After dinner—after the playful teasing, the laughter echoing beneath the stars, and the quiet, lingering glances—we finally retreat into the tent, the night wrapping around us like a secret. The air grew still as we zipped it closed, sealing ourselves away from the world. Inside, there was only a narrow space, barely enough for two people. And for two spies pretending to be husband and wife, it felt more dangerous than a battlefield.
We lay there in silence—a silence so complete, it roared.
The stars kept silent watch from above, while the forest breathed quietly around us. But inside this little tent, it felt like time had stopped.
I finally broke the silence.
"We should sleep now. We have to leave early tomorrow."
He shifted slightly, his voice carrying a strange awkwardness I'd never heard from him.
"Yeah… You're right."
We lay down, our backs to each other, a deliberate gap between us. But no matter how far we lay, I could feel the heat of his body… the weight of his presence. The awareness of him was overwhelming.
And then it happened.
My mind betrayed me.
I started noticing everything. The rise and fall of his chest. The subtle movement of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. The way his fingers ran through his tousled hair—careless, effortless, maddeningly attractive. The soft moonlight kissed his sharp jawline, tracing it with delicate silver shadows. Everything about him… suddenly looked dangerously sexy.
No. Not just sexy. Tempting.
And the worst part? He wasn't even trying. My thoughts spiraled. The kind of thoughts that had no place on a mission—yet they crept in anyway, uninvited and undeniable. His scent filled the small space—clean, musky, masculine. It wrapped around me like a drug I hadn't realized I was addicted to. My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it. And just as I closed my eyes, his voice cut through the silence—low, rough, quiet.
Suddenly, he sat up, his movement quick but controlled.
"Oh," he murmured, half to himself, "I forgot something to do."
My heart jumped, thudding wildly in my chest. I pushed myself up on one elbow, and my breath caught in my throat.
"W–What… what did you forget to do?" I asked, the words tumbling out, unevenly.
He turned his head slowly, eyes locking onto mine. A mischievous glint flickered in them as he closed the distance between us. His presence overwhelmed the small space. My back straightened, nerves were on fire.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached out—his fingers sliding across my thigh with a touch that was both intentional and maddeningly slow.
He gripped my leg gently, firm enough to make my breath hitch.
God, what was he doing?
Then, with calculated ease, he lifted my leg and placed it across his lap.
His touch burned through the fabric like fire.
I was trembling inside—my pulse echoing in my ears—when he finally grabbed the bag beside him and pulled out the medical kit.
"This," he said, his voice a soft growl, his eyes narrowing with a devilish smirk, "this is what I forgot to do."
Relief and embarrassment swirled inside me.
I exhaled, half-laughing, half-burning.
"Oh... that's what you forgot to do." My voice was barely a whisper, trying to mask the storm inside me.
But before I could calm myself, he leaned forward in a swift, seamless motion—his body hovering just above mine. Our faces were inches apart. His breath brushed my lips, warm and heady.
"Are you sure that's all you thought I forgot to do?" he murmured, his voice like velvet laced with wicked heat.
My eyes widened at his nearness, his teasing. The air left my lungs.
"I–I… I didn't—"
He suddenly flicked my forehead with his finger and pulled back, a smug grin tugging at his lips.
"Look at your face. You're adorable when you're flustered."
I gasped, half-annoyed, half-embarrassed.
"You always tease me! That's it, I'm done. Go away. I'm not talking to you." I turned my back to him with a dramatic huff, lying down, arms crossed.
A moment later, I felt his hand slide onto my shoulder, gently coaxing me to turn. And when I did, he was already closer—his voice low, nearly sinful.
"Sorry, baby," he murmured, "Tell me… how can I persuade you to forgive me?"
His hand traced the curve of my cheekbone, feather-light. Then, it dipped lower, brushing along my bottom lip. Every part of me melted under that touch.
"How would you like to be pampered?"
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't think.
I could only feel it.
I broke eye contact, needing space to think, even for a second.
"Okay, okay," I whispered, "I forgive you."
He chuckled, eyes darkening with something unreadable.
"So easy?" he asked.
"I was ready to pamper you… in my dangerous little ways, if you'd let me."
Then, with surprising care, he pulled the bandage from my leg and changed it with expert hands. I watched him—his focused gaze, his brows furrowed in concentration, the occasional soft press of his fingers on my skin.
"It's already better. You'll be fine by morning."
But his voice… it was too gentle. Too full of something more.
We lay down again, wordless. We weren't facing each other. Neither of us dared to speak, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. But I felt him—his presence, his breath, his warmth. A tension still curled in the air around us, unspoken but alive. And when sleep finally took me, I wondered…
What would've happened if I had let him pamper me in his way?"
Outside, the wind rustled the trees.
Inside, our hearts whispered the things our lips hadn't dared to say.
And slowly… we drifted into sleep.
The first rays of the sun filtered gently through the canvas of the tent, casting a soft, golden glow over everything. My body was still tangled in the haze of sleep, my fingers unconsciously squeezing something warm and firm, like a steady pulse beneath my touch. As my eyes fluttered open, the fog of dreams began to clear—and then it hit me, a sharp, silent jolt of realization that made my heart skip a beat. I was wrapped around him. My head nestled against his shoulder. One arm draped over his chest. My thigh was thrown over his. My entire body was molded into his like we belonged there. His skin beneath my fingertips was hot—his heartbeat steady and strong.
And we were too close. Too intimate. Too real.
I froze. Every nerve in my body woke up before I did. My heart pounded wildly, as I tried to think how I'd ended up like this—in his arms, tangled like lovers after a long night.
I was about to shout, to jolt back—but then I looked at him.
He was sleeping—peacefully, like a boy, as all the weight he carried in the waking world had vanished in dreams. His lashes brushed his cheek, his lips parted slightly, and his brows relaxed. He looked so different, so vulnerable. My lips curved into a soft, involuntary smile. Then reality hit me like cold water.
What the hell was I doing?!
Shit.
I slowly untangled myself, careful not to wake him, and slipped out of the tent, my face burning with heat that had nothing to do with the morning chill. The feel of his chest still lingered on my palm. The memory of his body pressed against mine—it was dangerous. Too dangerous.
I took a few deep breaths, trying to regain my composure. You're a spy, Eva. Get a grip. I grabbed the toothbrush and splashed cold water on my face, then started making coffee. By the time the coffee was ready, the tent behind me rustled. He stepped out, stretching, rubbing his shoulder with a soft wince. I knew exactly why his arm hurt. But I said nothing.
He flashed a smile, his voice still husky from sleep.
"Good morning, wife."
I turned slightly, masking my flushed face behind the steam of the coffee.
"Good morning. Coffee's ready. Take it before it's cold."
We sipped our coffee in comfortable silence, the warmth of the mugs seeping into our hands as tendrils of mist curled lazily through the trees. The morning had a strange stillness like we were the only two souls on Earth. I avoided looking at him for too long, afraid he'd read everything I was thinking on my face.
Then I broke the silence.
"We should pack up and leave soon."
He nodded, still watching me with unreadable eyes.
"Yeah, I'll take care of it."
While he packed the tent, I tidied the campfire spot. Every time I glanced at him, flashes of the night crept in—the closeness, the way he felt under my hands, the sound of his breath beside mine.
We returned to the car—the same place this madness started. I held out my hand.
"Give me the keys. I'll drive. Your arm must be hurting… from last night."
He blinked, confused.
"Yeah, it is. No idea why though..."
He paused, narrowing his eyes at me with curiosity.
"Wait. How do you know my arm is hurting?"
My heart stopped. Idiot. Idiot!
I blinked, then crossed my arms, feigning impatience.
"We're running late. You ask way too many questions. Get in the car."
He laughed, clearly amused by my deflection, but didn't press further. Thank God.
Halfway through the drive, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen—Headquarters.
I answered, voice cool and composed.
"Eva here."
Miss Serena's voice came through—calm, but firm and commanding.
"Eva, you and Vincenzo must report to headquarters immediately. No delays."
Something in her tone made my spine straighten.
"Understood, ma'am. We'll be there in an hour."
She ended the call without another word. I glanced sideways at him. "What do you think is going on? Why would she sound so… urgent?"
He turned his head toward the window, his jaw tightening slightly.
He turned his head toward the window, his jaw tightening slightly.
"I don't know. But something tells me…" His gaze snapped to mine, a sharp glint in his eyes.
"In that instant, I knew—our peaceful little mountain escape was over."
And deep in my chest, I felt it too.
The storm was coming...