Mark Vincent has risen from senior special agent to Director of Interior Affairs in the WBIS. Lately, life has been sweet for him -- in addition to his promotion, he's found a partner in Quinton Mann, who can almost match his ability in the intelligence field, in spite of the fact Quinn's CIA. Mark has also found a condo in Alexandria with the help of Portia Mann, Quinn's mother, and it's closer to Quinn's town house than Mark's present apartment. Sweetest of all, Mark plans to take Quinn to his island in the Caribbean for the holidays.<br><br>Quinn's glad he has the holiday with Mark to look forward to -- something is going on at Langley, and he feels he's being kept out of the loop. To make matters even worse, useless missions and sleepless nights filled with nightmares are leaving him exhausted. But then his mother's life if threatened, and Quinn discovers the accident that resulted in her hospitalization was no accident. The obsessively self-absorbed Senator Wexler is involved, and while Quinn considers himself a civilized man, now he's out for blood.<br><br>Up until this point, Mark has stayed out of Quinn's CIA business. But hurting Quinn and those he loves isn't a smart move, and Mark has every intention of seeing Wexler pays. Quinn demands to come along, and while Mark isn't happy, he finally agrees, and they set out together to deal with the senator. There's just one catch: this will be the first time Quinn sees Mark at his deadly best, and Mark isn't sure how his lover will react.

Forever

What? The original plan had been for me to fly out of National to London in the morning to meet with my opposite number in MI6. Without waiting to hear the rest of the message, I dialed DB’s number.


I thought it was going to go to voice mail, but he picked up. “C-Cooper.”


Only then did I realize how late it was. “DB, it’s Quinn. I’m sorry. I just got your message.”


“Not…not a problem. I was…I was just on my way out.” Husky feminine laughter told me that was a big lie. “Hold on a…a sec, okay?” He lowered his voice to a whisper, but I still heard, “Gimme my pants, wouldja, angel eyes? Oh, thanks, gorgeous.”


The silence that followed was broken by the sound of kissing and then, “Mmm. You’re welcome, tiger.”


And here I thought “darling” was the quintessential endearment.


“Are your pants on, DB? Because I have to tell you, having a conversation with you, knowing you’re not fully dressed, is disturbing.”


Chapter 27