Page 15 of Code Name: Ember
No—that’s not true.
I tried to forget.
My eyes drop before I can stop the movement, skimming down the front of him where the T-shirt stretches across his chest, remembering the feel of those muscles under my palms, the warmth of his skin, the way the ink beneath would flex when he laughed.I remember mornings at my kitchen island in Fremont, him shirtless and barefoot, coffee in one hand, looking exactly like this—only then, he’d reach for me without hesitation.
Now there’s distance measured in more than just space.
He senses me watching and turns fully, one brow lifting slightly as his eyes sweep over me in return.It isn’t crude.It isn’t possessive.
It’s assessing.
And barely beneath it, there’s a feeling dangerously close to the same heat curling low in my stomach.
Great.
“Morning,” he says, voice rough with what I always imagined was the smoke of a hundred fires he’d battled in his life.
For a second, the memory of his mouth against mine is so vivid I have to curl my fingers tighter around the doorframe to stay upright.“Morning,” I reply.
“Sleep?”he asks.
“Some.”
It’s not a lie.It’s just not the whole truth.
“Coffee’s fresh,” he says, throwing a nod to the pot on the back counter and an empty mug there waiting for me.
The smell hits me then—dark roast, strong, real.Normalcy in the middle of a situation that is anything but and I hasten to pour myself a cup.
“Did you just move here?”I ask once I have my coffee in hand, leaning against the counter.“This place looks really new.”
“Yeah… few months ago when I came on board.”He looks back to his laptop.
I glance at him for clarification.“So, you work in this building too?”
His eyes dart to me, then back to his computer.“Housing’s one of the perks for the agents, if we want it.I’ll show you the rest of the place in a bit.”
“And what exactly do you do here?”I ask.And since he called me out on it last night, I go all in.“When I looked up Jameson Force Security, I wasn’t given much.”
“It’s more of a personal referral kind of business,” he says as he closes the laptop and pushes it back several inches.
“You know that answer won’t work with an investigative journalist,” I chide.
His mouth curves into an amused smile and I’d forgotten how much it ratchets up the man’s hot factor.
Cole sips his coffee.“We handle problems people can’t take to the police.High-risk security, extraction, corporate espionage, counterintelligence.Kidnapping recoveries.Protective details when the threat level’s more than a bodyguard and a suit can manage.”
My brows lift slightly.“That’s… broad.”
“It’s supposed to be,” he replies evenly.“We’ve got analysts who track digital footprints across borders, tactical teams that can move someone out of a hostile environment in under an hour, former federal agents, former military.If someone’s being hunted, extorted, framed, or targeted and the usual channels are compromised, we step in.”He shrugs one shoulder like it’s no big deal.“Think of it as private-sector insurance for when it goes sideways.”
“And you?”I press, because Cole is a man of many dangerous talents.“What’s your role in all that?”
His gaze sharpens a fraction.“Just a field agent who does a little bit of everything, but I specialize in fire behavior and terrain analysis.And if someone needs moving out of a bad situation?”He sets the mug down with a quiet thud.“I’m one of the guys who makes that happen.”
There’s no bravado in his tone.Just fact.
“And this building?”I ask, glancing around the sleek apartment, the controlled quiet of the space.“It’s both work and living.Interesting combo.”
