The fiery heat of the kiss faded into something easy and gentle, until they were simply breathing against each other’s mouths. Kyle finally sank back down to the floor, Jamie’s hands never letting him go. They stared at each other in silence for several long seconds, blue eyes searching green, before Kyle spoke.
“This is not your fault,” he said slowly and clearly. “Do not fucking blame yourself for something you can’t control.”
Jamie’s grip tightened on his hips, strong enough to bruise, the pain hot at the edge of Kyle’s awareness. The bruises he knew were forming would disappear before he made it to the dining room table downstairs. Jamie’s marks never lasted, and the one permanent thing Jamie had ever given him couldn’t be worn outside their home.
Kyle missed the weight of his engagement ring during moments like this more than he would ever admit.
“I agreed—”
“Shut up,” Kyle cut in with a fierceness that was only ever directed toward the people he loved. “This whole fucking mission was done on orders we all had to obey, not just you. You didn’t think up this mission, didn’t greenlight it, didn’t do anything but sayyes, sir. And that’s fine, Jamie. That’s what we do. But you don’t get to shoulder all the blame for it. I won’t let you.”
Jamie lifted a hand to touch Kyle’s face, thumb resting against the sharp jut of his cheekbone. Kyle leaned into his warm touch, never looking away.
“They aren’t going to stop until they win,” Jamie said in a low voice.
Kyle didn’t have to ask whotheywere. “I know. So don’t let them fucking win.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It can be.”
Maybe they couldn’t fight the future, but they sure as hell could fight the people gunning for them. The MDF hadn’t started this fight, but if Kyle had his way, they’d finish it.
Jamie dug his fingers into Kyle’s body, holding him in place. “If you have the shot, you take it.”
Kyle nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Gladly.”
He’d done it in Boston with Cillian, killing the Irishman when the brass had wanted that fucker alive. He would do it again without hesitation if he ever had Stanislav or Declan in his sights. The MDF could demand obedience all they liked, but the only orders that mattered to Kyle were the ones Jamie issued.
“Good.” Jamie leaned down and kissed him firmly on the mouth before gently pushing him away. “Go eat. I’ll be down soon.”
Kyle walked out of the office without looking back, knowing that Jamie would find his way back to him soon enough.
6
The Lonely Prison of Truth
The British Ambassadorto the United States of America resided in a stately mansion on Massachusetts Avenue NW, locally called Embassy Row. It was located within a guarded compound that included the actual Embassy of the United Kingdom. Access was extremely limited, but Jamie had been pre-cleared last week at the urging of the President of the United States.
The negative spotlight surrounding the Callahan family would normally not lend itself to an intimate audience with members of the British Royal Family, but the man who greeted Jamie in the private library wasn’t just anyone.
“It’s been a while, my friend,” Lieutenant Colonel Liam Wessex said with a wide smile.
Jamie couldn’t help but return it. “Likewise.”
Liam, youngest son to Prince Samuel, Earl of Wessex, and thirteenth in line to the British throne, matched Jamie in height, build, and age. His dark blond hair had been styled for this trip in a trendy way that would’ve been ruined beneath a hard helmet. He was clean-shaven, hazel eyes steady and direct as he approached.
Royal protocol dictated a member of the public should bow their head or curtsy out of respect to one of royal blood. Liam had spent half his life in the military and wasn’t one to stand on protocol with close friends, which Jamie had always appreciated. Liam pulled Jamie into a backslapping hug before putting him at arm’s length, holding onto his shoulders.
“I don’t think many other people would notice, but you look terrible,” Liam said, searching his face.
Jamie rolled his eyes. “It hasn’t been an easy few months.”
“Try a few years.” Liam let him go, waving at Jamie to follow him out of the library. “Come along. We’ll have a cuppa before we leave. If Mother hears I left without offering you refreshments she’ll have my head.”
Jamie would have preferred they left right away, but he was no stranger to good manners when one greeted a guest. He followed Liam through the stately, historic mansion to a parlor that was furnished with modern pieces that didn’t quite mesh with the antique paneling and Queen Anne interior design.
Someone had set up a tea service on the low coffee table situated between four comfortable-looking armchairs. Jamie sank into the closest one, the leather armrests smooth beneath his hands.
