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I wake to the smell of coffee and Matteo, hard at work on his laptop.

He’s already in his slacks, his shirt barely buttoned, his sleeves rolled to his elbows.

The Matteo I saw on the weekends. The Matteo only I saw.

The Matteo I kill in two little weeks.

I swallow hard. I sneak to the bathroom, wash up, pour myself a cup of hotel coffee.

It’s not bad, considering, but it’s not what I want.

“How much time do we have? I want to go out for breakfast,” I say.

He slides out from his seat and pats his lap. Come here.

I raise a brow really?

He nods really, like we’re back in old times, like he has no concern I’m going to kill him.

I slide into his lap.

He pushes my silk chemise up my thighs. “The shell company invests in real estate all over Greece. One of the offices is here in Athens. And they’ve got an open house today.”

That sounds doable. I just need to⁠—

He pushes the straps off my shoulders.

The fabric falls to my waist.

His palm goes to my breast.

“Are you trying to distract me, Agent Locke?” I ask.

He runs his thumb over my nipple in response.

The motherfucker is playing my game.

And it’s working.

I’ve lost the plot entirely.

A witness. It needs to be a dead end. I can’t let him find out anything useful.

He wants me off my game.

He

Uh—

He places a soft kiss on my neck. Then it’s the scrape of his teeth. “If you’d rather talk strategy, I’m happy to stop.”

He bites me a little harder, like he’s daring me to say yes, stop, let’s figure this out. I need to keep the upper hand.

But I don’t.

I—

I’ll figure it out when I get there.