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

The shower helped, although not as much as I’d hoped.


I dragged myself out of the bathroom and eyed my bed with regret. I’d never been able to sleep on transoceanic flights, and I particularly loathed flights that crossed so many time zones that it felt as if I arrived before I’d actually left.


I was still dragging when I finished dressing. The thought of preparing breakfast left me even more tired.


Mark knew I made it a point never to miss the first meal of the day; he also knew I preferred to cook from scratch with fresh ingredients, but the last time he’d stayed for the weekend, he’d brought a brown grocery bag filled with frozen breakfasts with him.


“I’ve got better things in mind for you than spending the morning cooking, baby,” he’d told me, the corner of his mouth quirked in a grin.


I’d let him stock my freezer, then had caught his arm and pulled him after me up the stairs and into my bedroom.


Chapter 30