Winter Widow One Shots

Jealous James?

*Translated from Russian*

She had worn the dress.

The same one he thought that they had both agreed was a no-go. Tight in all the right places, clinging to her like a second skin, with a slit slicing up her thigh. The emerald fabric shimmered under the chandelier. It was by far her best dress, and she knew it. Everyone in the room knew it.

James could have sworn she had said she was wearing a different dress. Too much skin, too tight, impossible to hide a weapon, and far too effective as a distraction. Every man in the building would be watching her. That was the point. And his problem.

Because she wasn't just an agent to him. She was his. His to watch, his to protect, his to hold, and worst of all? His to loose. 

These men weren't just targets. They were monsters, wrapped in suits with champagne in one hand and blood in the other. The kind of men who smiled while they ruined lives, men who saw women like Natalia as decoration, a play thing. Anything but the woman she was. Or the weapon she was.

Any other night, he might have admired the view. Maybe even peeled the dress off her himself. But not tonight. Not when she was walking into a den of men who traded guns and human lives like currency.

"Thought we talked about the dress," James muttered through the com, keeping his voice low as he adjusted the rifle's scope. "We agreed—this one was off the table. You know I can't think straight when you wear it."

Natalia slipped into the party, merging with other guests like she was a part of them. Her red curls spilled over her shoulders. Coppery waves catching light. Widow's bites fit snug against her wrists, made to look like jewelry pieces, but as far from jewelry as they could be underneath.

"James Buchanan, you better start thinking straight. You're my cover fire, and I like my cover fire focused. Besides..." She turned toward the window, her wink playful, "We both know you're not the only man who can't think straight when I wear it."

His growl rumbled through clenched teeth. She knew exactly how to push him to the edge. From the rooftop across the street he had a perfect view of the entire ballroom, covered top to bottom in wasteful decorations and booze. A mask of what the true intentions were. 

"Keep dressing like that and I'll finish the mission before you even walk in."

"Get your head out of the gutter and let me focus."

She slipped a glass from a passing tray and raised it slightly as she waved across the room at a tall bald man—Boris Popov. Low-level security for Mikail Smirnov. The target.

Mikail Smirnov—candidate for Russian Minister of Defense. Billionaire industrialist. War criminal in a three-piece suit. His kill list was longer than some countries' birth records, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had finally signed off on an extraction—dead or alive. It had only taken bodies piling up for years. By his hand or his word. Either way the blood was on his hands.

Natalia made her move, closing in on Boris with the grace of a dancer. She played with the silk of his tie, tightening it and pulling him closer simultaneously. She looked up at him, batting her long lashes and putting on a flirtatious smile. 

* "I wasn't excepting to see some one so incredibly handsome here tonight."* She cooed, fingers tailing up his chest. *"I thought it was going to be all business when I got the invitation. I almost didn't come, now I am glad I did."*

"Really Nat?" James rolled his eyes at the cheesy line.

If he had tried to pull something that cheesy she would have teased him for months. But Boris? He was eating it up. Smiling like a fool and loosening his stance. Either he loved bad pickup lines, or the woman delivering them. James had a feeling he knew exactly which one it was. And he couldn't blame the man. Not really. He had fallen for her, too. Years ago. Now he was too deep to get out even if he wanted to.

*"Now tell me, where does a girl like me find a date around here?"* She brushed away invisible lint from his lapel, letting her fingers linger.