At the feel of strong hands clasping her upper arms, Ana pulled herself out of the memory and went still as A.J. pressed his chest tight to her back, his chin settling on top of her head. “Shhh, it’s okay. It’ll be okay, I promise.”
Her shoulders slumped, and her entire body became racked with chills at A.J.’s soft, surprising words. And she broke down and cried even more, turning toward him and burying her face into his chest.
He wrapped his arms firmly around her body as she let her emotions free. She didn’t understand why he was hugging her. Or why he was trying to make her feel better before demanding answers to questions that were surely on his mind, but she didn’t have the energy to challenge his kindness.
“I was shocked. I’m sorry.” He was apologizing? “I didn’t mean to look at you like that,” he said near her ear when her tears began to slow. “I’m so sorry.”
His continued apologies and attempts to make her feel better put her over the edge again. Fifteen years’ worth of tears she’d held in since her parents died were pouring out of her.
His hands soothed her, moving up and down her back. Her face was turned to the side so she could breathe, but she wasn’t prepared to detach herself from his comforting and forgiving embrace.
“I’m the one who is sorry,” she said around a hiccup.
“No, you were being brave sharing what must’ve been hard to say.” A.J. placed his hands on either side of her head, urging her to look at him, then stepped back and slid his palms down to cup her wet cheeks as he viewed her with such a sweetness her legs nearly gave out. “I can’t imagine what your life must have been like, but I’m here for you. I’m right here,” he said with a nod, his brows pulled together.
Her shoulders trembled, and she wanted nothing more than to give in and cry again, but he needed to hear the rest. He deserved the uncomfortable truth she’d never shared with her ex-husband.
“And if you don’t want to kiss me anymore after you learn what I have to say?” she whispered. He brought one palm to her mouth and pulled down her lip with his thumb.
“I reckon when the time is right, there ain’t a thing in the world you could tell me that will ever stop me from kissing you, not if that’s what you want me to do,” he said, his voice rough, emotion bleeding through.
“I’m the daughter of spies. I’m slightly OCD. I hate being sticky. And I make way too many lists. I’m stubborn and controlling. I panic-clean,” she rattled off her list of reasons why he should stay away from her.
A.J. brought his face within inches of hers. “I don’t care.”
“But—”
“I. Don’t. Care,” he said in a low, growly voice. “You’re the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about for nearly a year. The woman who makes my heart race.” He seized one of her palms and set it to his chest. That tender act had her lip quivering with the threat of tears again. “I don’t need you to give me a list of reasons to stay away, none of them will compete with my very own list that I got going on myself.”
“You have a list?” she asked softly, then shook her head. “Don’t tell me, not yet. I, um.” She wanted to hear every last word he had to say. To have him kiss every inch of her. But . . . she wouldn’t be able to breathe easy and accept what he said as the gospel truth until he heard her story. He had to know what he was getting into before she’d truly let her guard down. “I have so much to tell you.”
“I figured that.” A small smile touched his lips.
“I should start from the beginning.”
“Usually the best place to start.” A touch of his typical playful tone had returned, and hearing it loosened her up a little bit. He took her gently by the elbow and motioned to the two white rocking chairs that sat at the center of the grand porch.
Apparently worried she’d lose her balance, A.J. kept hold of her until she was seated, but chose not to sit in the rocker next to her. Instead, he tucked his hands into his pockets and brought his back to one of the posts that held up the porch roof.
She sniffled and swiped whatever smudges of mascara were beneath her eyes, trying to pull herself together.
Had Kyle ever witnessed her cry? Had anyone aside from the Feds outside the movie theater where her parents were shot and killed seen her tears?
No one had seen her cry until A.J., and he was willing and ready to support her. How’d this night ever come to be?
“There is at least one spy within my unit, and it’s me.”
A.J. swallowed, and his hands shifted out of his pockets at her news, but he was doing his best not to react too quickly. To trust her. And it had her heart doubling in size.
“I’m undercover,” she added quickly since she’d failed to mention that crucial fact straight away, too wrapped up with concerns about how A.J. might react. She was so accustomed to carrying around such an enormous amount of guilt about her parents that she’d almost convinced herself she was as guilty as they were, therefore deserving of A.J.’s anger. “I was brought to D.C. with the sole purpose of infiltrating the Volkov organization.”
His brows relaxed. “Okay,” he said with a nod, followed by one more hard swallow.
“My parents were shot and killed by the FBI when I was sixteen.” She held back her tears this time. “It was then that I discovered not only had they been professional con artists my entire life, but they were also Russian spies.” Her eyes fell to the wood plank boards. “I never knew my real last name was Chernyshevsky, or that my parents had moved to the U.S. in their twenties from Moscow.”
When she peered up, A.J.’s focus was riveted to her. There was no pity in his eyes. Nor was there disgust. It was . . . well, it reminded her of how her parents had often looked at her, whenever she allowed herself to think of the good memories, that is. It was a look of unconditional love. Compassion.
“The Feds’ explanation made sense about my parents once I took the time to reexamine my life after they died. The constant moving and name changes they had said were part of new adventures . . .”
A.J. shifted on his feet and put his hands back into his pockets, looking uncomfortable and unsure what to do or how to stand given her news. It wasn’t exactly Southern porch-swing conversation. “Why’d they get shot?” he asked, his voice low. “How’d it happen?”
“We were living in D.C. at the time,” she began, drawing her hand back over her stomach in hopes to quell the nervous, gnawing pain there. “We’d been out of the country for my sixteenth birthday, and as silly as this sounds, all I had wanted was to go see a movie as my present. To go out and do something normal teenagers did. The Da Vinci Code had recently been released, and I begged to go when we got home. My parents agreed to a late showing.” Her mouth tightened as she tried to work through the memory without her tone wavering too much from emotion. “I had dropped my new cell phone in the theater, and they waited for me out front while I went to get it.” She pressed her forearm even tighter against her abdomen. “I was just passing the concession stand, the smell of fresh popcorn in the air, and at first, I didn’t notice the gunshots outside because the popcorn machines were working at full force.”