Page 83 of Every Last Breath

Holding a bag of Chinese takeout, Cole picked the lock to Maddox’s door. The pungent smell of shrimp lo mein and Peking duck prodded him to hurry. Fifteen seconds.

Yep, he was just that good. In truth, it was his Z-wave gadget doing the work, but after the shitty day they’d had, he was taking the credit.

He set out the containers of food in the kitchen and rummaged for a wine bottle opener. Bingo. Of course she had one. He opened a robust bottle of Brunello and searched for a decanter. Score, yet again.

Candles strategically placed in the living room sat untouched, collecting dust and purely decorative, but he lit them anyway. He slipped off his jacket and holster, aching to scrub off the grunge from the day.

Using her shower would smack of presumption. But the wretched smell of his body offended his own nose, and the last thing he wanted was to turn her stomach during dinner.

She might kick him out, had every right to, but he sensed she needed him and maybe he needed her too. Exactly what for, he wasn’t certain.

When she disappeared on the train with Novak, he’d almost lost his mind. The thought of that creepy animal hurting her or—good God—worse had filled him with a terrifying sense of loss and an overwhelming need to hurt the Ghost.

Swallowing his taste for violence, he kicked off his boots and stripped.

Being in this grinder of danger and the revolving close brush with evil had a way of clarifying one’s priorities. He didn’t come to Maddox’s place for sex, though a physical release after a hard day would be nice, and she was the only lover who kept pace with his appetites and satisfied him on a level that’d have him sounding like a Hallmark card if he examined it deeper.

Years ago, she’d always been eager to have him, to experiment sexually, which had just been the icing. The cake had been her generous heart and sense of adventure, how she didn’t care he came from dirty money and made him feel as if he could walk on water when she looked at him with that sparkle of awe in her eyes.

And she had really loved him, so much it’d left him breathless.

There was no way back for him and Maddox. Might not be a way forward either.

All he knew was to heal their wounds, they needed the salve of remembering what it was like to belong to each other. They’d found that for a dazzling moment in the parking lot. The intensity of it, the searing heat, the soul-deep comfort had startled him senseless.

They needed that feeling again, a sense of connection, but this time without the physical. She had a tough, grueling job and after such a rough day, he wanted to show her tenderness and the warmth of being there at her disposal.

To give her whatever she needed—a decent meal, a glass of wine, a hug, an understanding ear to listen to her frustration over losing Novak, even space and some alone time. He crossed his fingers she didn’t need the latter, but he’d give it.

He brushed his teeth, appreciating the feminine sight of makeup and frilly skin care products neatly organized on the counter, and stepped in the shower—not giving a damn about presumption.

Hot water soaked him, loosening his tight muscles.

He eyed the vast assortment of pricey-looking Lush products from gels to scrubs to shower bombs. Selecting one at random, not caring if he smelled like a bouquet of flowers or a damn sugar cookie so long as he was clean, he scoured off the defeat of the day, letting it rinse down the drain.

Smiling, he remembered how Maddox used to talk to herself in the shower—full-blown conversations. Her quirky way of working through a problem, preparing to tackle something tough. He used to joke that she was a total nutjob, albeit his nutjob, and she’d countered that it was a sign of higher cognitive functioning.

Bet as a super spy, she nixed having out-loud conversations with herself.

Steam had engulfed the small bathroom by the time he stepped out. Grabbing a towel, he dragged it over his head, through his hair, and down the length of his body.

Damn, he was starving. If she didn’t get back soon, he’d be tempted to eat without her. Which would make him a royal asshole, since she was working to stop a psychopath with a vendetta. Seeing her in action and understanding what she was fighting for made him fall a little deeper in love and in lust. Her prowess was an undeniable turn-on, but his objective tonight was clear.

Throwing the towel on his shoulder, he sauntered into the living room.

The distinct click of a round being chambered in a gun stopped him cold.

* * *

Maddox crept into the living room, holding her Maxim 9. Her heart tripped into her throat, body drawing tight.

Cole. Naked.

Sleek with ripped muscle. A living, breathing weapon. And wet.

Her mouth went dry.

She lowered her gun, clearing the lump from her thickening throat. “Is this going to become a habit? You breaking in?”