Page 74 of When He Lies
Ding.
He forced his head to lift.
“Thank you,” Simone whispered. “I really, truly needed that.”
He’d needed it, too. Ryan had a feeling that he might always need her. A sobering thought especially since he was using her.
His hand lowered, but Simone immediately caught it in her grip. She threaded her fingers with his. “My fiancé should at least hold my hand,” she explained with a cheeky grin as they turned for those open doors.
Her fear seemed to have passed as quickly as it appeared, but Ryan wasn’t about to let the matter drop.
Simone is too good at wearing a mask. At showing the world a bright and shiny surface while pain lurks inside.
They exited the elevator, and, because he was watching her so closely, he saw the slight exhale that she gave, as if sighing in relief.
They’d arrived in the hotel’s lobby. A quick glance around showed him the MI6 agents and the CIA operatives who were lounging around. Appearing casual, but, after the recent attack upstairs, Ryan knew they would all be on high alert.
“Oh, look, there’s Harry.” Soft words from Simone. “I guess I’m not supposed to wave at him, am I?”
No, she was not. “Act like you don’t know anyone here.”
“That’s easy enough to do.” She strolled along the marble floor. Her head tipped back as she peered up at a massive crystal chandelier. “I really only know you. And we’re still just surface-level, aren’t we?”
“Sweetheart.” He brought her hand to his lips. Kissed her knuckles. “I fucked you less than an hour ago.”
Red flashed in her cheeks as her head turned toward him.
“I’d certainly call that more than surface.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Harry put down the book he’d been reading. Harry would follow them when Ryan and Simone left the hotel. When he’d gone to collect his gun and to finish dressing, Ryan had paused to text his team and let them know that he would be taking Simone on a short stroll.
Considering the attack that had just happened in the suite, Jezebel had been less than pleased with his plans. But…
Simone needs air. She’d been having a panic attack or close to one. She needed to get out, desperately, so he’d get her out. He’d keep her safe outside. And the other agents knew to keep watch over them.
Besides, a cleanup crew needed to get the suite back in shape. Those bullets had to be removed from the wall. All signs of a struggle should vanish. The crew could do their work faster and better without him and Simone present.
“Stay close to me,” Ryan told her, as they passed the doorman and walked into the night.
“No,” she murmured back as her gaze darted to the left, then to the right. “I plan to flee from you at the very first opportunity. Do not trust me for a moment.”
Her words held a teasing edge, but his whole body tensed. He stopped just holding her hand. Ryan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. Both to protect her and to keep the woman from fleeing because he feared she had been all too serious with her words. “It’s safer for you to stay with me.”
Her hand brushed against the side of her body as they moved away from the hotel’s entrance. “Because you’re the big, bad spy?” A gust of wind slid against them.
“Because plenty of people want you dead, but I happen to want you to stay in the land of the living.” He very much wanted that. With all of his being.
She turned to the right, and he realized that Simone had a destination in mind. This wasn’t just some mad dash into the darkness in order to escape her anxiety. As he turned with her—and kept her tucked against his body—Ryan was fully aware of the fact that Simone could be leading him straight into an ambush.
What had she said before? That they were only surface level? “What’s your real name?”
Her heels tapped as they walked into the night. London at night was always a special sight for him. Fog had started to roll in, as it so often did. A little spooky, a little sinister. He liked that sinister edge.
Simone appeared to be heading toward the nearby Wellington Arch. It was hard to miss the massive structure, and he’d always been fond of the bronze sculpture that rested atop of the Arch. The Angel of Peace, surging on to the Chariot of War.
Ryan knew way too much about war, and, some days, far too little about peace.
Lights illuminated the Arch, and, despite the fact that tourists normally flocked to the place, he didn’t see anyone at all near the structure. Maybe it was the deepening fog. Or the light rain that he could feel beginning to fall…maybe that was why they had the place to themselves.
A black cat suddenly rushed right in front of them.
