Deacon had woken up in a fantastic mood. The sun was shining, and in a few days, he would be out of Kensington doing the job he loved with Vivienne as his partner.
Earlier in the week, Albert had asked him to stay behind after class. He had wanted Deacon’s opinion on Vivienne’s readiness for fieldwork. While Deacon wasn’t sure she was prepared to go on an assignment alone, he had made a strong case for her being partnered with someone more experienced—someone like himself.
This mission was the perfect opportunity for him to convince her to give him a proper chance.
On the drive to campus to meet with the Procurement Supervisor that morning, he had found twenty quid in his pocket and only hit one red light. Nothing was going to bring him down.
“You look disappointed.”
“No, no. It’s just…” Deacon closed his alias dossier and tapped the corner of the file against Michael Theroux’s black desk. “I was under the impression that I would have a partner for this assignment.” The glossy tile on the fireplace behind the desk reflected the sunlight pouring through the wide, curtainless window.
Michael rubbed his beard and frowned at his laptop. “I’m afraid we’re running a bit thin at the moment. Peter was supposed to send some people from London, but I’m not sure when they’ll arrive.”
“Albert said he was going to release one of the new recruits to help with the deficit.”
“He did. Vivienne is going to Maryland.”
He stopped tapping. “On her own?”
“No. Your mother paired her with”—he flipped through his master list—“Ethan.”
Of course she did.
“Lovely,” Deacon said under his breath. He caught himself staring at a brass Charlie Bell clock on the mantle next to a photo of Michael’s wife, Liz. Something about its intricate gold face and black roman numerals tugged on his memory. “Did you get that from Peter?” He remembered one exactly like it from his grandad’s study.
“Good eye.” Michael hooked his finger beneath the alarm’s handle and brought it to the desk. “It was a gift to celebrate twenty years in Neverland.”
Deacon shifted in his chair, centering his view of the fountain in the window. He could salvage this. He had to. “We’ve known each other a long time.”
The reminder couldn’t hurt.
“We sure have.”
“I have a favor to ask you,” he began, creasing the edge of his file. “Is there any way you could switch the assignments?”
“I know you and Ethan like working together,” Michael grumbled, frowning and flicking one of the bells, “but Vivienne isn’t ready to go it alone. It’s her first assignment.”
“I don’t want to trade with Vivienne,” Deacon said, sliding the folder across the desk. “I’d like to swap with Ethan.”
“No way.” Michael pushed the folder back. “The last time you went on an assignment with a female recruiter, the two of you nearly missed the mark’s Nevergene activating because you were busy”—Michael made quotations with his fingers—“birdwatching.”
Seven years later, he still hadn’t lived that down.
“Have you ever seen a bowl of roseate spoonbills? Because I have. And they’re majestic.”
“I feel like you’re making all of that up.”
“I’m not.” Deacon pulled out his mobile and typed roseate spoonbill into the browser. When the photo of the pink bird came up, he handed it to Michael.
“Very majestic. But that doesn’t change my answer.”
“Come on. You know it won’t happen again.” This time he’d have enough sense not to get caught.
Michael rolled the folder into a baton and looked through it. “And your mother has made sure of it by putting you on a different assignment.”
“Help me out. This could be my last mission, and you still owe me that favor from London.”
Michael squeezed his eyes shut and tapped the baton on his forehead three times. “If I agree to try, you have to promise to never speak of London again.”
“Agreed.”
He tossed the documents into the dormant fireplace and removed a box of matches from his top drawer. “If you step out of line, your mom will have both our heads.”
“Don’t worry. I’m always a perfect gentleman.”
“That’s part of the problem,” he muttered, striking a match and lighting the corner of the papers.
Deacon watched as the flames swallowed the pages, and smoke lifted up the chimney. “When will my new alias be ready?”
“All going well, I should have your new identity to you by this afternoon.”
Deacon pushed away from the desk and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I trust this conversation will stay between us.”
“Say no more, Dash.” Michael tapped the side of his nose. “Say no more.”
“You’ve a busy day ahead of you.” Deacon should have looked ordinary in the dark gray Kensington T-shirt and black tracksuit pants, but the way the material fit his toned physique made it look like the finest tailor had worked magic.
“I do?” Vivienne handed him a glass of water before drinking from her own. When he showed up unannounced, she had assumed he’d want to discuss what had happened in that dressing room. Apparently not.
He took a sip, then set the glass on the counter. “First, you have an appointment in Worcester for a makeover.”
Makeover? “What’s wrong with the way I look?”
“Absolutely nothing.” He wrapped a piece of her hair around his finger. “But we don’t do wigs and mustaches on missions.”
Holy crap! She got to go on a mission? Yes!
Wait. She wasn’t ready for this . . . was she?
No. Yes. Of course she was. She could totally do this.
Vivienne launched herself into his arms before she realized what she was doing. “Do I…um…have a partner?”
“I’ll be accompanying you,” he said tightly, setting her back on her feet, “if that’s all right.”
The two of them.
On a mission.
Alone.
She had decided days ago that she was an idiot for not exploring whatever was between them. Even if it broke her heart.
This was the perfect chance to let him know.
She rose to her toes and pressed her lips to his. “Does that answer your question?”
“Tell me again,” he whispered against her mouth.
He clutched her waist as she kissed him with everything she had, telling herself it would be enough. She could make it enough. His mouth was hungry, his tongue insistent. And she wanted more from him than she had ever wanted from any other guy. More than Deacon would ever be willing to give her.
“What were we talking about?” he groaned when she pulled away. His forehead fell against hers and his breathing was ragged.
At least their attraction wasn’t one-sided.
“The mission,” she said.
A chuckle. “Oh, yeah.”
She slid her hands over his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. “When’s your makeover?”