Taken By the Spy

Kinsey stifled a yawn.

He said lightly, “Let’s get some shut-eye. No telling when the boys will be here to pick us up. Operations rule number one: sleep when you can.”

She nodded without protest, unlocked the sofa, and pulled it out into a bed. With her working at one end and him at the other, they made the bed with satin sheets—what else for the Baby Doll?—cashmere blankets, and fluffy eiderdown pillows.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asked, all innocence.

“Here. How about you?”

Her alarmed blue gaze snapped to his. She looked down at the inviting bed. Back up at him. “Oh.”

He shrugged, but it didn’t relieve the abrupt tension in his shoulders. “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat. And tomorrow promises to be rougher than today.” Why did he give a damn if she refused to sleep with him or not? She wasn’t some princess—which she was taking great pains to convince him of. She was just a person. Just like him.

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