irritation. “Well, it’s getting uncomfortable.”
“You’ll live.”
Argghhhh!
Finally she was lowered to her feet. She barely had a chance to look around the room in which he’d installed her when a shirt was shoved at her. “Strip.”
“What? No!”
“Sylvie, take off your clothes so I can throw them in the wash. You splashed soda all over your front. Besides, I’m not letting you out of my house until I figure out how to handle this mess you’ve created.”
“I told you—”
“I know. And I’m sorry if my words hurt you, but you know I speak the truth, Sylvs.” Nate’s eyes were tender and remorseful at the same time. “Nana will not be happy with this shit you got yourself into.”
“I just—” She couldn’t say it. I just can’t let Nana die.
Strong arms drew her into a comforting hug. Nate’s warm breath fanned her cheek as he said quietly, “I’m here, Sylvs. You’re not going to face this alone, okay?”
His words washed over her and eased the anxiety holding her bones and muscles rigid. Relaxing into him, she surrendered all her troubles and problems to him if only for tonight.
*****
Nate couldn’t sleep. He had a fucking hard-on that wouldn’t quit.
He hadn’t jacked off in years. He had no shortage of women, and despite the image he projected as a manwhore, he had the training to rein in his libido. Hell, he’d gone undercover for months in scenarios where you couldn’t even trust the woman you fucked. What his handler advised him was: Never lose your head over a woman or you’ll really lose your head .
What he had forgotten was the effect of seeing Sylvie in one of his shirts. The last time was when they’d been together nine years ago. Though most of his assignments were with the CIA when he was with the Army Special Forces, Nate had just officially transitioned to the Agency during that time. He was splitting his time between Langley and The Farm—the CIA training facility. Sylvie had moved to DC to work as a temporary sous chef for a famous Japanese restaurant. He’d known better than to start a relationship, and he made it clear to Sylvie he wasn’t sticking around. She was of the same mind since she was waiting for her apprenticeship assignments in Japan to come through. Nate clearly didn’t play by his own rules, and his feelings were more involved than he anticipated. So much so when his CIA handler had noticed Nate’s preoccupation with spending time with Sylvie, he had a serious chat with him. He warned Nate not to form attachments because his first mission was in the works, and he would be gone for a while. The call came three months into his affair with her. They never moved in together, so no one had to move out, but it almost killed Nate to let her go. He couldn’t just end it and walk away, but it wouldn’t be fair to leave her hanging, not knowing when he was going to see her again. Desperate to have her in his life in any way, he pushed for friendship and buried his feelings for her fucking deep inside him the way he’d been taught at The Farm.
And it worked for years. A dissonance in his emotions would ripple every now and then, but he’d manage to keep what he felt for her on lockdown. Maybe that was why his girlfriends complained that he was emotionally unavailable because he’d saved that part of himself for Sylvie. Now he’d set it free. It was consuming him, burning through him so brightly, he was afraid he’d simply pounce on her and take her.
Tonight was torture. She had taken a shower and shuffled to the living room where he was watching TV. His shirt hung loosely on her petite form, hitting her mid-thigh. Nate noticed her heightened color and assumed it was the effect of the hot shower, but her body language indicated something else. Sexual tension. She had her soiled clothes bunched up in front of her.
“Can I use your”—Sylvie cleared her throat—“washing machine?”
Nate reached for her clothes. “I’ll do
“You’ll live.”
Argghhhh!
Finally she was lowered to her feet. She barely had a chance to look around the room in which he’d installed her when a shirt was shoved at her. “Strip.”
“What? No!”
“Sylvie, take off your clothes so I can throw them in the wash. You splashed soda all over your front. Besides, I’m not letting you out of my house until I figure out how to handle this mess you’ve created.”
“I told you—”
“I know. And I’m sorry if my words hurt you, but you know I speak the truth, Sylvs.” Nate’s eyes were tender and remorseful at the same time. “Nana will not be happy with this shit you got yourself into.”
“I just—” She couldn’t say it. I just can’t let Nana die.
Strong arms drew her into a comforting hug. Nate’s warm breath fanned her cheek as he said quietly, “I’m here, Sylvs. You’re not going to face this alone, okay?”
His words washed over her and eased the anxiety holding her bones and muscles rigid. Relaxing into him, she surrendered all her troubles and problems to him if only for tonight.
*****
Nate couldn’t sleep. He had a fucking hard-on that wouldn’t quit.
He hadn’t jacked off in years. He had no shortage of women, and despite the image he projected as a manwhore, he had the training to rein in his libido. Hell, he’d gone undercover for months in scenarios where you couldn’t even trust the woman you fucked. What his handler advised him was: Never lose your head over a woman or you’ll really lose your head .
What he had forgotten was the effect of seeing Sylvie in one of his shirts. The last time was when they’d been together nine years ago. Though most of his assignments were with the CIA when he was with the Army Special Forces, Nate had just officially transitioned to the Agency during that time. He was splitting his time between Langley and The Farm—the CIA training facility. Sylvie had moved to DC to work as a temporary sous chef for a famous Japanese restaurant. He’d known better than to start a relationship, and he made it clear to Sylvie he wasn’t sticking around. She was of the same mind since she was waiting for her apprenticeship assignments in Japan to come through. Nate clearly didn’t play by his own rules, and his feelings were more involved than he anticipated. So much so when his CIA handler had noticed Nate’s preoccupation with spending time with Sylvie, he had a serious chat with him. He warned Nate not to form attachments because his first mission was in the works, and he would be gone for a while. The call came three months into his affair with her. They never moved in together, so no one had to move out, but it almost killed Nate to let her go. He couldn’t just end it and walk away, but it wouldn’t be fair to leave her hanging, not knowing when he was going to see her again. Desperate to have her in his life in any way, he pushed for friendship and buried his feelings for her fucking deep inside him the way he’d been taught at The Farm.
And it worked for years. A dissonance in his emotions would ripple every now and then, but he’d manage to keep what he felt for her on lockdown. Maybe that was why his girlfriends complained that he was emotionally unavailable because he’d saved that part of himself for Sylvie. Now he’d set it free. It was consuming him, burning through him so brightly, he was afraid he’d simply pounce on her and take her.
Tonight was torture. She had taken a shower and shuffled to the living room where he was watching TV. His shirt hung loosely on her petite form, hitting her mid-thigh. Nate noticed her heightened color and assumed it was the effect of the hot shower, but her body language indicated something else. Sexual tension. She had her soiled clothes bunched up in front of her.
“Can I use your”—Sylvie cleared her throat—“washing machine?”
Nate reached for her clothes. “I’ll do
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