Authors: Nicola Claire
The bra was tossed dismissively to the floor, as his hand wrapped around my waist and hip, lifting me hard against his erection.
“Who are you?” he repeated when all I did was groan.
I couldn’t answer, I needed friction. My hips started rolling, demanding he finish this, or start it, I couldn’t decide what came first.
He let out a hiss; his breaths stalled as he succumbed to my movements. His head tipped down, hot breath panting against the damp skin of my neck, his hips rocking in tandem with mine; a dance we’d done before, but somehow this was different.
Adam growled, then reared back, his deep blue eyes turbulent like a storm at sea, then he reached down and tore the edge of my panties, ripping the other side in a move that, frankly, damn well impressed.
This was more like the Adam who had fucked me up against a wall in the interview room. This was more like the Adam that had taken a midnight bike ride with me and let me suck his cock under the moon on a deserted wharf. This was what I was used to, and I welcomed it, like an old friend. Like a familiar and well worn blanket.
And then he stopped. Staring down at the sight of my naked body and breathing heavily through an open mouth, as though shocked. His body swayed, his fingers clenched, he swallowed thickly; I could tell all he wanted was to fuck.
And yet he’d stopped. Then reaching out a purposeful hand, he ran a slightly trembling finger over one of my scars.
A slow breath of air escaped me as the tip of his finger left a blazing trail of heat wherever it went.
The knife wound I received in Iran.
The bullet wound from Hamburg.
The whip mark from Haiti.
The compound fracture that broke skin in Guangzhou.
The several minor scrapes and punctures that time did not allow me to forget. Berlin. Lyon. Singapore. Moscow. Paris. Vienna. Kiev. Minsk. Leipzig. Zurich. Prague. Taipei. Hong Kong.
“See?” I said, my voice cracking. “My name is Charlie.”
His eyes met mine, a wealth of pain and sorrow flashed inside brilliant sapphire. And then, still holding my gaze, he began to unwind the leather strips he always wore at his wrist. One after the other, after the other, after the other, until all that was left was bare skin.
And a scar that spoke a thousand words and felt like agony.
“I wasn’t always Adam either,” he whispered, staring down at the mark that would never let him forget too.
I moved forward, sitting up as he remained statue still on his knees above me, and reached out a hand to cup his cheek. Then lifted the other, framing him as he had framed me only moments before.
Hear me. Know this.
“I’ll make you a promise,” I said, the words forming before I could vet them. I licked my lips, held his tortured gaze… and fell. “In here I’ll be your Charisse. If you’ll be my Adam.”
And watched as his eyes slowly closed, and his shoulders slowly relaxed, and Adam Savill reached out and caught me.
T
he touch
of her hands along my jaw felt surreal. The fact that she was here with me, in bed,
naked
, felt like a fucking fantasy. This woman who could kill as easily as she breathed. This woman who had done things, gone places, seen horrors, I could never imagine. This woman who had been raised to be a spy and knew nothing but that reality.
Touching me. Staring into me. Being with me.
I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and devoured her.
Her skin, so marked by her experiences, felt hot against mine. My fingers found her hair, wrapping strands around my hand, covering my wrist from sight with a glorious golden ribbon. I tipped her head back with a small tug on her locks, and gently bit the edge of her jaw, smoothing my lips hungrily down her long neck, then finding her pulse point.
It only seemed fitting that I mark her where she had marked me the very first day we’d met.
Unlike her scars, she’d wear this on the outside only briefly. But I had every intention that she’d wear it on the inside for-fucking-ever.
Charlie was mine. I knew it the moment she reached out and touched me. I knew it the second she looked deep in my eyes and made that promise. I’d known it, somewhere within me, from the very first day she’d stalked into my life.
But she hadn’t made it easy. She’d set a challenge that had called to me, that had spoken to me on a subliminal level. She’d made me hunt her. The spy who could track as well as me. She’d made me work for it.
And part of me, a small part nowhere near the vicinity of my eager erection, thought maybe she hadn’t been completed snared yet. Maybe there was more of a challenge ahead.
But here. Now. She was Charisse. With a hard edge of Charlie thrown in for good measure.
Her hands gripped my hips and pulled me flush against her body, pressing her beautiful breasts hard against my chest. Her nails dug into my skin, marking me as I marked her. I pulled harder on her hair, tipped her head back farther, then moved my lips to her nipples and made her fucking
feel
.
“Oh, fuck!” she managed, her hands grappling for purchase, her chest rising and falling with panted breaths. Her hips rocking against mine in time to the steady rhythm of suction at her tit.
She had fantastic tits.
I slipped my free hand down over her stomach, her body arched back for my desire, my pleasure. I moved my lips to her other breast, while I kept careful pressure on her hair, then ran a finger between her thighs.
She was soaked. Charlie the spy getting off on a little dominance. Who would have thought?
But then, to catch Charlie, I’d realised you needed to prove your worth. I only prayed to God that I’d fucking managed to convince her.
“You’re mine,” I growled against her taut nipple as my finger thrust deep inside. She didn’t reply. I didn’t expect her to. Charlie would never succumb to such tactics. I needed to up my game.
I rolled over onto my back, taking her with me, giving her the illusion of superiority. She smiled. It was calculated; a smile I’d seen on her face several times before. Her hips rocked, her thighs pressed in tightly against mine, her body undulated like a fucking belly dancer; swivelling and rolling above my straining cock.
I let her have her moment; I was enjoying it too bloody much to stop. Then I reached up, cupped her cheeks with both hands, and gently pulled her down until her lips met mine.
And then I kissed her. Not hard. But soft. I let my tongue feather over her bottom lip, let my hips rock up to meet her heated centre, my chest brush enticingly against her sensitive breasts.
She moaned. Fucking yes! Then tried to deepen the kiss; demand more. Take what she wanted and leave nothing behind in her wake.
I could have let her. Fuck, I would have
loved
to have let her. But I wasn’t in this for the quick win. I wanted more. Not just this moment. Not just this battle. But to claim victory over the war.
Claiming Charlie was pure combat. A battle that raged inside her that she couldn’t see. They’d hidden it well; her emotions, her wants, her needs. They’d emptied her out and filled her up with lies and betrayals and useless mechanical efficiency.
Oh, it got the job done, but what did it leave?
No. This woman was mine and I’d fucking well win her.
Our tongues tangled; slow, sweet, pure ecstasy. She fisted my hair, urged me on with little nips and licks, her pussy sliding against my dick in a blatant invitation to enter. But I moved my hands down her body, stroking sweat dampened flesh with a caress aimed to soothe, and then gripped her very fine arse and squeezed.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“Horny!” she growled.
I felt my lips tip up in a smile and I moved them to suck on her earlobe, then whispered, hot breath across the shell, “Not what, firecracker. Who?”
She made a frustrated sound and reached between us to grip my cock tightly. A single stroke and I forgot every single thought.
“Are you going to fuck me? Or are you just a tease?” Her words broke through the bliss of friction and I blinked.
Nah-uh. You don’t get to win in here.
I rolled her suddenly, taking her off guard. Or perhaps she just let me. I’d never truly know with Charlie. Her back hit the mattress, her head plonked down on the pillow, blonde hair spreading out like a halo. And then my hands were cupping her face as my hips rolled into position and the head of my cock found her wet.
“Adam,” she said on a breath of expelled air.
“Who are you?” I asked softly, bringing her face to mine and making her look me in the eyes while she answered.
She blinked. I waited for the wall to come down, for her to hide her emotions. But then she closed her eyes, and even though I couldn’t see the grey, I saw everything. Her pain. Her fear. Her confusion.
Oh, baby. You don’t know yet, do you?
I reached down and gripped her thigh, and then brought her leg up high around my waist. Her eyes sprang open, stormy grey, so unsure, so uncertain. I held her gaze, let her see me. See everything. If she wanted to, she could have looked into my very soul.
This is me catching you.
Then I rocked forward and entered her in one smooth, tight, deliciously wet glide.
Air burst out of me in a small grunt. She matched me; breathless. Our eyes held, our bodies stilled, but nothing could prevent this from happening. No epiphany. No opening of souls. Nothing.
Fuck, this woman could have it all. And I gave it to her willingly.
Me. My body. My heart and soul. It was hers. And I showed her. Moving tenderly, slowly, drawing out the moment, the feeling, the sensation of her gripping me so fucking tightly and working so fucking hard to never let me go. I pulled back to the tip, my eyes locked on hers, infinitely grateful that she didn’t look away, and then thrust forward. Slightly harder. A little more purposefully. Expelling her breath all over again.
I didn’t let her have a moment to catch it. Pulling back; slow, sweet, tenderly, I then thrust forward on a firm, hard rock of my hips. Again and again.
Her hands came down and cupped my arse. Anchoring herself or drawing me closer, I couldn’t be sure.
But her eyes never left my face. Never left me.
There’s nothing more honest and open than staring into the eyes of your lover while you have sex. It’s deeper than simply fucking. It’s more intense than any words could ever convey. It’s real. It’s a moment that can’t be replicated in any other way. It’s personal and intimate and… sweet. How much sweetness has Charlie had in her life?
How much had Charisse?
“Who are you?” I whispered, my cock pushing forward with a hard thrust and then withdrawing on a slow, smooth glide. “Who are you, firecracker?”
“Don’t ask,” she whispered back, her hands clutching me tighter, her legs drawing me harder against her frame.
“I’ll never stop asking.”
She closed her eyes.
It damn well nearly broke something in me.
Charlie couldn’t be pushed. She’d had too many people do that to her in the past. If I wanted Charlie, I needed to be patient. But fucked if I knew how to do that.
But I’d give her today. This moment. Just this one time. I’d give her her secrets and catch her when she falls. Because Charlie
would
fall; I was fucking sure of that one fact.
Charlie was meant to be with me. It’s all I could think as I picked up pace and started to love her with every ounce of urgency in me. It’s all I could cling to when my mind flitted briefly to what waited for us outside this bedroom door. It’s all I could hope for when I realised my hunt wasn’t over yet.
My prey hadn’t been caught.
Fuck, I wanted this woman. Did she have any idea how impossible she’d just made it for me to walk away?
“Adam!” she called as she came apart in my arms; a glimpse of honesty in amongst a shield of lies.
Her body convulsed around me; I watched on stunned as her face took on a blissful façade. Beautiful. Stunning. Such a fucking turn on.
And because this wasn’t easy. Because Charlie was making me work for it. Perfect. So fucking perfect.
Maybe I didn’t need her to be Charisse. Maybe I just needed her to be whoever she wanted to be.
Maybe I just needed her to be mine.
I came in a body quaking wave of fucking unimaginable bliss, already thinking of what I’d do next to claim her.
Already aware that I’d, well and truly, been fucking caught.
I
wasn’t meant
to fall in love. I was meant to do a job. Get in, get out. Take no prisoners. But somehow I was falling for Adam.
Or had I already fallen and not been aware? From the very first moment, when my eyes met his and my tongue froze and I had no idea what was happening all around me. Had I fallen in the basement garage of ASI and only now realised how far the fall had been?
Nothing had gone as planned on this assignment since. The Director aside, I’d been made in under 24 hours. I’d never compromised an operation that quickly before. Never.
And then the Maraetai Wharf. The thrill that seemed monumental. The immediate need to protect him afterwards from what I’d assumed was Caleb’s GPS tracker on his Ducati.
The signs had been there. I’d just failed to read them.
I was in love with Adam Savill and probably had been from the very first day I’d met him.
Who does that?
Clearly, I do.
Who would have thought?
His hot, sated body lay down the side of mine. His chest rising and falling a little too swiftly. That hadn’t been fucking. That hadn’t been just sex. I wasn’t certain what it had been, but it had been stupendous. Simply out of this world.
And when had I ever thought sex was out of this world?
When Adam did it. That’s when.
It left me feeling on edge, when the orgasm he’d given me should have relaxed for a fortnight. Too many thoughts whirring around inside my brain; I had to work hard not to show how they affected me.
Because everything affected me now days. Every fucking little thing.
I rolled off the bed and padded across the carpet to the bathroom. I didn’t look back, even though I would’ve bet my substantial bank balance on the fact that he was watching. I shut the door; sending a message I hoped he’d heed. I couldn’t face him so soon after that. After what we’d shared. I couldn’t let him see the real me.
And the real me was staring out of the bathroom mirror, bedhead hair messy, flushed skin, wide eyes, thin strip for lips. I tried to smile. It didn’t fucking work. I tried to remove all emotion from my façade. That failed too. I looked like a woman who’d been well fucked and had just lost her favourite puppy.
The dichotomy made me snort.
And then I noticed the hickey.
I turned my head, letting the light shine down on the bruising. Red and puffy and so fucking obvious it made me laugh. Holy hell but the man had a sense of humour.
My hand came up, fingers touching the spot, feeling the slight tenderness. I lowered them and let out a long breath of air in defeat.
I was in love with Adam Savill. Even the sight of his rudimentary possessive mark made me feel fucking warm and fuzzy on the inside.
I closed my eyes, leaned my hands against the bench, and hung my head. This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. My life was never meant to have this kind of complication. Was never meant to carry the burden of a man I loved.
What would the Director do if he knew what Adam meant to me?
What would any number of the people and organisations I’d put behind bars do if they found out?
I let a small sound of distress out, and then turned to the shower stall and started it running. I had one choice and one choice only. I needed to lie.
No one, not even Caleb and Ava, could know that I’d fallen.
Not even Adam himself.
It was for his protection, I told myself, as I climbed under the scorching spray. It was in order to save his life.
I let the water wash away the tears. The sound of heated spray drown out the soft sobs. I let the steam hide the trembling in my fingertips from even me. And I pulled my walls back around me. Pulled on everything I’d ever learnt.
And by the time I stepped out of the bathroom - dressed, ready, calm - no one would have known I’d left my heart behind on the floor of an ASI bathroom shower stall.
No one.
Adam had disappeared, but I found him easily enough. In control. With every other person in ASI, except the spies. My exclusion smarted for a moment. But only a moment. I was Charlie again, not Charisse.
“We think they’ve arrived in the city,” Nick said as I shut the door behind me.
“Who exactly are ‘they?’” Did the Director bring more than just Mal? How many of my fellow colleagues would I have to kill?
“Two men. Private jet at Ardmore airstrip, not Auckland International,” Eric advised, pulling up surveillance footage. It wasn’t clear. The shot was poor quality and taken from some distance away. But I would have recognised the larger man in the photo easily. His face was ingrained on my soul.
“That’s the Director. I don’t know the second man, but I assume he’s my handler. Mal.”
“You don’t know your own handler?” Koki asked.
I speared the Asian with a glance. He held firm, but Brook beside him flinched slightly. I was back on form.
“Even his voice may have been disguised and we only ever talked over the phone.”
Someone whistled; low, shocked. A twist of my head had me identifying Ben. The big Māori threw me a look of challenge. He wasn’t put-off in the least by my impassive stare.
“I’ve checked all your social media sites,” Amber declared, taking it upon herself to offer a buffer. Part of me admired her courage. Another part just thought her mad. “Nothing new to speak of. Your dead drop is clean as well. But there’s a message on your Department email inbox.”
She brought up a screen and I felt myself pause. It wasn’t on my laptop. She hadn’t hacked through the interface there. She’d gone in, on ASI’s own system, and somehow broken through the extensive and formidable firewalls at New Zealand’s highest security ranking agency. It was impressive, but only confirmed my earlier thought of her being mad.
“You’ve got some balls,” I admitted, walking across the strangely silent room, drawn to the Department’s seal.
“Amber is our secret weapon,” Nick offered, moving to shadow me as I approached the wall of screens and the woman sitting before them. I noticed Jason and Eric on one side move closer as well. A flash of dark colours had me swinging my gaze to the left, spotting Adam as he came into my line of sight.
I looked back toward the screen before I allowed myself to register anything more than his presence. I wasn’t entirely sure what would happen if I looked him in the eye.
“She’s not so secret anymore,” I said evenly, as though I wasn’t struggling to keep my head above water.
“Are you going to tell them?” Jason demanded.
I
did
look at the Captain. Him I could stare down any day.
“I don’t need to. You’ve already been tracked.”
“I haven’t spotted any tails,” Amber advised, tapping away quickly on a keyboard. “The hack was clean.”
There wasn’t time to argue this. Amber Shaw was good, I’d known that. I’d read it in her dossier. Maybe she
had
come away clean.
But I doubted it.
“What’s the message say?” I asked, returning my attention to the inbox displayed on the largest screen.
“You want to open it in front of everyone in this room?” Nick asked.
I smiled; it felt right. If I aimed it at Brook, he’d probably blanch.
“Don’t be coy, Anscombe. You’ve already read it.”
He smiled back; it was as chilling as mine.
Amber hit a key and the email message opened.
Well, they were persistent, I’d give them that. But they lacked variety.
Tell her I'm coming. Tell her it’s time to face the truth. Veritas Lux Mea. There's nowhere to hide.
“Mean anything to you?” Eric asked, and the way he asked it - carefully, softly, as if he didn’t want to frighten the fawn - made me uneasy. Made me feel entirely too ill.
I forced myself to not rub my stomach as I so desperately wanted to do. I forced myself to face Eric and see what that gentle tone actually meant.
Concern. That’s what it meant and for a moment I was well and truly surprised.
“What does
Veritas Lux…?
” Brook started, only to have Eric raise a hand and abruptly say, “Don’t voice it aloud.”
My eyes met the piercing green of Eric’s and then I seemed unable to breathe.
“Sit down, Charlie,” Nick said quietly at my side, presenting a chair for me to take. “We’ve found your trigger.”
“My trigger,” I whispered, the room beginning to spin.
Veritas Lux Mea
. The truth enlightens me.
Son of a fucking bitch!
I’d been PSYOP’d, all right. I’d been brainwashed since I was five and couldn’t even remember. And the fucking bastards had the gall to use these words?
The truth enlightens me.
I was going to kill him. I was going to watch him fucking die.
“What happens if someone says the words?” Adam asked into the stunned silence.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Eric replied, eyes still target locked on mine as though expecting me to explode.
Maybe I would. Maybe we should test it. I opened my mouth and Eric was in front of me, fingers pressed to my lips.
In the next second, he was across the room, thrust up against the wall, every particle of air that he possessed pushed out of his lungs, as Adam’s enraged face came all up and ugly in his mug; teeth bared, lips snarling.
“Easy,
ehoa,
” Ben rumbled, stepping up to his side. “Just lookin’ out for her, that’s all.”
“We’ve got no idea what will happen if someone says the words aloud,” Eric said steadily, not fighting to get free of Adam’s uncompromising hold. “Even if she says them herself.”
“That would be a pretty poor trigger,” I pointed out, feeling strangely detached from the moment. “I’m sure I’ve seen a movie where someone said those exact words.”
“Maybe they’ve got to be in your presence,” Brook offered.
I shook my head. “Mind control doesn’t work like that.”
“Mind control?” Adam demanded, still holding Eric against the wall, but now looking over his shoulder at me. I didn’t meet his eyes.
“An invasive form of PSYOPS,” I replied, staring at the words on the screen. “Involving methodologies to manipulate people’s mental states and alter brain functions.”
Silence which seemed weighted; weighing down on my shoulders as everyone in the room stared at me with mounting horror.
“How?” Abi asked; her soft voice somehow cutting through the thickness that had made it hard to breathe.
I turned my head towards her; used her steady pale blue eyes to anchor me. Sucking in much needed air.
“Surreptitious use of drugs,” I murmured. “LSD and other chemicals.” Another breath in. A slow release out. “Hypnosis. Sensory deprivation.”
Breathe, just breathe, Charlie.
“Isolation. Torture. Verbal and…” A soft exhalation of air. “…sexual abuse.”
“Motherfucker!” Adam exclaimed, removing his hand from Eric’s shirt and stepping away. He ran shaking fingers through his hair. Messing up what was already a blatant display of post-sex ruffles. I thought perhaps he’d not combed it on purpose.
Staking his claim.
I looked away.
“Jesus,” Koki said into the silence.
Eric leaned back against the bench before the wall of screens, directly in front of me. Arms crossed over his chest, worry evident in his gaze.
“What do you think they might have intended for you?” he asked, and there was no censure there. Just a troubled look couched in an offer of care.
I glanced around the rest of the room. None of them looked frightened anymore. None of them looked at me with pity or disgust. There was a sense of anger simmering in the multi-coloured irises around me. A feeling of camaraderie and rage on my behalf.
My eyes found the icy blue of Nick’s. But they didn’t seem so chilled anymore. He held my gaze steadily, crossed his arms over his chest, just like Eric had, just like Ben and Koki and Brook and Abi. Unity that stance said. Don’t fuck with us or ours, it shouted.
We’ve got you, it promised.
I turned to look at Adam. He met my eyes, his hands fisted at his sides, but the same message conveyed in his steady look.
I’ll catch you
. You already have, Stalker.
What was I to do with this?
“Charlie?” Nick pressed. “Any idea how this could go?”
I looked back at the words on the screen, feeling the bile rise as soon as my eyes alighted on the Latin phrase.
Veritas Lux Mea
.
“It’s personal,” I said. Shuffling started up around the room. “If Caleb has a trigger, it won’t be the same.”
“It wouldn’t make sense to use the same word or phrase,” Eric offered. “But you may all have one.”
I nodded. Undoubtedly we did. As far as I knew, we’d all been orphaned at one stage or another when young.
Fucking orphans. They’re a dime a dozen and no one gives a flying fuck about them.
“But the phrase will be personal,” I stressed. “Important in some way or fashion to each one of us.”
“Then how is this phrase personal to you, Charlie?” Nick asked.
I looked back at the words. Forced myself to face them.
Own
them. They were mine and mine alone. Why?
The truth enlightens me.
“It’s got something to do with my past.”
A prolonged stretch of silence. And then, as if by some unseen signal, Amber jumped toward her keyboard and started typing.
“On it!” she said, conviction making the beautiful brunette seem fierce.
“I’ll question our guest spooks,” Jason offered, starting for the door. “You never know, they might have something to add.”
“Take Abi,” Nick instructed. Abi and I both glanced at ASI’s bossman. “In my experience,” he explained, “women tend to disrupt the equilibrium in any interview room.”
I refused to look at Adam.
“Besides,” Koki offered, “That Hart fucker’s got a thing for Abs.”
Ben growled; a loud, quite impressive sound. Then reached out and wrapped his hand around his woman’s neck, hauling her towards him as she went to pass. His eyes locked on every single male in the room and then he kissed her. Hard and long and deep.
No one looked away. How could you? It was beautiful and romantic in a completely fucked up caveman way. It suited the big Māori. And as I flicked a glance around the small room, I realised it suited all the men at ASI.