Xavier lifted an eyebrow. “You think that’s too old for field work?”
“Not exactly, no, but…”
“But Reid has more than earned the luxuries of the position afforded to him,” I finished. “He’s effective in either capacity, but I would caution you against making that change, Xavier. It might be seen as a demotion, regardless of any pay raise involved.”
Xavier considered the words with a nod. “Noted,” he said. “I’ll talk it over with Reid either way.”
The evening wound down with final preparations for tomorrow. Xavier and Leo gathered their tablets while Xander and Ash collected their coats. Xion and Boone were already waiting by the door, ready to depart.
"We'll see you at the airfield when you get back," Xavier said, shaking my hand firmly before they filed out.
The door closed behind them, leaving Maxime and me alone in a house that suddenly seemed too large, too quiet.
My hip ached from sitting too long at the table, but I ignored it as I stood at the doorway with my cane resting against the frame. Maxime moved through the kitchen like a dancer, each motion exact as he restored order after the chaos of dinner. His suit remained perfect despite hours of service, his posture flawless even alone.
The idea of him returning home suddenly struck me as absurd, inefficient, and a security risk.
He'd survived an assassination attempt by Shaw just days ago. He'd been drugged and nearly abducted. The next attempt might succeed if he remained in that minimalist fortress with its single point of entry, limited escape routes, and distance from my security team. His presence here, under my roof and under my protection, represented both desire and tactical necessity.
The thought of Maxime in a separate residence, in a separate bed, turned my stomach. For years, we'd lived adjacent lives, connected through work but divided by walls and streets and the pretense of professional distance. Now that I'd finally claimed him and tasted what we could be together, that separation had become intolerable.
What was the point of stepping down and letting Xavier take the reins if not to finally have who and what I wanted?
Maxime bent to retrieve a fallen napkin, the fabric of his pants pulling tight across his ass. He was mine. My property to protect. My asset to secure. My territory to defend. My future to claim.
Shaw had already infiltrated Lucky Losers. How many of Maxime's building staff had been compromised? How many surveillance devices had been planted in his pristine rooms?The thought of unknown eyes watching him sent a wave of possessive rage through me that nearly snapped my cane in half.
"Pack your things tomorrow," I said without preamble.
His hands stilled on the crystal wine glass. "What?"
"Your mansion is a security vulnerability." I pushed off from the doorframe and crossed the room, ignoring the protest from my rebuilt hip. "You're moving in here. Permanently."
I took the glass from his hands and set it aside. My fingers brushed his deliberately, and the brief contact crackled between us.
His eyes met mine. "Algerone—"
I gripped his jaw and tilted his face up to mine. His skin burned against my palm. "I want you in my bed every night. I want to wake up with you beside me. I want you there when I fall asleep. I've had enough of pretending we live separate lives. I've had enough of walls between us. No more."
His lips parted slightly, and his eyes widened. "Yes," he whispered, and that single syllable contained years of waiting.
I pulled him against me, one hand sliding to the marks I'd left on his throat days ago, now faded to shadows. His body went pliant against mine, surrendering with a shudder that telegraphed his need more eloquently than any words could have.
"Shaw comes first," I said, keeping my grip tight on his throat, just enough to make his eyelids flutter. "But when we return from Macau, you're mine completely. No more separate beds. No more nights apart. Not ever again."
The kitchen gleamed aroundme, every surface restored to perfect order while Algerone relaxed in the living room, tablet in hand as he reviewed the final Macau briefing documents. Pages rustled softly from the adjacent room, his finger tapping occasionally against the screen. Three hours and forty-seven minutes until wheels up. I'd been tracking the countdown since Reid's team departed.
My hands stilled on the dish towel. The fabric trembled between my fingers. I had never once asked for anything beyond the privilege of remaining at his side. Tonight, that changed. Tonight, I chose how to spend these hours before we flew toward Shaw and whatever waited for us in Macau.
Pathetic, that facing armed mercenaries felt less terrifying than what I was about to do.
I dropped the dish towel on the counter. The soft thud echoed in the kitchen silence. I found him in his leather chair, tablet balanced on one knee, cane resting against the armrest. His eyebrows rose slightly as I approached, a question forming onhis lips, but I sank to my knees beside his chair before he could speak.
The hardwood bit into my kneecaps through expensive wool. At fifty-four, kneeling required more conscious adjustment than it had at thirty, but the ache felt right. Earned. My forehead found the solid warmth of his thigh, and I breathed in the scent that had haunted me for decades.
This was where I belonged. Not standing at conference tables or orchestrating boardroom victories, but here. The corporate world saw submission as weakness. They understood nothing. I pressed my forehead harder against his thigh. He could have anyone. Command anyone. Yet he chose to accept what I offered.
I didn't deserve it. That knowledge lived in my bones alongside the wanting.
