“The world is full of bad guys, son.”
“I know—”
“So when one of the good guys gets a chance for a happy ending, he should take it.”
Sawyer started to lash out—to rage. He wanted to make someone bleed, but then he heard the words. “What?”
“You should take it.”
“What . . .” Sawyer was hearing things—seeing things. From the moment he saw his father in that chopper he’d known this moment was coming—that he’d have to let Zoe walk away. Make her leave. Keep her safe. He’d known that love and covert operations don’t mix. He’d known it his whole life, but his father was standing there, looking at him in a way he never had before. Somber and pensive and . . . wistful.
“I thought she was better off without me.” His father’s voice cracked. “Your mother. But if I could do it all over again, I’d do it differently, son. I’d do it all differently.”
Sawyer’s blood went cold. “You don’t mean that. You can’t . . .”
“I didn’t appreciate either of you until it was too late. For me.” He looked down at a watch that was way too flashy for a secret agent. “But by my calculations, you have about two minutes . . .”
Sawyer didn’t say another word. He just ran.
Her
How to Walk Away
A List by Zoe Sterling, Acclaimed Author and Known Idiot
Move right foot.
Move left foot.
Start a new book about the Duke of Hottington, a notorious rake who is still in love with the woman he met years ago while working as an agent for the Crown.
Don’t get bangs.
Keep breathing.
Keep moving.
Don’t look back. And don’t even try to remember.
“Zoe!”
The jet was twenty feet away now. She could make it. All Zoe had to do was climb those stairs and look out the window and wait for the credits to roll on her grand adventure. She could do her crying later. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind she’d cry for the rest of her life.
“Hey, lady.” Zoe heard the words on the wind and felt sure she must have dreamed them. “Zoe, wait! Stop!”
And then she did stop even though “keep moving” was right there—it was number six on the list.
“Zoe?” And there he was, tall and dark and dangerous. He was so dangerous in so many ways she’d never expected.
“Did you . . . uh . . . forget something?” She tried to make her voice sound normal. She tried to force a smile.
“This.” The kiss was quick and soft and sweet. It wasn’t the kiss that came at the end. It was the kiss that came at the beginning, and that’s what made her give up any pretense of not crying. Of not breaking. The jerkface.
And then his breath was on her wet cheeks and he was pulling her against his chest. She hated that, too—that she was going to get his shirt all wet. At least the sky was dark. It looked like rain. Maybe he wouldn’t know they were tears.
His hands cradled her face, gentle and warm and strong. “I can’t ask you to stay, sweetheart.”
She pushed free and glared up at him. “Oh, you’ve been very clear—”
“But I can’t let you get on that plane—”
“Then why did you order it?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream, so she did a little of all three.
“Because I’m in love with you.”
“Well, I’m in love with you, too!” They were doing that thing again where the closer they got, the louder they shouted, tension reverberating between them like a wave until, finally, it crested, crashing over Zoe. Sweeping her out to sea. “But that doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s the only thing that matters.” He tried to dry her eyes with his sleeve because she was crying harder now. Stupid traitorous eyes.
“I’m not your sweetheart,” she said.
“We’ve been over this. You’re my everything.”
And that was the part that broke her. Maybe it was stress or exhaustion or the sheer weight of the past few days finally leaving her body, but she let him pull her closer.
“So if the offer still stands, I’d like to get on the plane with you. And go home. With you. And be with you. For however long you’ll have me.”
The words were sinking in—the reality and the promise and the realization—“I don’t know where my home is.”
“Then we’ll go to mine,” he told her.
“Where’s that?”