Envious of Dominic’s bronzed skin, Sam was determined to do something about his ghostly white complexion and spent the last few days lazing around by the pool, drinking fancy cocktails and working on his tan. His skin did hate the sun, but sometimes he managed to get some tan instead of getting burned, so there was hope.
But he was quickly starting to regret that plan, because Dominic insisted on slathering him in sunscreen from head to toe every two hours. It was torture. Sam had never been so horny and sexually frustrated in his life.
“Stop whining,” Dominic said sternly when Sam complained about being woken from his nap. “You’re a redhead with very pale skin. Ever heard of skin cancer?”
Sam relented, because Dominic was right; it had nothing to do with the fact that Dominic’s attention and protectiveness made him all giddy and warm on the inside.
Right. God, who was he trying to kid here? His crush on Dominic was starting to really, really worry him. It was all Dominic’s fault for looking the way he looked and being so nice, caring, and protective of him. Sometimes Sam almost hated him—hated Agent 11 for being such a good actor. Not to mention that it wasn’t exactly easy to get over his crush when he had to suck Dominic’s cock every day to maintain their covers.
But soon it will be over, Sam thought as he lay wide-awake in Dominic’s arms. Tomorrow they would arrive in Barcelona and then fly back to London.
Tomorrow everything would be over. Dominic would stop pretending to want him. Dominic would stop touching him. Dominic would stop calling him baby and other ridiculously affectionate endearments.
Tomorrow Dominic would stop being Dominic.
He would be Agent 11 again, an aloof special agent too good to have anything in common with a trainee like Sam. They were very unlikely to share a mission again, and what other reason would Dominic—Agent 11—have for hanging out with a kid like him?
Sam tried to tell himself that the hollow feeling of loss that twisted his gut was normal. It was normal to be a little upset. But it would pass. It was just a crush. It would pass.
It had to.
Please, he thought desperately, pressing his cheek to Dominic’s shoulder and squeezing his eyes. Please.
* * *
When they arrived in Barcelona, he still didn’t feel ready.
It all seemed so… anti-climatic. Sam had half-expected an open confrontation with Brylsko, for their covers to be blown, for some violence that would prove that Brylsko was more than just a middle-aged, hedonistic businessman. But there was nothing. No one stopped them as they left the ship and got into a cab.
“This was a bit of an anticlimax,” Sam mumbled, looking out the car window.
Dominic—Agent 11, dammit—snorted. “Anticlimax is good, trust me. It means a job well done.” Still, he seemed a little tense. It wasn’t obvious, but after more than a week in close quarters with him, Sam learned the difference between a completely relaxed MI6 agent and an MI6 agent who was actually tense while he pretended to be relaxed.
Sam perked up. “Are we in danger?” he whispered, looking around wide-eyed. Maybe the driver was one of Brylsko’s men. Maybe he was kidnapping them!
Agent 11 gave a laugh. “No. Sorry to disappoint.”
Sam deflated. “It’s not my fault the mission was boring. Being a secret agent isn’t what it’s hyped up to be.”
Agent 11 smiled, white teeth flashing against his sun-kissed skin, still unshaven but unfairly handsome.
God, he wanted to kiss him so much.
Swallowing, Sam averted his gaze.
He was quiet after that, tapping his leg anxiously while he waited for them to arrive at the airport. He caught Agent 11 watching him a few times, but he was quiet too.
Only when their plane was taking off, Sam blurted out, without looking at his companion, “So do you have a mission lined up after this one?”
“Yes.”
Sam looked at his hands, reminding himself that it was none of his business. He had no right to ask.
To his surprise, Agent 11 volunteered, “I’ll be working on my long-term mission.”
Sam whipped his head to him. “The Dominic Bommer one?”
The other man nodded.
Sam wet his lips. “The one in which you’re supposed to seduce some big shot’s son?”
His expression inscrutable, Agent 11 nodded again.
“Oh,” Sam breathed out and looked away again, trying to ignore the tight knot in his stomach.
It wasn’t jealousy. He had no right to be jealous. This was Dominic’s job. He had been Dominic’s job, too. He meant nothing to Dominic—to Agent 11. It was good to be reminded of that.
Agent 11 sighed. “Sam.”
Sam pulled out his brand new phone—issued to him by MI6—and put his earbuds in.
“Sammy,” Dominic said.
“What,” Sam said flatly, glaring at the screen of his phone.
“Are you angry at me?”
“No,” Sam said. “Why would I be angry at you?”