and still kick your arse to kingdom come.”
I’m pretty sure a lazy smile settles on my lips—one only she can put there. I look to the nurse and shrug. “See? Once she gets back on an organic diet, she’ll be fine.”
“An orderly will be in shortly to wheel you out.” The nurse drops the papers on the table and is gone in a flash.