Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 71858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
His face was turned away, revealing the clean-shaven square of his jaw.
There was a new scar on his jaw, right along the line of it, that he’d told me had happened when he’d had to eject from a plane and had hit a roof or something. The side of his face had split open, and he’d had to get ten stitches.
His hair was still stupidly short, and not even remotely how I liked it.
But still, it was Troup in front of me.
The rest of his body, which I hadn’t looked at until then, was encased in an old, worn-out pair of light-colored jeans, a white t-shirt, and he had a pair of sunglasses in his hands that looked like Ray-Bans but were actually Randolph Engineering ones that I’d purchased him two Christmases ago.
That same Christmas he’d given me a pair of diamond earrings that I had in my ears right that moment.
“Oh, okay,” Trouper’s deep, melodic voice drawled.
Then he turned, and our eyes met.
It was as if there weren’t anybody else in the entire room.
There was a long pause, and the small snort of Easton as he took in both of our reactions.
But I couldn’t look away.
Trouper’s pond water eyes hadn’t changed.
Not one bit.
I’d know those eyes anywhere.
Upon seeing them lock on my own, I suddenly found it hard to breathe.
My breathing sped up, and suddenly I couldn’t find the ability to regulate anything.
Not my heart rate. Not what my hands were doing.
Not even my tears.
Because suddenly I was crying.
It’d been so freakin’ long.
“Trouper,” I whispered.
Then I was up and moving, throwing myself at the man as if eight years hadn’t separated us.
Eight years, a couple job switches, four countries, multiple number changes, and a very shitty schedule that always, always hit at the most inopportune times.
I didn’t care that I was hugging the man in front of two of my bosses, multiple of my colleagues, and in the middle of a crowded conference room of people that I would be working with on a case for the unforeseeable future.
I didn’t care about anything but the man in my arms.
“Beck,” he whispered, then pulled back and kissed me.
“Umm,” I heard someone say.
Then Easton was laughing.
“Sorry, sorry,” Easton said. “They’re old friends.”
“Looks like they’re old fuck buddies,” I heard someone say.
I didn’t pay anybody any attention.
Why?
Because it was impossible to think when Trouper Aoki’s lips were pressed against mine.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as he pulled back, just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
“Why didn’t you text me?” I whispered at the same time. “Tell me that you were going to be here?”
That’d been our main form of communication over the past couple of years.
Every once in a while, I’d need to hear his voice, so I’d call.
Or he’d need to hear mine, so he’d call.
But this time, both of us had been a surprise.
He gathered me up into his arms and squeezed me tight.
“Because I wanted to see the look on your face when he walked in. It was like when a baby finds her favorite blankie that she’s been missing for days,” Easton said as he broke into our world again. “Now, as cool as this reunion is, I have places to be, and so do y’all. Let’s get this show on the road.”
I reluctantly pulled away from Trouper, turned, and saw that everyone in the room was now staring at us.
“He’s my man,” I said, shrugging. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.”
Adrian was the one to say, “That’s why you always refuse to kiss when you’re undercover? I didn’t realize that you were with someone. Though, having to appear to date this man’s brother is going to be awkward, won’t it?”
I hadn’t realized that Troup’s hand hadn’t left mine until he squeezed at Adrian’s words.
“I’m sorry, but what?” I asked.
“You’re going to have to marry this ass,” Adrian said. “At least for the next few months or so. From now on, you’re Mrs. Janice Cherrie.”
Trouper’s hand tightened even more.
“As long as it’s professional, like always.” I sounded about as enthused as one could appear when met with the reality of having to appear to be married to your man’s brother for an FBI op.
“We’ll make that part work,” Easton said. “Why are you so sure this op will work?”
“Because the man we suspect of being a heavy hitter in this game is married, and there’s a couple women that he’s not only married to, but he’s also seeing on the side, that seem to be fairly knowledgeable in his comings and goings.”
“So you want me to wiggle my way in there?” I guessed. “See what they know?”
“I want you to become best friends with the bitches,” Adrian agreed.
Then he went on to explain the rest of what he wanted, leaving with us meeting back up to hammer out details in a few days’ time when our ‘identities’ were firmly in place.