When he finished, Nasa helped her sit up, using more hot towels to wipe every bit of excess oil from her body.
“Thank you for doing this,” she managed to say.
“Thank you for asking,” he answered sincerely, then bent to press a kiss to her forehead. “How do you feel?”
Dillon thought about the low hum still vibrating through her body, wondering why he hadn't dipped his hands lower between her legs or across her breasts.
She would have welcomed any of that, but he'd been diligentabout tucking the sheets around her legs to preserve her modesty.
“I feel a little drunk. Buzzed, I guess, in a good way. I just laid there while you did all the work, but I'm exhausted.”
“That's normal,” he assured her, threading his fingers into her hair while he stared deeply into her eyes. “Do you want to have a bath here or at home?”
Dillon nuzzled into his hands, thinking about how right that word felt. How different it sounded when it came from his mouth. Nasa said, 'home,' and Dillon immediately envisioned the compound.
She'd lived in her house in Dallas for nearly five years, and she couldn't recall a time where she felt one hundred percent safe there.
Constantly checking the locks, reviewing her security cameras, worrying about whether or not she'd secured the front gate after driving through.
An odd rush of emotion swept through her, preventing her from speaking any louder than a whisper. “At home.”
“Okay,” Nasa answered, matching the softness of her voice. “I need to clean up and switch out the linens; do you need help getting dressed?”
“I don't think so.” Still, she let him help her off the table and waited for a second to make sure her legs would support her before taking off for the bathroom.
Time continued to float on by, and before she knew it, Nasa was helping her up into his truck. The muted roar of the engine and the motion of the tires on the road nearly lulled her to sleep.
Suddenly, the atmosphere changed. The hand Nasa had curled around her thigh tensed before he drew away, and the hazy feeling of relaxation disappeared with all the subtlety of a gunshot.
“Dillon, we're not far from the compound and we've got a vehicle coming up fast behind us. I need you to...” He hadn't finished speaking, and Dillon had her Colt Defender in hand, ready for action.
She turned in her seat, giving Elka the command to lie down and stay low, looking out through the back window to see a nondescript white SUV, hauling ass toward their bumper.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” Nasa demanded roughly.
She felt the powerful acceleration of the truck and split her attention between watching their tail and admiring Nasa's skillful maneuvers in and out of traffic.
The drivers of the smaller cars he roared past weren't nearly as impressed, honking their horns, throwing up middle fingers, but Nasa never wavered or hesitated.
Calm settled over her, ice cold steadiness, even though her heart rate was through the roof.
“All my leggings have concealed carry pockets. White SUV coming fast in the right-hand lane. License plate BMFU674.”
Nasa gave a darkly amused snort. “Bumfuckers, ha!”
“What do you need me to do?”
She caught Nasa giving her a molten hot look of lust, but his voice was all business.
“You just did it. Now tighten your seatbelt. I'm calling it in, and we're going to lead whoever is following us through the back entrance of the compound. Remind me to get a seatbelt harness for Elka. I don't like that she's not strapped in.”
Her already pounding heart gave a flutter to hear the anger in Nasa's voice, concerned about her dog not being secure. If Dillon hadn't been watching the SUV gain on them, she might have leaned over and kissed him.
The truck chimed when he activated the hands free, and two rings in, Top answered the phone, “Where the hell are you? That jackhole from Houston has been blowing up my goddamn phone for the last two hours because he doesn't have the breakdown of all the wayshis toad suckin' wife is bleedin' him dry, and someone changed all the goddamn passwords again without givin' me a list.”
Nasa gave a frustrated sigh. “Having a list of passwords written down defeats the purpose, Top. That's why I put the retina scanner on your desktop, so you don't need passwords, but the jackhole's gonna have to wait. I'm on my way back with Dillon, and we have an aggressive tail.”
Top's voice went hard and tight in a flash. “Location?”
Nasa rattled off the street names and the license plate she'd tagged. “They're about three car lengths behind us, and they're not even trying to be stealthy. So far they haven't—”
“Gun,” Dillon interrupted calmly, watching an arm hook out the passenger window, followed by a head and shoulders.
She took a quick photo, hoping to get a clear picture of the dark-haired man with an assault rifle in his hands.
“They're going to aim for the back tires. I can try to take out one of theirs or the driver.”
A beat of silence filled the car, and Top spoke first, “Where'd she get a gun?”
“She had it on her,” Nasa drawled, and Dillon didn't mistake the hint of pride in his voice. “The glass of the truck is bulletproof, Dillon, and the tires are all-terrain puncture proof prototypes. They can empty a clip in all four, and we won't go flat.”
Nasa hooked a sharp turn that flung Dillon back into her seat and made her lose her grip on her phone, just as the asshole behind them ripped off a series of shots.
“I'm about to turn down 2147, Top. At my rate of speed, we'll be at the back gate in eight minutes. Comin' in hot.”
“No shit,” Top snapped irately, then went on to be heard throughout the compound. “Saint! Lock down everything except the rear gate. Ruckus, call the women
