I step out of the mansion and into the cool night air, the final image of Tyr sitting on that chaise etched behind my eyes. I adjust the cuff of my dark tactical jacket, trying to compose myself.
I never thought that one day I would be feeling this way because of a woman. The urge to turn around, to dismiss the operation, to simply reclaim the couch and her warmth, is a physical ache. I actually didn't want to leave. I wanted to be alone with her on an island, just having her to myself with no interruptions. The thought is ridiculous, sentimental, and completely true.
Lionel is leaning against the armored car, checking the action on his semi-automatic rifle. He looks up and meets my eyes. He doesn't need words.
He glances pointedly down at my lower half, where the tight control I imposed to walk away from Tyr has failed to completely hide my arousal. He gives a slow, knowing smirk. "And here I thought you were a monk," he drawls.
