“Completely ridiculous,” he agreed.
She turned her head to look at him.In the dim light, his profile was all sharp angles and shadows.“We’re professionals.”
“Right.We’ve known each other for years.”
“Right.We’ve fallen asleep watching movies together,” she said as if this situation were remotely similar to dozing off on one of their couches.
He turned to face her, and suddenly the space between them felt very small.“I’m going to put my arm around you now,” he said quietly.“Is that okay?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
He shifted closer, and his arm slipped around her waist, drawing her against him.She fit against his chest like they were interlocking puzzle pieces, her head tucked under his chin, their legs tangling.He was warm and solid and she could feel his heartbeat against her cheek.
“This okay?”he murmured into her hair.
“Yeah,” she whispered back.“This is okay.”
It was more than okay.
They lay there in the darkness, the yacht rocking gently beneath them, the cameras watching.
She knew she should be thinking about the mission, about how they were going to find the intel without being able to plan or communicate freely, or even about her side mission to save Hanna—or at least gain her trust.
But she fell asleep thinking that being in his arms felt right,tooright.
7
Omar woketo discover that Marielle Moreau was a sleep cuddler.Or, more accurately, a heat-seeking missile.
She was plastered against him.One leg was hooked over his thigh, an arm flung across his chest, and her face was buried in the hollow of his throat.Her even breath was warm against his skin, and, every time she exhaled, something in his chest tightened.
He’d been awake for nearly twenty minutes, lying perfectly still.He told himself it was because he didn’t want to disturb her sleep and not because he wanted to stay in this bed, in this position, with this woman for as long as he possibly could.
No, that’s not why.He was doing this for the cameras.Oscar and Margaux Irfan would wake up tangled together.This was good cover.It was professional.Strategic.
Except it didn’t feel professional.Or strategic.Or, frankly, safe.It felt like something he could get used to.Like something he’d been denying himself for years because he risked everything, every day, in his professional life, and he needed to have one thing he didn’t risk.By default, that was his heart.
But here he was, trapped in a stateroom with surveillance cameras and the woman who made him reconsider every sensible decision he’d ever made about keeping his personal and professional lives separate.The same woman who actually had opened a bottle of 1999 Chianti the night he met her and proceeded to drink it while she was covered in mud, blood, and broken glass.The one who’d helped save his sister and best friend, no questions asked.And the one who’d stretched up on her toes to kiss him after that mission went sideways and they’d both ended up in the clink.
That woman stirred against him, and he felt the exact moment she woke fully—the slight stiffening of her body, the quick inhale as she registered her position.
“Morning,” he managed, his voice low and rough with sleep.
She tilted her head back to look at him, and her eyes were still dream-soft, her dark coppery hair a wild tangle across his shoulder.“Morning.I should have warned you that I turn into an octopus in my sleep.”
“I don’t mind.”The words escaped before he could stop them.Before he could remember that he was supposed to mind, that this was supposed to be just cover.He cleared his throat.“I mean it’s for?—”
“The cover,” she finished for him in a whisper.She shifted away, and he immediately missed the weight of her against him.
Focus, Khan.You’re on a mission.With cameras watching your every move.And six armed guards.And Secret Service agents who don’t quite trust you.
He sat up abruptly and ran a hand through his hair.“We should get ready for breakfast.Stefan said nine on the aft deck.”
“What time is it?”
He checked his watch.“Eight-fifteen.Plenty of time.We’ll poke around for the drop spot later today.”
They moved around each other with awkward formality.He took his turn in the bathroom first.When it was her turn, they sidled past each other in the doorway leaving too much space between them.As if they were both afraid that if they touched in the light of day, without the excuse of sleep, something would shift.
