Flash Marriage To My Undercover Husband

illow next to his, her breathing soft and even, as if she had slept there a thousand times before. He stood there for a long moment, just watching h

It was coffee. Real coffee, brewed in a pot, not the i

stove, wearing one of his old t-shirts and nothing else. Her bare feet were on the cool

ed over and kissed him, a quick peck on the lips that tasted of cof

ved around his kitchen with an easy confidence, as if it were her own. He was used to sile

hone and showed him a list. "I need to pick up a few things. Make this place

open and guileless, and held her hand out t

for his wallet, pulled out a supplementary card, and slapped it i

c stuff. You bring home the bacon. Literally." She had just defined th

f the apartment. She was methodical, checking for listening devices in the vents, under furniture, inside light fixtures. She ran a detector over the phone lines. She se

ly, utterly clean. Either Damon was exactly who he said he was, or he was a pro

ceries, cleaning supplies, and a few cheap but tasteful items of home decor. She paid with

eradicating years of bachelor grime. She threw out his threadbare sheets and replaced them with a new set

e was in the wrong apartment. The air, which usually smelled faintly of stale beer and moto

er jeans. She smiled at him, a perfect imitation of a happ

im. He was a creature of habit and control. And in the space of a single day, this woman had systematically tak

day, about the rude checkout girl at the supermarket, paint

k. He stared at the TV, but the images didn't register. His entire awareness was focused on the sound

cked into the new, clean sheets, she move

place?" she whispered into the d

as different. It wasn't just the detached satisfaction of a physical need. There was som

eyes, a tiny, triumphant smile playing on h

s becoming a habit. And habits w

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