Agent Leo Cross was no stranger to adrenaline. The spy with tousled brown hair and a grin that could disarm even the grumpiest border guard had tackled countless missions, but none as perilous as Operation Cupid. His task? Retrieve stolen intelligence from rogue agent Isabelle Hart—the one woman who had ever made him forget his job long enough to fall in love, and who had then left him stranded on a yacht filled with sleeping gas.
Isabelle, a dazzling enigma with a sharp mind and sharper tongue, had her reasons. Love wasn’t one of them. Or so she told herself, strutting through Prague’s dimly lit streets in her crimson dress, the stolen documents tucked into her clutch. She had always been a wildcard, capable of escaping any trap and evading even her own conscience.
Leo intercepted her at the grand masquerade ball, a place full of diplomats, black market traders, and enough gold leaf to rebuild the Renaissance. “We meet again, Hart,” he whispered behind his mask, a playful smirk concealing the ache in his chest.
“Cross,” she replied, turning with a coquettish smile. “Still following me, I see. I must be your favorite assignment.”
“You’d be surprised. I once had to chase a stolen goat across Istanbul,” Leo quipped, pulling her into a dance before she could flee. They swayed under the chandeliers, an unspoken truce keeping them moving in perfect sync, like a bittersweet waltz of past and present.
The dance turned into a chase that took them through hidden hallways, atop crumbling rooftops, and over a precarious catwalk where Isabelle’s heel caught on a loose bolt. Leo grabbed her wrist just in time, his own heart leaping in his chest. The once-rogue agent found herself dangling between a deathly drop and the man whose heart she had stolen twice.
“For old times’ sake?” he panted, eyes locked onto hers with a blend of challenge and vulnerability. She knew that look—it was trouble wrapped in trust.
Isabelle exhaled and allowed him to pull her up. For a moment, the two stood breathless, too close, with the entire city watching from below. A siren wailed in the distance, warning of a security breach. The thrill of danger wrapped around them like the brisk night wind.
“Next time, just send a postcard,” Leo said, as he turned to escape with her. She laughed, the sound more genuine than anything she’d allowed herself in years.
Their escape was a spectacle worthy of its own blockbuster. Bullets ricocheted off stone walls, motorbikes roared through cobblestone alleys, and a stolen hot air balloon lifted them above the chaos with only one rope holding the basket in place.
Above the city, as adrenaline waned and reality settled in, Isabelle brushed a tear from her cheek. “You really are the most foolish man I know.”
“And you’re the most reckless,” Leo replied, reaching out for her hand.
Their journey wasn’t without losses—trust had been shattered, lives had been risked. Yet, above the rooftops, with Prague glittering like a bed of stars, they finally stopped running. Isabelle leaned into him, an unspoken promise hanging between them. The stolen documents, now forgotten, floated down to the streets like a forgotten tragedy.
The world spun below, but in their bubble of madcap romance and laughter, they found their happy ending, knowing it was only the beginning of their greatest adventure yet.
