His deep sigh caused her to stir, but not wake. He slipped out from beneath her warm, languid limbs, carefully resting her body against the back of the futon. After covering her with a blanket, he pulled on his board shorts and padded over to his bank of computers. He sank into the leather chair he’d used to pilot his mission as the Mariner for the past several years and simply stared at the blank screens.
It was over. Just like Quinn, the Mariner had somehow been compromised. Someone out there had burned his alias and was likely tracing every single one of his keystrokes. He couldn’t risk trying to track down whoever it was from these computers. Not until he’d done a bit of reprogramming. And that would have to be taken care of back at headquarters.
He was surprised he wasn’t angrier at the situation. The alter ego had become his refuge. In the past few months, he’d welcomed the assignments allowing him to camp out here. It gave him an excuse to escape all the damn wedding planning his buddies were cheerfully enduring. Not that he begrudged his two best friends their happiness—he could honestly say he loved Marin and Josslyn like sisters. But lately, he’d begun to feel left out. No matter what they said to him or how they included him, Ben had become the fifth wheel. The truth was, he’d rather bury himself in his work than spend time pondering his lonely future.
Quinn sighed as she shifted on the futon. He glanced over at her sleeping form and his chest actually swelled. Suddenly, the future didn’t seem as bleak. He’d enjoyed seeing the lighthouse through her artistic eyes today. And she was right, his friends and family would love the place. He wanted to share it with them. But mostly, he wanted to share it with her.
If he could convince her to stay.
Despite her enthusiastic lovemaking earlier, he sensed she was still skittish about letting him in completely. Her entire life has been a lie. He got that. Now all he had to do was make her understand it didn’t matter. Not to him. He saw the real Quinn. And he wanted her, warts and all. He had a freaking genius IQ. Surely, he could figure something out to convince her of that.
Reaching over to snag the container with the cake samples, he began to chow down. He always thought better on a full stomach. The sugar stimulated his brain. At least that was what he’d convinced his mom and countless other women over the years. Leaning back in his chair, he studied the night sky while pondering his next steps.
Priority number one was to find the traitor. Then he could secure the list so Quinn and her parents could live in peace. As grand gestures went, that was certainly a good one.
Getting his AI back from that asshole, Ronoff, was also on his list. Not to mention giving the Russian a little payback for his attempted murder of Quinn. Not that he wasn’t grateful to the dick, because had it not been for him, she wouldn’t be lying naked and sated in his lighthouse right now.
He jerked upright. That was it. Ronoff was the key to everything. All he had to do was use the Russian to flush out the traitor. And he had just the way to do it while retrieving his AI in the process. His adrenaline was pumping again as he powered up the monitors in the room. The Mariner was going surfing one last time on the dark web. With a great deal of finesse and a little luck, he could trick all the players into revealing themselves. After inhaling the last piece of cake, he let his fingers dance over the keyboard.
Chapter Thirteen
Quinn woke to the feel of warm sunshine on her face and a hard body wrapped around her. They were still in the torch room, their legs intertwined and Ben’s arm securing her to the narrow futon. He was beautiful in his sleep, with long lashes fanned out against his cheeks and his forehead for once relaxed while his overactive brain recharged. Even the stab wound on his shoulder looked less angry.
She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Even after finding out who and what she was, he still wanted her. Better yet, he seemed to trust her. After everything she’d put him through, no less. He said it didn’t matter to him and she desperately wanted to believe him. Could she be the original Quinn Darby? According to Ben, she could. The reality of it all was heady.
Not only that, but she had opened up to him about things she’d never been able to divulge to anyone else in her life. And, damn, if it didn’t feel good to have someone else to share the burden of not only her mission, but her life. He had her back. She knew that.
He had her heart, too. She was pretty sure he always had.
Of course, she’d feel a whole lot better if she had that list in her possession. She didn’t doubt it was safe where it was, but she’d been out of the game for over thirty-six hours. The idea she was losing headway on beating Alexi to it gnawed at her. As blissful as her current situation felt, she couldn’t abandon her mission. They needed to get back to Washington. Which meant waking the man sleeping beside her. Biting back a self-satisfied smile brought on by the realization she was now a “they,” she playfully reached out a finger to trace along his jaw. But before she made contact, he was growling seductively and rolling her beneath him.
“Hey.” She laughed. “Not fair. I thought you were asleep.”
“Thought you’d have your way with me, huh?” he murmured against the curve of her shoulder.
She sighed deeply as the evidence of just how awake he was pressed against her belly.
He shifted above her. “I think it’s about time I get to be in the driver seat. You just lay back and enjoy the ride.”
“You’ve learned a few things over the years.” She groaned when his teeth nipped at her collarbone.
“So have you.”
A nervous laugh escaped her. “Yeah, like how to kill a man with my bare hands.”
His body stiffened and his expression grew clouded making her immediately regret her words.
“You don’t need your bare hands. You damn near killed me once when you disappeared.”
A painful lump formed in her throat. Why had she gone there? He accepted who and what she was. Why did she feel the need to constantly remind him?
His face softened as he stared down at her. “I’ve dreamed of waking up with you this way for thirteen years,” he whispered. “And the reality is so much better than the dream.”
His admission made her heart flutter. Words were beyond her capability. So she sought out his lips instead, kissing him tenderly with the hope of conveying all the things she couldn’t manage to say. He responded with a deep searching kiss in return, his body bearing down on hers. She swiped her tongue against his.
And tasted cake.
Yanking her mouth away, she tilted her head toward the little TV table. “You ate the cake? All of it?”
“Uh. . .” His pupils widened with that deer-caught-in-headlights look. “Yesss?”
“How could you? I was saving that for my breakfast. Don’t you know you never eat a woman’s cake?”
His lips turned up in a wicked smile. “I don’t think I’ve heard it put quite that way before.”
Quinn swatted his uninjured shoulder. “I’m serious here. There are food items that are sacred to women and you should never, ever, eat the last of them.”
“And those would be?” He was obviously struggling to keep a straight face, which did nothing to temper her rising ire.
“Fudge brownie ice cream, cookies, chocolate of any kind, and cake!”