Moving around so that he was closer to her, he reached out and touched her cheek. As she inhaled sharply and went still, he said, “I’m sorry about . . . earlier.”
Yeah, not sure which “earlier” that would be: the twenty-five grand he’d cost her, the running from the law, the attempt to scare some sense into her . . . or The Shower.
He was surprised when she didn’t pull away. “I still don’t want you to go.”
Isaac gave that one a pass. “I like your hair down,” he said instead, running his fingers through it to her shoulder. As she flushed, he stepped back. “I’m going to bed. If you need me, knock first, okay? Knock first and wait for me to answer the door.”
She blinked quick, like a fog was lifting from her inner riverbank. “Why?”
“Just promise me.”
“Isaac . . .” When he shook his head, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay. I promise.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
He turned and left her in the kitchen by herself, taking the hall and the stairs fast, because his self-control was threadbare, and in spite of the two omelets, he was starved.
Not for food, though.
Like a total nancy, he ducked into the guest room and waited behind the closed door just so he could listen to the sound of her going up the softly creaking old stairs. When he heard her shut herself in, he pivoted around . . . and wondered what in the hell he was going to do for the next eight hours.
His cock twitched like it was raising a hand to be called on by the teacher, the erection all oh-oh-oh-oh-I- got-an-answer-for-that.
“So not going to happen, big guy,” Isaac snapped at himself.
Rubbing his eyes, he couldn’t believe he’d fallen so low as to be talking to his dumb handle. Or trying to reason with it.
And on top of that, he also couldn’t believe he’d agreed to stay—especially given who had stepped into the ring with him. But he couldn’t argue with what he’d seen in the back of Grier’s closet—and although Matthias didn’t mind collateral damage, he sure as shit wouldn’t seek it out. Especially if her dad was military: Matthias knew everyone—and was fully aware of any complications that could arise if he killed the daughter of somebody important.
With yet another curse, Isaac went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth; then he stretched out on top of the duvet and turned off the light. As he focused on the ceiling, he imagined her in that cozy bed up above him, with the television on and something from the
He wanted to be up there with her.
He wanted to be up there . . . and all over her.
Which meant he had to leave at the crack of dawn before she even woke. Otherwise he might not be able to go without trying to take something he had no right to . . . much less deserved.
Closing his eyes, he made it about fifteen minutes before his tossing and turning rode those pj bottoms so far up his crotch he felt like he could cough flannel.
If he was doing the mattress and pillow thing, he usually slept naked and now he knew why. This was f’in’ ridiculous.
Half an hour later he couldn’t stand it anymore and stripped down completely. The only thing he kept near were the pair of guns tucked just inside the blankets. After all, he might be flashing his ass, but there was no reason to be vulnerable.
CHAPTER 17
The Comfort Inn & Suites in Framingham, Massachusetts, had corridors that stank of Febreze, windows that were caulked shut, and sheets that were a little itchy. But at least the quietly humming Coke machine by the elevator spit out an endless stream of glacially cold caffeinated heaven.
Adrian Vogel loved a good Coke, preferring the old-school glass bottles to cans. But he’d take the plastic long-necks happily enough.
And he was going to buy two as soon as he got off on his floor. One for himself and one for . . . “What did you say your name was?”
The redhead next him was exactly his type: totally stacked, partially wasted, and under no illusions that this was going to be anything but sex.
“Rachel.” She smiled, showing teeth that were sparkly and superwhite. “And I think I’ll keep my last name to myself.”
Man, those chompers of hers were incredible—as lined up and shiny as bathroom tile. Then again she was a dental hygienist, so she probably got a discount.
Hell, with her looks, she could be a model for their product lines.
There was a ding and the door slid back, revealing the red-and-white vending machine of his dreams. As he stepped aside and let lovely, sparkly Rachel-with-no-last-name pass, he was well aware that he was using her, but that was a two-way street: Their conversation at the bar next to the hotel had started up over the fact that she was wrenching her wedding band off.
Apparently, her husband was fucking a friend of hers.
And it had taken Adrian ’bout a minute and a half to come up with the perfect payback.
He’d bought her a couple of drinks and then one more, and he knew he had her when she asked if he was staying in the hotel. He told her yes, he was . . . with his best friend. Who was a lot better-looking than he was.
Right, total lies-ville on that one. But he liked to share with Eddie if the women were up for it. Given the state of his buddy’s game, the fucker would never get laid if Ad didn’t bring ’em home.
“Hold up,” he said as he stopped at his machine, got his wallet out, and peeled free a couple of bills.
“You know,” his date said, “I’ve never been with anybody like you.”
Yeah, he was damn sure of that one. “Really?” As he smiled at her over his shoulder, she focused on the loop in his lower lip—and to oblige, he deliberately licked over the dark gray metal. “I ain’t so bad, am I?”
Her eyes were hungry. “Not at all. Hey, do you have a girlfriend? I never asked.”
Adrian turned back to the machine and fed the money in, listening to the little
“No,” he said, pushing the pad for a regular. “I’m not with anyone.”
Actually he had been . . . all too recently. Which was why, even though he always liked his sex, he’d been so hell-bent on picking the chick up last night and hitting on Rachel tonight.
Washing off after Devina had used him was always a process. Sure, right after she released him, the hot water and soap got rid of his blood and the other stuff that coated his skin . . . but the filthy dirty thing always persisted.
This lovely little morsel of humanity, however, was going to help replace the sensations that lingered in his body.
The ones that had nothing to do with the fading bruises on his skin.
The shit with Devina stayed with him, lingering in the back of his mind, festering. To the point where there were now two of him: the one who bantered with Jim and stayed alert and was ready to fight for Isaac Rothe’s soul . . . and the one who was curled up in the recesses of his mental park, shaking and numb and all alone.
“Diet?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
This time, his hand shook as he fed the machine’s mouth. To the point where it took him a couple of tries to get the bill in. “Hey, could you do something for me?”
“Sure.”
“Wrap your arms around me.”
