But it’s clean.
Redirect attention. Reframe the situation. Give Eric a reason to back off that he can understand on his level: territorial bullshit and wounded pride.
Mission accepted: get the asset—Holley—out of immediate danger with minimal collateral damage.
“I’ve really had about enough of this,” I say, letting my boredom drip through my tone. Then I turn my head just enough to catch Holley’s eyes.
She looks startled, panicked, cheeks flushed from cold and humiliation. There’s an apology there, like she’s sorry this is impacting me.
I make a tiny movement with my chin. A silent question. You trust me?
Her lips part. She hesitates.
Then—barely, but it’s there—she gives the smallest nod.
That’s all I need. In the next heartbeat, I pivot.
I step into her space, one arm sliding around her waist, the other bracing against the side of her car.
Her eyes go wide. A tiny gasp escapes her.
“Tony—?” she starts, barely a whisper.
Too late.
I lower my head, my lips to hers, I kiss her.
I don’t make it gentle. I don’t make it violent either. I give it shape and intention: a claim, a story, a message.
Back off. She’s not available.
Her lips are soft and cold from the night air. She tastes faintly like the cheap coffee they sell at the gas station in town and maybe toothpaste from an hour ago. For a split-second she’s frozen, shocked, and I’m prepared to pull away instantly if she shoves me.
She doesn’t.
Her fingers fist in the leather at my sides, and then she makes this tiny sound in the back of her throat and shifts. Not much. Just enough.
Her mouth softens under mine, then her lips part, breath mingling with mine, chilly and sweet. It’s like she falls into the kiss on instinct, the way some people fall into a hug they didn’t know they needed until it was already happening.
Heat sparks low in my gut, unexpected and sharp.
Well, hell.
This was supposed to be a tactic.
Suddenly it’s something else too.
I push that thought away, keep my head in the game. Our tongues dance like old friends happily reunited once again. I tip the angle of my head, deepening the kiss just enough to sell it. My hand tightens at her waist, thumb brushing the curve of her hip. Her body presses against mine, curves fitting in ways that my brain absolutely does not have time to consider right now.
I hear Eric swear behind me.
Good.
Mission accomplished.
I keep the kiss going a second longer than necessary, because breaking away too fast makes it look staged. People believe what they see repeated, what’s drawn-out, not quick flashes.
Her fingers tighten on my jacket again, just for a moment, like she’s holding on.
