He winks. “Promise? I’ve been thinking a buzz cut might be a nice way to ring in the new year.”
“Stop it, you two,” Andrew says, heaving a sigh from the other side of the bubbling tub. “You’re upsetting Sabrina.”
My sister snuggles closer to Andrew’s side. “Oh, pish. I’m not upset. I’ve had too much champagne and birthday cake to be upset.” She kisses Andrew’s lightly scruffy cheek. “Thank you for the perfect triple-birthday surprise, baby.”
“Yes, thank you, Andrew,” I add, meaning it. I can’t remember the last time anyone outside our triplet-trio went out of their way for our birthdays. Even our parents usually just ordered takeout from the bistro in the village and stuck a few candles in the freezer-burned ice cream we forgot to throw away at the end of the summer. “It was the best birthday in years.”
“Aw, see, there it is,” Nick says, his voice low and husky. “Every bitter little pill has a soft and gooey center.”
“Calling me ‘little’ is also a good way to wake up bald,” I shoot back, ignoring the way his voice makes my lips, thighs, and other, even more intimate parts, tingle.
I need to get laid. That’s all this is.
It’s been over a year since I’ve been naked with another human being. My sexual frustration is making me crazy enough to tingle for my sworn enemy.
Since my ex-husband left me for a not-at-all clever or even particularly cute dental hygienist he’d been banging for the last six months of our brief marriage, I haven’t felt up to dating. I’ve been busy with work, and the thought of hitting a bar or a club usually leaves me feeling…sour.
I didn’t like the bar scene back before I was married.
I like it even less now. I’d foolishly thought my days of searching for a partner were over.
Gerg wasn’t my ideal—he had a weird name, was childishly picky about food, hated physical activity of most kinds, and as I would later learn, he suffered from a bad case of banging-women-he-wasn’t-married-to-itis—but we shared a devotion to our careers, ambition for a bright and brilliant future, and a love of travel. We had wonderful weekend adventures, a good rapport, and a completely satisfactory sex life.
Or so I’d thought…
Now, deep down, I wonder if something’s wrong with me. If there’s a reason I’ve never been able to make a relationship work long term.
Maybe Gerg was telling the truth when he said being in bed with me was like fucking a polar ice cap…
“Come on, Soft and Gooey, join us,” Nick coos.
He really does enjoy getting under my skin.
Under normal circumstances, I’d keep my cool and my harsh words and hateful-laser-beam-gaze locked down. The only thing worse than Nick being my new boss is Nick knowing how much I hate that he’s my boss.
But there’s nothing normal about the way this man affects me.
Nothing’s normal about how much I want to drown him in that hot tub or kiss him in that hot tub.
Or maybe kiss him and then drown him?
“Yeah, come on, Zan,” Sabrina calls, sipping champagne from her and Andrew’s shared champagne glass. “Your nose is turning blue, and I want to talk to you about Christmas dinner. Mother is determined to make her special rum cake for dessert, but she gets wasted every time she pulls out that recipe. And I’d really rather she kept the crazy to a minimum for the first holiday with my in-laws.”
“We won’t judge,” Andrew assures her as I cross the snow-dusted balcony to the cedar bench where the rest of them discarded their slippers and robes. “Nothing wrong with a little too much Christmas cheer.”
Sabrina snorts. “Until it ends with your mother-in-law doing a striptease to Bach’s ‘Christmas Oratorio.’”
Andrew’s brows shoot up. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m serious. Ask Zan,” Sabrina says, nodding toward me as I slide into the water as far from Nick as possible. I wince, anticipating what’s coming next. “Neither Zan nor our dear mother can handle their liquor. More than one glass of anything, and they’re three sheets to the wind.”
“Aw, I bet that’s adorable,” Nick rumbles from beside me.
I flinch, turning to find him two feet closer than before, though I can’t remember seeing him move. The sugar rush from the birthday cake must be going to my head.
No one sneaks up on me, especially not when I’m on guard.
And I’ve been on guard all night, determined not to let anyone catch a glimpse into my innermost thoughts. I wouldn’t worry in other company—I have an excellent poker face—but my sisters are a different story.
Sabrina and Elizabeth are identical twins. I’m the triplet with rogue DNA, but my sisters can read my mind almost as well as they read each other. They know when I’m secretly sad or mad or crushing on some idiot we met at a bar after I stupidly let my sisters talk me into a second rum and Coke.
I remind Sabrina of that now as I scoot away from Nick. “That’s why I don’t have more than one drink unless someone with a sick sense of humor talks me into it.” I shoot Sabrina a pointed look.
She laughs. “I know, but you’re so cute when you’re drunk. I can’t help it. I have no regrets.” She glances toward Nick as she adds, “Talk about a gooey center. She’s such a sweetheart when she’s tipsy.”
“Stop,” I warn Sabrina.
She ignores me, adding, “She tells me she loves me more than life and gives the best hugs and generally makes me feel so wonderful about my sistering skills that I can’t resist getting her sauced every once and while. Just for the ego boost.”
“Whatever,” I huff with a roll of my eyes.
Sabrina and Lizzy are the only people in my life who ignore me. It’s annoying but also…nice. After five years of heading up the Zurich Union Ten office and calling the shots for everyone working under me, it’s nice to be surrounded by people who don’t know how much responsibility rests on my shoulders.
I’m in deep cover—always have been and probably always will be. No one in my personal life, not even my sisters, knows I’m a spy.
Well, at least no one did. Until Nick.
I still can’t believe the co-directors, Neville and Blaire, picked Nick over me to lead the Northeast Regional office. Not only is Nick a year younger but he has three fewer years in the field. He didn’t join the junior recruit program until he was sixteen, and even if he weren’t practically a child, maturity-wise, he’s too laid back to be taken seriously by the older agents who will be reporting to him from all of northern Europe.
Hell, I can’t take him seriously, and we’re only twelve months apart in age.
Almost exactly twelve months. My sisters and I turned twenty-six tonight, and Nick’s twenty-fifth birthday is a little over two weeks away. He invited me to stay on in Baden-Bergen after our forced family fun holiday concludes for his birthday bash. I declined, of course. Sharing my birthday weekend in Switzerland with him and his brothers, then suffering through the holiday insanity in Gallantia with both of our families will fill my quota for both familial bonding and partying for the next six months.
I don’t like bonding. Or partying.