Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
He had an incredible sarcastic humor but was also humble and self-deprecating. He had big aspirations and even higher morals. He was a patriot who only wanted to do good for the common man. He was a far better person than I was at the core.
The attraction between us was on a low simmer as we got to know each other, but the minute I stepped into his arms to dance, all I could think about was being possessed by him. My hips moved naturally by way of DNA given to me by my mother’s Argentinian heritage. She was a dancer—classically trained in ballet—but could cut a sexy dance like no other. Ladd was American Irish, as white as they come, but he had immersed himself in Latin American culture during his training at the Farm—the casual nickname for Camp Peary—and while training doesn’t include learning cultural dances, the man had no trouble moving in time with my body.
But eventually, I found myself pressed tight to him, his arm banded around my back, and we swayed in place for the longest time, just staring at each other.
He seemed neither bothered nor embarrassed by his partial erection against me, and I most certainly wasn’t hating it.
When he moved his lips near my ear and whispered, “Let’s get out of here,” I realized I had never wanted anything more.
We went to my room, and after a hot round of making out with our hands probing each other’s most intimate places, Ladd hiked up my skirt, pulled my panties aside, and fucked me against the wall. He was commanding and in control every step of the way, and for the first time in my life, I submitted fully.
After that, he carried me to the bed, stripped me bare, and worshipped my body with his mouth and fingers for what seemed like hours. We made love slowly, almost desperate to climb deeper into each other.
It was an instant, transcendental connection that I don’t think either of us could really explain, but before that night ended, I knew Ladd McDermott was going to be the great love of my life.
“Greer.”
I blink, hearing my name, and turn my head to Ladd. He’s frowning.
“What?” I mumble.
“I called your name a few times,” he says, the lines of worry on his forehead belying his disdain at being around me. “Are you okay?”
I wave him off. “I’m fine. Just tired. What did you want?”
“I asked about the blond hair,” he says.
For a moment, it’s not registering. Then I pick up a lock laying across my shoulder and look at it. “Oh… yeah… I went blond a few years ago.”
“When I saw your picture in your dossier, I almost didn’t recognize you.”
I bet he wouldn’t. My natural color is a deep chocolate that I never lightened and usually kept cut right to my shoulders. But I’d never tell him how much I’ve changed my appearance over the last several years.
I’d never let him know that he left such a hole inside me, I’ve not felt like my real self since, so I’ve been trying to reinvent myself into someone new. Nothing ever feels right.
It’s something I don’t care to discuss, so I change the subject. “I’m anxious to get to Langley. I want to get this disavowal rescinded so I can get back to work.”
Ladd stares at me with what almost looks like pity, and it makes my skin prickle. “You shouldn’t assume they’ll take you back.”
“What do you mean? I’m not gone. They only disavowed me because I’d been outed in the press. But that wasn’t my real name. And I can easily change my identity. That was yesterday’s news, and it shouldn’t affect my work with the CIA. They only did it to cut the red tape so they could get a nongovernmental agency to extract me.”
Ladd looks like he knows something I don’t, but he chooses to hold it close. He merely shrugs and says, “What do I know? I’ve been out for a while.”
“How long have you been out?” I ask, and then immediately want to cut my tongue from my head so I don’t ask more stupid questions. I don’t care what he’s been up to.
And yet, I await his answer.
“Four years,” he replies, tapping his fingers on the table. “I did some contract work for a while, but started at Jameson—the company I’m with now—last summer.”
I don’t ask him why he got out. I’m pretty sure the answer is the same as it was all those years ago when we were together. Ladd has always been transparent as to his endgame, and I know from my secretive visit ten years ago, when I saw him with his pregnant wife, that he got what he wanted in life.
I wonder if he has more than one kid now. He wanted more than one. He once joked he’d take an even half dozen.