concert’s going to be amazing.”
She leans over and kisses my cheek. It’s an innocent kiss. Nothing more than a show of gratitude.
Too bad my body doesn’t quite see it the same way.
It buzzes with need and desire. Desire for her to do a shitload more than just kiss me like that.
She pulls away, but the whiff of her light floral perfume lingers, tormenting me further.
Whiskey’s sitting in his crate, looking all shades of hopeful when we walk into the laundry room.
“I’ll just take him outside,” I tell her. “We won’t be long.”
“I can start making dinner. Is there anything in particular you want?”
“I’m fine with whatever.” I need to get away from her sweet scent for a few minutes and regroup.
Rule #2 when it comes to missions: Never sleep with your target.
Unless it suits the purpose of the mission—like seducing vital information from the individual.
But Chloe isn’t technically my target. That honor goes solely to her cousin, Nikolai Orlov.
So when you look at it that way, there’s no reason for my need to take a minute.
Try, she’s not interested in you that way, dumbass.
I remove Whiskey’s leash from the key holder and open the crate door. I fasten it to his collar and carry him outside.
The ground shines from the streetlights in the lightly falling rain. The dropping temperature from the approaching storm helps cool me down a few degrees. Enough so I can return to the town house a little less turned-on than before.
I lower Whiskey to the grass and let him go about his business.
When I step inside the town house a short time later, the delicious smell of dinner greets me. Chloe is busy in the kitchen, her attention on whatever she’s cooking on the stove. And for a moment, I watch her swaying to the music from the speakers in the living room. She’s caught up in the rhythm, her body moving in a way that makes mine, once again, aware of her.
So much for regrouping while I was outside.
But it’s more than that. For a second, my brain entertains the thought of coming home every night to seeing her like that. In the kitchen. Making dinner. Looking incredibly sexy.
Wearing nothing more than my hockey jersey.
A need—one I’m not familiar with—stirs inside me.
Whoa, where the hell did that come from?
I push it away and walk over to join Chloe. “Whatever you’re cooking, it smells incredible.”
She smiles sweetly at me, causing the hunger for her to swell up like a hot-air balloon. “Thanks. Hopefully, it tastes as good as it smells.”
She reaches out and scratches Whiskey behind his ear. He happily soaks up the attention, content to remain in my arms.
“I’m sure it will.” Needing to pull my thoughts away from how her body would feel against mine, I ask, “When are you volunteering next at the seniors’ home?”
“Not until Thursday.”
I nod. That’s good. “I have a hockey game tomorrow night. This place is secure, but I still want one of my colleagues to stay with you while I’m gone.”
“You mean like a babysitter?” There’s no missing the grimace in her tone, even though it’s absent from her face.
“I wouldn’t put it exactly like that.”
Her face brightens, and the stirring shifts to my chest, warming me up from the inside, in a way I haven’t felt in a while. “Can I watch you play hockey instead?”
“Are you sure?”
She nods. “Positive. I haven’t watched a game since Kiera’s husband died. She stopped watching hockey after he passed away.”
“Okay, I’ll ask Isabelle and Jayden to join you.”
“Jayden?”
“He’s one of my other colleagues. He’s engaged to Isabelle.”
“Ahh, so I’ll be the third wheel?”
“Not exactly. They’ll be working, so they’ll be keeping that disgusting mushy stuff on hold.” I screw up my nose like a little kid who sees his parents kissing.
Chloe laughs and goes back to stirring the food in the saucepan. “How did you end up playing hockey? Why not football or some other sport?”
“That might have something to do with my dad originally being from Canada. He grew up playing hockey and was super talented. He just wasn’t quite talented enough to be drafted into the NHL. He passed on his love of the sport to my sisters and me.”
“Did they learn to play it, too?”
“Kathy, my oldest sister, didn’t. She loved watching the game but was never interested in playing it. I don’t think it even dawned on my father at the time to encourage her to play hockey. There was no question when I was born