Speaker 1: Calarogu Shark Media, Hello, and welcome to Romance Weekly. This
episode is titled The Midnight Masquerade, Episode two. New Year's Secret.
Speaker 2: Blood takes exactly six minutes to dry on silk. I
know this because I'm watching it happen on my dress.
Julian Cross's last mark on my carefully orchestrated night hold Still,
Morgan commands, his fingers brushing my hip as he helps
me out of the stained gown. We're in my penthouse
above the city, snow falling outside, like nature's own masquerade.
I like this dress, I say, more to distract myself
from his touch than actual regret. I like taking it off.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror, though I prefer paris,
less blood, more handcuffs. His laugh is dark against my skin.
You always did fight dirty. I turned to face him,
standing in La Perla, black lace and deadly intent. Speaking
of dirty. Want to tell me why the CIA's prettiest
attack dog is really here? My phone buzzes before he
can answer. Celeste, tell me something good, I answer, putting
it on speaker. Morgan's hands still rest on my hips,
his heat distracting NYPD's calling it a heart attack. Celeste
sounds stressed, but I'm looking at the toxicology. Someone does
Julian Champagne with something exotic, something Russian. Morgan's fingers tighten
on my skin. Marina, There's more, Celeste continues. The security
footage for the exact moment of death is corrupted, like
someone knew our blind spots, someone who knows my system,
I say, watching Morgan's face in the mirror, like a
certain security consultant who's been studying my operation, or someone
who helped design the original system. Morgan's mouth brushes my shoulder.
Vienna twenty twenty one. You weren't just there for the files,
were you, Vivian? I lean back against his chest, a
calculated move that makes his breath catch. You mean the
job where you were supposed to kill Marina before I
distracted you? Is that what you call Climbing through my
hotel room window in that red dress. The memory hits
like good vodka, sharp, burning, dangerous. I'd worn Valentino that night,
chosen specifically to catch his attention, to keep his eyes
on me while my team copied the folk off server data.
The dress worked, didn't it. I turn in his arms,
though not as well as the shower scene, his eyes darken.
You mean when you joined me uninvited, you didn't seem
to mind my fingers trace his tie, especially when I
had you pressed against the tiles, wondering if I was
going to kiss you or kill you? And now his
hand slides into my head, Which is it going to be?
Maybe both? The kiss is electric. Two years of chase
and want to need exploding like Champagne under pressure, His
hands mapped territory. They've been hunting since Vienna, since Paris,
since every near miss and almost catch between us. My
phone buzzes again. We ignore it again three times means override.
Damn it. I pull back, breathing hard. That's the emergency code.
Answer it. His mouth trails fire down my throat while
I conduct a thorough search for what. I gasp as
his hand slide lower, hidden weapons, intel, anything else you've
stolen from me. Celeste's voice cuts through the heat between us.
Marina's on the move, meeting someone at the palace in
twenty minutes. Morgan's hands still on my lace. The palace,
that's my territory. I finish my hotel, my intelligence source,
your trap. I smile against his mouth, getting jealous of
my other operations. His kiss is possessive, demanding. Getting tired
of sharing intelligence, then let's combine our resources. I push
him back enough to see his face. I'll show you
mine if you show me yours deal. His hands find
bare skin under lace. But first, first, first, I finish
my search thoroughly. What follows is pure pleasure and power play,
his hands extracting information, one gasp at a time, my
body yielding secrets I've kept for years. He takes me
against the mirror, then again on my Egyptian cotton sheets.
Each touch a question, each kiss an answer. The files
he breathes against my inner thigh tell me about Vienna Marina.
I can barely think with his mouth there, Marina was
selling more than just intelligence. What else? His tongue traces
dangerous patterns, nuclear ah, nuclear triggers, genetic research, and a list.
I arch off the bed as pleasure builds a list
of deep cover agents, including me. His fingers press harder,
making me moan. Yes, she knew, knew who you were,
what you were there for, so you saved me. He
slides up my body, replaces fingers with something more demanding,
by handcuffing me to the hotel bed. Had to I
gasp as he moves, had to keep you safe, safe.
His rhythm turns punishing or yours, both later wrapped in
sheets that smell like sex and truth. We examine the
files on my laptop. The evidence is damning. Marina's operation
goes deeper than either of us. Knew government officials, tech billionaires,
intelligence agencies all compromised. Julian was just the first, Morgan says,
his hand tracing patterns on my spine. She's cleaning house,
eliminating anyone who knows about the genetic research, including us.
I press closer to his warmth, especially us. He kisses
my shoulder. We're the only ones who've seen all the pieces.
My phone lights up with a text from an unknown number.
Did you enjoy the Champagne show? Your next Solnishka? Morgan
reads it over my shoulder, Russian endearment, Marina's signature. She
always did like to play with her food. I turned
to face him. Think she knows about us, about Vienna, Paris.
His smile is sharp, or about this? His kisses answer enough.
But before it can lead somewhere even more dangerous, A
bullet shatters my bedroom window. Morgan moves instantly, covering my
body with his As glass rains down through the new
hole in my penthouse wall. Snow swells in like a warning.
Three o'clock. I murmur against his neck. The building across
the street saw it. His hand slides under the pillow,
finding my back up, Beretta, nice hiding spot. I have
my moments. I reach for my phone, typing a quick
code to Celeste. Two more shots crack through the night,
precise and professional. These aren't meant to kill. They're herding
us toward the bathroom, toward the only room without exterior windows. Trap,
Morgan says, reading my mind. Obviously, I roll away from him,
grabbing my go bag from under the bed. Good thing.
I have an exit strategy, of course you do. His
laugh is dark as he pulls on his pants, planning
to leave me tied up again. Not this time. I
slip into a black catsuit, trying to ignore how his
eyes track every movement. This time, I need you mobile
for what? Instead of answering, I press the hidden panel
behind my shower. The wall slides open, revealing a maintenance shaft.
You've got to be kidding, but he's already moving with
me professional despite our state of undress. How many escape
routes do you have in this building? I lead him
into the shaft as more bullets pepper the bedroom seven
in the city. Don't ask, I've been hunting you for
two years, he says, as we climb down. How did
I miss this? Because you are looking for a thief.
I pause at a junction, listening, not an intelligence broker
with a fortune five hundred company. As cover, his hand
finds my hip in the darkness. And what am I
looking at now? Now? I turned to face him, feeling
his heat in the narrow space. Now you're looking at
a partner if you want, instead of answering, he kisses me, hard, fast,
full of promise and danger. Partners, he agrees, But we
do this my way. Your way got you handcuffed in Paris. No,
his smile is sharp in the dim emergency lights. My
way would have had you handcuffed with me. Before I
can respond, my phone vibrates Celeste again. Marina's people just
breached the lobby, she reports, and I found something in
Julian's autopsy, the poison. It's the same compound from Vienna,
the one you stole from the lab Morgan's eyes meet
mine in the shadows. You want to tell me why
you have a Russian buy a weapon? Actually, I check
the shaft below us for movement. I think that's your department,
since you're the one who developed it. His sharp intake
of breath confirms it. How did you The files weren't
just about agents, I start climbing down again. They were
about Project Snowfall, your project, Vivian. His voice stops me.
If you know about Snowfall, you know why Marina has
to be stopped. I know it's not just about intelligence anymore.
I reach the access panel for the garage level. It's
about something bigger, something worse than just murder, much worse.
His hands settle on my waist as he joins me
on the narrow ledge. Help me end this for real?
This time. I think about Paris, about Vienna, about all
the times we've played this game of cat and mouse,
never sure who was really hunting whom. Okay, I say,
reaching up to kiss him. But first we need to
get to the palace, my source. There A explosion rocks
the building above us. My penthouse irrupts in flames. Marina's
getting impatient. Morgan observes dryly. She always did have a
flare for dramatics. I key in the access code, ready
to really trust me this time? His smile is dangerous
in the firelight, lead the way Partner. As we emerge
into the garage, sirens wailing in the distance, I realize
something important. This isn't just about survival anymore. It's not
even about the mission. This is about the way he
says partner like a promise, The way his hand finds
mine in the darkness, the way trust feels more intimate
than sex. And I'm starting to think that might be
the most dangerous game of all.
Speaker 1: Romance Weekly is a production of Calaroga Shark Media executive
producers Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast
may have been created with the assistance of AI
Speaker 2: Calaroga Shark Media.