Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Donna, mercifully, was out of the frame, as was Cormac.
I sighed. “What’s the headline?”
Pierce smirked. “Albertini Family Stuffed and Floured.”
Donna groaned. “It’s not even that good.”
Good enough to embarrass me, which was always Jolene’s goal. Darn it.
Chapter 22
After a long, hot shower, I let Brickhouse in and collapsed into bed. The second my head hit the pillow, I fell into dreams. Sleep dragged me under so hard it felt like I’d been hit by a tranquilizer dart.
At some point before dawn, the mattress dipped. Aiden’s familiar weight and warmth pressed against me as he shoved Brickhouse off my feet. The dog gave a sleepy grunt and wandered to his bed in the other room. Aiden slid in beside me, his arm heavy around my waist, his body a solid wall of heat. I sank against him without waking fully.
Hours later, he stirred again, stretching out over me. His hand slid up, fingers threading through my hair, sweeping it away from my face. I blinked my eyes open to find him watching me. His blue eyes were vivid in the early light. He dipped his head and brushed his lips beneath my jaw.
“Why do you taste like…” He trailed off, licking his lips. “Chicken breading?”
I groaned softly. “I must have missed a spot.”
His chin rested against mine, his breath warm. Seconds ticked by as he obviously thought through scenarios. “Did anybody get hurt?”
“No.” My arms slid up around his shoulders, my nails grazing over the muscle there.
“Did anybody get arrested?”
“Thankfully, no.” I smiled up at him. “It was close, but no arrests.”
He studied me. “Anybody I need to beat the hell out of?”
I laughed quietly. “Nope. Everyone’s fine.”
He nodded once, apparently satisfied. “Then we’re good.”
“Yep. We’re good.” I wasn’t about to tell him about the flour explosion, Zippy’s tantrum, or the photos in the morning paper. That could wait. Right now, his body felt warm and solid, and the weight of him pressed into me in all the right ways.
“I missed you last night,” he said, his voice rough.
A slow smile curved my mouth, heat unfurling through me. “You were gone for less than a day.”
“I know.” He kissed me softly, his lips lingering. His fingers threaded through my hair, pulling it away from my face with an erotic bite. “Life’s smoother when you’re in it.”
“Smoother?” I whispered, my heart doing an odd little stutter.
“Yeah. The rough edges calm down.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but the words made something warm deep in my chest. That faint Irish lilt in his voice softened the edges of everything. I bit back a grin, not wanting to ruin the moment by giggling like a teenager.
“Did you check out the warehouse that exploded?” I asked, trying to focus.
“We did,” he murmured, his nose brushing mine. His hand slid lower, tracing down my side. The touch sent a spark straight through me, quick and bright.
“You’re back faster than I expected,” I said, breath catching.
“There wasn’t much to do.”
I frowned. Even when his words were soft, there was a tension beneath them, a coiled thread that hadn’t been there before. “What’s going on?”
He met my gaze for a long moment. “I leave Monday.”
My heart tightened. “Undercover?”
“Yeah.”
I looked up at him, memorizing the lines of his face, the faint shadow of stubble, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me. The air in the room felt still, the only sound our breathing.
“Where to?” I asked finally.
He hesitated. “You know I can’t say.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. My throat felt dry. “I know.”
He leaned down again, brushing a kiss across my lips, and for a moment, all the questions, all the worry, all the chaos of the last few days disappeared. There was only the warmth of his skin, the solid weight of him, and the silent promise that he’d come back.
Whenever Aiden went undercover, he didn’t play the cop. He played the criminal. A guy with the gun, the temper, and the kind of past that didn’t get forgiven. And every time he went deep, he walked a line so thin it made my stomach hurt just thinking about it.
“How long will you be gone?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.
“There’s no way to know,” he said quietly. “It’ll take a while to infiltrate.”
He didn’t say the rest. He didn’t need to. Deep cover meant no calls, no texts, no messages slipped through back channels. It meant radio silence, like he’d fallen off the edge of the world.
I reached up and threaded my fingers through his thick, dark hair, holding on to something real while I still could. “I’ll miss you.”
“Ditto.” His eyes darkened to a shade that lived somewhere between blue and midnight. The color didn’t have a name. “Anna—”
“No,” I said softly, shaking my head before he could finish the thought I saw flicker behind his eyes.