Behind me, Thomas whistled low.
“Damn,” he murmured. “You said she was pretty, but . . . just damn.” He tilted his head appreciatively. “And I don’t even like girls.”
She heard him.
Of course, she heard him.
Her smile sharpened as she looked past me.
“I like him already,” she said. Her eyes traveled down Thomas’s bare chest. “And I can see why you do, too. Perhaps we might share a taste sometime? I already like the way your musk teases my tongue. I bet your man’s is even—”
“No!” I said more harshly than was necessary. “There will be no . . . musk tasting . . . on either of us . . . or both of us . . . or . . . oh, fuck it. Just no.”
The woman’s laughter was the tinkling of a bell, bright and merry and insidiously wicked.
“I like her. Maybe just a nibble?” Thomas grinned, and my asshole partner flexed, then shot me a lopsided grin. “Please.”
“Both of you, just piss off. Right now.”
Their mingled laughter greeted the three men who filed in behind her. Olaf and Sven stepped in first, then a third entered. He had a dark complexion, a short, compact build, and watchful eyes. He was the one who’d followed the Opel.
“Forgive the dramatic entrance,” the woman said, pulling off her gloves. “We decided not to wait for morning. If we’re doing this, we might as well do it now.”
“You could have warned us,” Bisch said flatly as he propped his shotgun against the wall by the front door.
“And miss the chance to see how you react to an unexpected threat?” Her eyes swept across us. “Twelve seconds from engine cut to defensive positions. Not bad for a mixed team.”
“We’ve had a little practice,” I said.
“I can tell.” She turned to face me fully, and there was that damn smile. “Hello again, handsome.” Her gaze traveled down my chest to where the last of my hardness had refused to fully fade, despite the harrowing moment. “Oh, my sweet boy, you did miss me.”
My ears went warm. Thomas nearly fell over laughing. Bisch’s brow furrowed, but the CIA mengrinned as though they’d grown used to their leader’s coquettish ways.
“We should make proper introductions,” Thomas said, saving me from dying of embarrassment right there in the living room. “I’m Condor. This is Emu.”
The woman’s grin sharpened. “From the old OSS birdcage. How cute.”
“We like the classics,” Thomas said dryly. “There’s less chance of ending up named after something that slithers.”
She laughed again. “Fair enough.” Then she gestured to her team. “Marcus, Danny, and Eddie.”
Thomas caught my eye. I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. So much for Olaf and Sven.
“Those aren’t real,” I said. “Are they?”
Her eyes sparkled. “As real as my tongue was in your ear, sweetheart.”
Crimson flared across every part of my being. Goddamn it.
Beside me, Thomas made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh—his composure cracking so badly he had to turn away, shoulders shaking.
“I—that was—” I stammered.
“Tradecraft,” she finished, her eyes dancing. “I know. It was very professional of you to hold still and give me full access to your tasty little lobes.”
Thomas was useless now. He had to brace himself with his uninjured hand against the wall. Even Bisch’s granite expression had developed a crack.
Before I could attempt a recovery, a door creaked open down the hallway, and the Baroness emerged in a heavy robe, her silver hair loose, but her eyes sharp.
