risking accidental circumcision. “It’s just what happens to guys, you know . . . Morning wood.”
She sat up, looked straight at his crotch, then looked quickly away again, her face flushed. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“Oh, I’m not. I just didn’t want to you to think . . .”
She stood, looking hotter than any woman had a right to at seven in the morning, her hair hanging in tangles, the buttery softness of her robe and nightgown clinging to her curves. “There’s a bathroom through there.”
“Thanks.” He walked in the direction she’d pointed, locking the door behind him.
He lifted the toilet seat, unzipped his fly, and looked down at his dick, which was giving him the one-eyed stare from behind the waistband of his black boxer briefs. Of course, there was
It was time for a shower.
CHAPTER
8
LAURA HEARD JAVIER step into her shower and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, not sure what to think of what had just happened. She remembered putting her head in his lap, waking up in her bed, asking him to stay. She remembered, too, what his answer had been.
She’d woken up in his arms. Somehow, she’d curled up against him in her sleep, had known even before she’d opened her eyes that she was with him. It had startled her, but at the same time, she’d felt an unexpected trill of . . .
She found her handbag on the counter, took out her comb, and ran it through her tangles, then walked into the main bathroom, where she kept a spare toothbrush, and brushed her teeth. She found herself smiling at her reflection, amused by Javier’s embarrassment over an everyday average morning erection.
Well, maybe not average. From what Laura remembered—and from what she’d felt pressing against her— nothing about Javier was average.
Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t feel it coming. Grief stole up on her quietly, seeping under her skin, sliding over her like a shadow. Her smile faded. She rinsed her mouth, set the toothbrush aside, overwhelmed by a sense of emptiness.
She missed it. She missed all of it. She missed that entire part of herself—the part that had loved sex, that had reveled in intimacy, that had known how to tease, laugh, and play with a man. Al-Nassar had crushed it, stolen it, beaten it out of her, and she hadn’t realized until this moment how much she longed for it, not just the physical pleasure of sex, but the sense of closeness that came from joining with a man, giving her most private self to him, accepting what he gave her.
She inhaled, Javier’s scent on her skin, images of that weekend in Dubai sliding through her mind. Endless slow kisses, deep kisses, fierce kisses that stole her breath. Lips, hands, and skin moving over soft skin. The scent and taste of him mingling with her own scent and taste. The hard feel of him moving inside her as he took her against the wall, on the floor, in the sunken tub. The warmth of his muscular body as he lay in her bed, held her, slept beside her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, fought to stop the bittersweet barrage of memories, her life now so empty by comparison. That wasn’t how she wanted it to be. She’d never intended to live a sexless, lonely life. Yet she wasn’t sure she was capable of enjoying sex right now—with anything other than her vibrator, of course. But seeing Javier again, being close to him, waking up to find his arms around her . . .
No. She couldn’t. Especially not with Javier.
The time she’d spent with him in Dubai had been special. If she got into bed with him now, she would tarnish that precious memory for both of them. She didn’t want to risk hurting or humiliating him. And then, of course, there were her stretch marks—and the fact that someone out there wanted to kill her.
She closed her eyes, drew a few deep breaths to quash the emotions she was feeling, then turned away from her mirror, walked into the kitchen, and started a pot of coffee. Fairly certain Javier wouldn’t care much for the traditional Swedish breakfast of hard-boiled egg, cucumber, and cod roe on
There wasn’t much—green onions, some slightly wilted spinach, mushrooms, a handful of cooked baby potatoes.
She needed to go grocery shopping.
“Don’t go to any trouble for my sake.”
She gasped and turned to find Javier standing behind her. His hair was still damp, his jaw smooth and clean shaven. He’d put on a pair of jeans and a dark gray long-sleeved T-shirt that fit over the muscles of his chest like a second skin, its sleeves pushed up his corded forearms to just below his elbows. A heavy watch was bound to his left wrist by a black leather band. He looked masculine—and devastatingly hot.
Laura almost forgot what she’d been about to say. “I . . . I’m just making breakfast. Are omelets okay?”
“As long as there’s hot coffee, I’m good.” He turned, and she saw the gun holstered on his right side—a cold reminder of her reality.
She ignored it, shut the refrigerator, and retrieved two mugs from the cupboard. “Let me guess—you take your coffee black.”
“Only if I have to.” He grinned. “Why don’t you focus on the omelets, and I’ll make you coffee the way we drink it in Puerto Rico? Got milk?”
While he heated milk on the stove, she went to work on the omelets, willing herself to control her thoughts and emotions and focus on this moment instead, the two of them talking about little things. His summers visiting his grandmother and cousins in Humacao. How she’d been born in the U.S. while her father had finished his doctorate at Princeton and therefore had dual citizenship. Why she’d left Sweden when she’d turned eighteen to return to the U.S. Neither of them mentioned yesterday’s bombing, her abduction, their time together in Dubai—or the fact that they’d slept side by side last night.
Soon breakfast was ready.
Laura sat and took a sip of her coffee. “Mmm.”
“Good?”
“Yes. Mmm. Very good.” It was sweet, but not too sweet, the strong coffee aroma rich and satisfying. “Thank you.”
Then Laura asked him the question she’d wanted to ask the men who’d rescued her, the question she’d wanted to ask him since she’d found out what he did for a living. What drove some men to put their lives on the line for others, to risk
JAVIER TOOK A bite of his omelet, wondering how to answer. There were things about his past few people knew, things he wished he could forget, things he didn’t want Laura to know. She was polished, classy, smart. She’d come from a different world. How could she possibly understand?
He told her what he told most people. “I’ve always been stronger than other guys, faster, had better endurance. After I graduated from high school, I got an associate’s degree in sports medicine and landed a job as a certified personal trainer at a gym in L.A. At first, I thought it was the life. My clients were upscale. I was making good money. I had my own apartment, a shiny new Mustang. I always had a date. Life was good.”
