‘Are you all right?’ someone asks.
I look up. A man is looking at me. He seems concerned. ‘Yes,’ I say automatically. Nothing could be further from the truth.
‘OK,’ he says, and moves on.
Robin’s words flash into my mind.
At the end of the operation you will ditch all the physical trappings of your undercover alter ego, the hair, the clothes, the people you have befriended, and return to your own normal world.
A small, hesitant voice in my head asks, what about the people you fall in love with? I drum it out with the militant message they have brainwashed me with. First and foremost you are a police officer.
I have done the right thing.
I walk until my legs start to ache, then I stop and hail the first taxi I see. Inside it, I sit with my face turned toward the window, seeing nothing. The taxi drops me outside the house. I watch it drive away and stand at the bottom of the short flight of steps for an age. My legs are like lead. Eventually, my heart weeping, I climb the steps.
I open the front door and I know straight away: he is home. I walk down the corridor and open the living room door.
Seeing him is like jumping into an icy river. The guilt. God, the guilt. I know: I’m in too deep. I have broken the most important rule—I didn’t keep what I am doing and who I am separate. I have allowed myself to get psychologically mixed up.
He is sitting on the white leather sofa, but he must have been pacing the floor until he heard me at the front door, because there is that look of restlessness about him. A glass of Scotch sits on the table. He looks pale under his tan and his green eyes burn feverishly bright in his face.
I smile as I shatter inside. The heaviest tears never reach the eyes.
He doesn’t smile back. He seems very still. His eyes hold onto me so hard it almost hurts.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘Where have you been?’ I see that his hands are clenched hard and he seems to be controlling himself.
‘I was shopping.’
His chest heaves and his eyes flick to the bag in my hand. ‘Why did you not answer your phone?’
‘I had it on silent.’
He nods gently, but seems somehow inconsolable. I feel the vibrations of his despondency in my blood as if it were my own.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think you would worry,’ I murmur.
He takes a deep breath. Again I see him making a Herculean effort to control himself. ‘You were attacked less than a week ago, Lily.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ I say again.
‘You look tired,’ he observes.
‘I am.’ I try to smile at him.
‘Come here.’
I go to him and climb into his lap. His hands come around me, the palms hot. I nuzzle him like a cat, my hand stroking his thick hair, straightening it. It is ruffled. He has been running his hands through it. He takes my shoes off and lets them drop with a thud on the floor. I sigh with pleasure when his big hands start massaging my foot.
‘I didn’t know where you were. If you had simply run away. I know so little about you.’ His voice is a deep, honeyed rumble. It has a song in it. I could listen to it all my life. But I won’t. I was fooling myself before.
‘I didn’t run away. I’m here.’
The hardness between his legs pushes into my hip. I look up into his eyes. There is only one word for what is in them: hunger. I have never seen such extreme desire, such ravenous craving. The air trembles with it. A voice inside my head cries, ‘What have you done? What have you done?’ I ignore it. My body loses its tiredness and responds to that yearning. My lips part, my nipples swell and pebble tightly, my sex opens like a night flower.
‘Would it be really horrible if we had sex right now?’ he murmurs.