Chapter Nine #3
She believed he would do anything to make that happen. He was the kind of man who kept his word. He had even gone to prison to keep a promise to Mike.
They exited with their purchases and luggage, then entered a sad lobby with brown floors and a big fleur-de-lis affixed to the front of the check-in desk.
An old man who couldn’t have acted more bored checked them in.
Up a narrow stairwell, past a broken light fixture, then down a hall with green turf open to a dingy pool atrium below, they found room 218.
Nick shoved the key in the cinnamon-colored door with rusting accents.
Inside, the burgundy-and-beige-patterned carpet didn’t quite hide the stains.
Same with the brown bedspread splashed with red, blue, green, and pink blobs that might have once been flowers.
A musty, moldy odor wafted from the air vents and blended with the stench of cigarette smoke.
“Jesus, this place is worse than I thought.” Nick grimaced.
It was, but that wasn’t really Sasha’s concern right now.
The big blue numbers on the nightstand’s cheap digital clock read five minutes after two. They had four hours to wait. As antsy as she felt, how could she kill the time?
A glance at Nick gave her ideas that made her body flash hot.
He unloaded their luggage and purchases onto a desk shoved in the corner and frowned. “I’m fucking beat.” He lowered the spread on the king-size bed, then sat and doffed his boots. “Let’s get this video copied so we have backups. Then we can grab some shut-eye.”
“Are you going to e-mail one to the Santiagos?”
He grabbed the computer, plugged it into the outlet, and connected to the Internet signal. “Not on this hotel’s Wi-Fi. It’s not secure. Getting on the network didn’t even require a password. I’ll send the evidence using my hot spot.”
The file took a while to send, but it finished and he closed the laptop’s lid. “Done.”
“So the evidence is safe?”
He nodded. “Clifford can’t squirm away now.”
Sasha closed her eyes in relief. This violent, tragic period in her life might really be over. She wanted Mike’s killer punished so she could finally live again. It seemed so surreal that after fifteen months of fear, danger, and near death, this nightmare might be over in four short hours.
Where would she and Harper go then? Where would they settle down? What would they do with the rest of their lives? How would she feel when she didn’t have to spend her every waking moment with Nick?
Empty. She didn’t want to live without him.
“Wake me in an hour,” he insisted.
“All right.”
“Thanks.” He tugged off his shirt.
With the fabric gone, Nick exposed tribal tattoos that swept up his lean ribs on one side, covered his bulging pectoral, drifted around his solid shoulder before changing direction to cascade down his rippling biceps and thick forearm.
Sasha tried not to swallow her tongue as he lay on one side of the bed, closest to the door, and his body stilled.
In seconds, he dropped off. His deep, even breathing was barely audible in the room. And she was still staring at him, dazed by the sight of his wide back bunched and defined with more muscle.
Goodness, Nick Navarro was a beautiful man.
He wasn’t Mike. No one was. But she’d loved her late husband the way a girl cherished Prince Charming.
She’d given her heart to him in a sugary drop, fallen with him into a champagne bubble of warmth and comfort.
His death had burst that. With the pretty pink bow of forever ripped away, Sasha had been forced to push through thorns and become a woman.
Her sweet prince would never ride up on his white horse to save her because the villain had killed him. But the big, dark Beast beside her now would vanquish the demon, with her at his side. And she would fight to the death to protect her child—and her future with Nick.
There was nothing soft or sweet or innocent about the way she wanted him. She ached for him desperately, urgently, passionately. He challenged her between the ears, roused the flesh between her legs, and ignited a blaze between her ribs she suspected would burn eternally.
Asking how or why was a stupid waste of time.
Mike’s murder had proved that no one was guaranteed a tomorrow.
She was going to wring every moment—and experience—she could from her time with Nick.
She was going to tell him what was in her head and her heart.
If he didn’t want her for more than a night…
well, she would at least have the satisfaction of knowing she had given herself completely and honestly.
Suddenly, as if he sensed her gaze—or her decision—his eyes flashed open. Sasha found herself freefalling into his relentless stare, which seemed to remove every stitch from her body, despite the fact he wasn’t touching her at all.
“Nick?” She heard the breathlessness of her own voice.
“I need a shower,” he growled as he bounded off the bed and nearly ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Sasha frowned. He was…so jumpy. Tense. Wound up.
Sexually frustrated?
Suddenly, all the showers he took—morning and night—made sense.
He wasn’t a clean freak or a germophobe.
If he had been, they certainly wouldn’t be staying in this dive of a motel.
He was masturbating in the shower to curtail his desire so he wouldn’t jump on her like the ravenous Beast she suspected he could be.
Like she wanted him to be.
It was up to her to prove she could not only handle that animal part of him, but that she craved it.
They still had hours to kill before they could return to Josh’s place, so now was the perfect time to show Nick exactly the woman she’d become.
His woman.