Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
He positioned himself behind Grace, an inch to his right.
Six years later, Grace’s earthy smell of leather and sweet vanilla still hit him so hard that Mirage had to concentrate to breathe past it.
They got onto the elevator, but Grace didn’t press the button to their wing of the building, appearing trapped and standing as rigid as a statue.
“Relax your shoulders, Grace,” Mirage whispered in the confined space.
It looked like his partner tried, but it didn’t work.
Mirage lifted his hand to touch Grace’s shoulder, but his wrist was clutched before his palm could make contact.
Mirage crept closer and lowered his voice.
“Let me touch you.”
Grace slowly placed Mirage’s hand atop his shoulder and lowered his arm.
Mirage pressed into a few spots at the base of Grace’s neck, but he couldn’t get to where he needed to because of the armored trench.
Careful not to overstep, Mirage curled his fingers under the collar and inched the coat down Grace’s broad shoulders, enough for him to reach the problem area.
He palpitated several muscles, noting the tension along Grace’s traps and the trigger points at the tip of his spine.
Mirage knew every inch of his partner’s body, which was why he was able to throw his blades around Grace and never miss a target.
“I can fix this.”
Grace hummed, giving him his approval.
He pulled at the hem of Grace’s Henley and slid his hands up his back, grazing his palms over hot skin.
Mirage closed his eyes, not stopping his caress until his fingertips felt the atlas and axis between the skull and spine.
Grace was still and barely breathing, but Mirage knew he wasn’t as unaffected as he appeared.
With his other hand, he cupped Grace’s stubbled chin and turned his head until their gazes were all that mattered in the moment.
Those damn hypnotic eyes lowered to Mirage’s mouth, and before they could distract him, he jerked Grace’s neck an inch higher and snapped his fingers in a fast pattern along his spine, jolting the muscles.
It was done so fast that it was as shocking as it was painless.
Grace released a long groan. It reverberated through Mirage’s chest.
Grace rotated his neck as Mirage eased his shirt down and slid his trench back over his shoulders.
He pushed the button for the floor to the conference rooms, then eased back, allowing the silence to soothe the electricity crackling between them.
Grace
Grace wasn’t paying attention to the debriefing.
The few people talking in the room sounded like muffled voices in a tunnel.
He was still buzzing from Mirage’s touch. His hands had been warm, sure, competent. If he made him feel like that with his clothes on, Grace could imagine what he would do if they were both…
Shit.
His every thought since Valentine’s Day had been consumed by Mirage.
While in South America, the mission had kept him centered.
Now, he had time for reflection. And since then, all he could think about was the way Meridian had kissed and loved on his partner, the way he’d caressed Ex’s lips with a black rose.
How is Meridian so damn romantic?
He seemed so cruel and evil. It was well-known that the Blacks were lethal men with hearts of solid stone.
Except when it came to each other, Grace supposed.
He glanced across the table at Mirage.
Has he always been so handsome?
Mirage was discussing the images from the documents they’d sent to forensics, his calming voice the only sound Grace could focus on.
His mind was also on other things, like how soft Mirage’s sweater looked and the way it made his eyes pop, and the supple—
“Grace! Are you with us? That question was meant for you.”
Grace’s temple throbbed at his reaction to his name being blurted as he tore his gaze away from perfection.
He turned and glowered at the assistant director.
Hank was an irritating man with an atrocious combover and a suit that was in critical need of tailoring.
The assistant cleared his throat, appearing regretful he’d gotten Grace’s attention.
The others around the table stared at their notepads, avoiding Grace’s eyes.
“Um, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t,” he bit out.
Hank’s neck turned red before he cleared his throat again and pulled at the knot of his tie.
“Uh, I was saying. The director’s been quite impressed with the success of your missions, especially this last one. And he’s decided to elevate you guys’ ready status. Which means you’re gonna be going after the really bad guys now.”
Grace didn’t react.
“You’ve both worked hard to earn it.” Hank smiled with coffee-stained teeth. “How’s that make you feel, buddy?”
Grace got up and yanked his trench off the back of his chair, giving the AD a look of death.
Mirage also stood and interpreted Grace’s thoughts.
“He feels nothing.”
“And don’t ever call him buddy again, Hank, or it’ll be the last word you say.”
Spectre chuckled. “Well, on that note, I think the debriefing is over.”
Grace didn’t wait to be dismissed.