Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Luke allowed the ice-cold water to pelt his skin before he changed the setting to the rainfall mode in the shower.
His head dropped forward, and his fisted hands pressed against the tiled wall. He had to get this woman off his mind.
He was on an op, and not just any op—one that could lead to the takedown of half a dozen terrorist groups all over the globe. He couldn’t allow his dick to compromise the mission.
But damn, ever since this woman had come blazing into his life yesterday he’d had the burning desire to shove his tongue into her mouth and grab that beautiful dark hair of hers at the same time.
He tried to fight back thoughts of her, but it wasn’t working.
After getting out of the shower and toweling off, he swiped the beads of water from his short blond hair, spiking it up a little, then wrapped the towel around his waist and went into the bedroom.
He opened the military-grade laptop he’d had delivered and popped onto a secure feed. His curiosity was piqued, and if he was going to spend the next few days—or hell, weeks—protecting this woman, he wanted to know more about her.
Midway through his search about Everly Reed and her ridiculously wealthy and famous family, an incoming call from his sister had him taking a deep breath.
“Hey,” he answered.
“President Rydell’s not happy,” she said straight away. “But, he’s trying to be optimistic about our capture of Ender, even though it wasn’t part of the plan.”
He exited the secure internet search and closed his computer. “And did you tell Will about Eva?”
“Yeah, and you know how he took it.”
He grumbled. “Well, I still doubt Ender will give us anything.” He stood and kneaded the muscles at the base of his spine, the tension building. “I assume he’s still alive?”
“Surgery went well, but we’re waiting to see if he’ll wake up.”
“’Kay. Anything on the GPS location?”
“I’m not going to hold my breath anyone will show.”
“And I have to assume Malik’s men won’t go to the address for my fake identity,” he noted.
“No, but we have someone watching, in case. We’re stretched thin right now.”
“Shit, I know. Too bad we couldn’t pull some of our men from the company to help out.”
“Yeah, I wish.” Luke released a sigh. “Anything new from the CIA about why the hell their man went rogue and killed Malik’s brother?”
“Aside from the same BS—that Malik must’ve paid Reggie Deeks a shit-ton of money to stab our country in the back . . . nope. Nothing new.”
“They confirm payment between Malik and Reggie to back up this theory?”
“Will couldn’t give me an answer, and if he pokes around too much it could tip someone off to the fact that we’re doing damage control for the CIA’s mess.”
“I’d like to know how Malik managed to find out which CIA operative was going to the meet with his brother. Hard to believe Malik could access that intel and then get lucky enough to pay Reggie off to kill Odem Yilmaz and steal the USB.”
“Yeah, so what are you suggesting? A mole in the agency?”
“There’s a reason why only four people in the world outside our team know of our existence. Hard to know who to trust these days,” he said dryly. “And I’m sure as far as the CIA’s concerned their guy never existed.”
“Yeah, well, the traitorous son of a bitch really doesn’t exist anymore since you killed him.”
Luke stood in front of the mirror over the dresser, eying the new scar on his arm from the bullet that grazed his skin three weeks ago. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”
“I don’t blame you. I just wish we could’ve taken Reggie in alive to get some answers. Hopefully, Ender can help us now.”
Had Ender Yilmaz not shown up and shot Luke at the precise time he’d been about to fire a round at Reggie’s arm—he never would’ve missed and pegged the CIA operative in the heart.
Luke dragged out a frustrated breath. “Nothing like feeling like we’re in a pressure cooker.”
“We’ll figure this out. We always do. Just try and get some rest.”
He nodded as if his sister could see him. “Anything new on Eva? Everly, I mean?” Her face scrolled through his mind like a hot flash.
“I’m sure Malik’s people will find out who she really is.” She cleared her throat.
“Yeah, okay, keep me posted.” He ended the call and dumped a bag of clothes onto the bed, but a knock at the door had his body tensing.
“Hey, it’s me.” A pause. “Well, obviously . . . if it weren’t me, we’d have some unwelcome house guests, huh?”
“You need something?” he called out and swallowed a lump in his throat, his body tightening up again, as if he were Pavlov’s dog and his bell had been rung—and, damn, he was salivating over the idea of losing himself inside of her after the frustrating hell of the past three weeks.
He needed a break. A moment to breathe and not worry about terrorists.
But this was the life he had chosen.
He wouldn’t change it, not for a minute.
But he also wouldn’t mind at least one damn night off.
“I, uh, there wasn’t any shampoo in the bathroom or the bags you gave me. Do you have any I can use?” she hollered through the door, and he felt like an idiot for making her yell the request—but his mind had . . . wandered.
“Yeah, of course.” He grabbed it from the bathroom and opened the door a few seconds later.
She staggered back a step, her eyes widening.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re naked.”
His gaze dropped to his lower half, noting his towel still secured in place. “No, I’m not.”
Her palm covered her eyes. “Close enough.” Her chin tipped up to the ceiling, and a beautiful shyness swept over her features.
He couldn’t see her eyes, but her nose crinkled, her lips disappeared inward, and her neck and ears were in the process of tinting pink.
“Here.”
She reached out, swatting the air in search of the bottle without dropping her other hand from her eyes.
He pressed it against her palm, too damn amused to say anything else.
“Thanks,” she whispered and fled, running away as if he’d been covered in explosives.
He crossed his arms, leaning inside the doorframe until she was out of sight, his body below the waist rock-hard now.
Back to the shower it was . . . because there was no way he’d endure an evening with her without first relieving some of the pressure. He was already wound up from the failed op; he couldn’t let this woman be his undoing.
“Macaroni and wine. Interesting dinner combination.”
He lowered the glass from his lips and eyed her as she strode to the table in a pair of black leggings and an oversized white tee that hung loose off her shoulder.
“You’re wearing the socks. Are you planning on dancing tonight?” A smirk met his lips.
She sat at the table and pushed her semi-damp hair to her back. The woman was naturally beautiful. Makeup? God, she didn’t need any. Her hazel eyes had captured his attention the moment they’d locked on to his yesterday.
“No dancing, but they’re too comfortable not to wear.” She looked at the bowl of macaroni and smiled. “Looks perfect.” She lifted the glass of wine he’d poured right before she’d come into the kitchen. “But I’m not sure how I feel about my bodyguard drinking while on duty.”
He took a long and purposeful swig of his wine. “No one will show up here. Besides, I can shoot better drunk than most men can shoot sober.”
Her long lashes lifted, and her eyes journeyed across the room as if she were looking everywhere possible to avoid him. “And have you ever shot drunk?”
“I’ve had to shoot on morphine while taking enemy fire, which is a close enough comparison.” He sat down, and his body tensed at the realization of what he’d said.
Her lips twisted in a knowing smile. “Military team?” She circled her index finger in the air. “Or while on this team now, the super secretive one?”
Christ. He cleared his throat and dug into his pasta instead of answering.
“Why morphine?” she asked when he remained quiet. He shoveled food into his mouth to keep himself from leaking any more info to this woman like she was some Greek siren and he was under her spell. “Were you hurt? I mean, I assume that’s what happened.”
He contemplated what to say, but the mission where his helo had crashed into Pakistan was classified.
“Leg injury.” He wondered if attempting to keep this woman in the dark would be worse than giving her some piece of the truth.
So far, she’d managed to get more out of him than almost any other woman, and he’d only met her twenty-four hours ago.
He’d never had issues with the military assumptions from women over the years, but he’d always remained tight-lipped about being part of DEVGRU.
Sometimes the lies burned his throat and tore up his insides, especially when talking to people he actually cared about. But those lies also kept people safe.
“I was Navy, but now I run a tactical security company with former military guys. That’s all I can say, and so, if you could stop prodding, that’d be great.”
“Fair enough.” She closed her eyes and then licked the drop of wine from her lips.
He rolled his neck around. The second shower had done nothing to help relieve the desire that was flooding through his veins at hyper speed.
He’d done his best not to think about Eva while jerking off, it felt creepy somehow since they barely knew each other; but she’d kept popping into his mind anyway.
“This is my favorite. German Riesling?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t take you for a wine guy.” Her lashes lifted, and she drank more.
“You seem to be making a lot of assumptions about me. I thought we addressed this issue already—about book covers and all.”
“Bad habit, I guess.”
He leaned back and gripped the sides of his seat, hooking his feet around the legs of the chair.
“Speaking of German wine, was that German you were speaking last night?”
He nodded, not sure why he’d even answered.
“And the woman you were talking to, who is she?”
“You’re still asking questions.”
“I can’t help myself. So, are you two dating?”
He dropped his head forward, and his lips curved at the edges. She just didn’t stop, did she? “No, we’re not.”