Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
“I don’t want to see you,” Eva called out when Luke knocked on her bedroom door. “I need more than the hour you’ve given me to cool off.”
“You know I can get in, whether you choose to let me in or not.”
She shoved the MacBook off her lap. “If you come in, you’ll see me naked.” That lie would stop him from breaking down the door, right? She hoped so, at least.
“Great. I could use something to cheer me up after a Hollywood star all but stuck her sharpened claws in me earlier.”
Eva dropped her feet to the ground and stood, fired up. “Wow. Are you that big of a wuss that you can’t take a couple of cat scratches?” She pressed her palms to the door. “And don’t even think about referring to me as a pussy as a retort.”
“The thought never crossed my mind, Hollywood.” There was a definite amused chuckle that swiftly breezed through his words.
“I was never a star, by the way. I did my best to avoid being on screen. I just got dragged into the limelight by being surrounded by stars.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Are we gonna keep having this conversation through the door?”
“Kind of how everything started with us.” She lifted her head. “Better than you seeing me naked, anyway.”
“Hm. I don’t know about that.”
“You wish, Commando.” This man could melt her insides like butter with one look, but she’d never let him know the power he wielded.
She had to stay resolute; she had to get him to give her some sliver of an idea as to what she was really up against. What if something did happen to him?
What if she were left in the dark and had no way of protecting herself from an enemy unknown to her?
She hoped nothing would happen, but he was clearly in a dangerous line of work, the kind of work where any day could be your last.
How does one live knowing that tomorrow isn’t promised? Of course, the same held true for everyone with a pulse, didn’t it? There were no guarantees, but in his case, he was literally putting himself in front of men with bullets, and so the risks were amplified.
She wondered what life would be like if she lived each day to its fullest. She’d been hiding so long, too afraid to step out of the shadows that clung to her now, she had no idea what it’d be like to be carefree.
She’d been so by-the-book and “good” as Everly Reed to prevent the media from ever writing a salacious story on her, she really hadn’t gotten a chance to live all that much.
“Are you going to open it, or what?”
“Well, do you have anything new to say? Or did you come here to show me your tail between your legs in hopes I’ll be a good girl and forgive you?”
He didn’t respond, but she had a feeling he was merely biting back some one-liner in reference to her good girl comment. She almost wanted him to piss her off so she wouldn’t open the door and have to look into his too-damn-blue-to-be-true eyes.
“I’ll let you in if you tell me something. I’ll even sign some nondisclosure agreement.”
“Yeah, sure . . .”
“Wives of SEALs have to sign one,” she noted, remembering her research.
“Are you my wife?”
“A man like you won’t ever get one, will you? Not while you’re chasing bad guys.”
“Can you please open the door?” he requested, a throatier sound to his voice this time. His patience was clearly wearing thin.
“Do we have a deal?” She eyed the door and tightened her grip on the knob as she waited.
“One question only.”
“Three,” she sputtered back.
“One.”
“Three.”
“Two,” he bit out.
She flung the door open with a triumphant smile, getting exactly what she’d wanted.
What she hadn’t expected to see was the SEAL standing before her in navy workout shorts that stopped just above his knees, and no shirt again.
A sheen of sweat rolled over his muscles, and the slight chest hair across his pecs made him even hotter.
“So, looks like you’re the only naked one.”
“We need to work on your definition of naked again.” He brushed his hand through the air in her direction as he studied her clothed body.
“Were you working out?” She hadn’t meant to stare at his abs or the hard planes of his body . . . or the shoulders that were perfect for grabbing onto while making love.
God, this man didn’t make love, did he? No, his body was made for much naughtier things. No, he probably screwed women all the way to Oz and back.
“And this is why I shouldn’t have opened the door.”
“Say what?” He sat on the edge of her bed.
Did I say that aloud? Shit. “Nothing.” Her eyes widened when he lifted her laptop and held it before him. “Put that down!” She rushed toward him, snatching it from his grasp.
One dimple she hadn’t noticed before popped in his right cheek as his eyes caught hers. He’d never smiled big enough to expose his teeth before. “Are you writing a sex scene in that script?”
“You wish.” She closed the laptop and placed it on top of the dresser. “I didn’t mean—”
“Relax, Hollywood.”
“Maybe I would if you stopped calling me that.”
“Maybe you’d relax? Or maybe you’d write about sex?” He smiled again, and her heart danced.
He stood and tucked his hands in the pockets of his shorts. The material was that breathable kind of fabric, but it was also thin. She could make out the line of his very impressive package. She had a feeling if they exchanged any more banter he might just show off even more.
At this rate, her lip would become a permanent fixture between her teeth. “I never write sex scenes, by the way. My scripts always fade to black. If the director wants to be more creative, so be it, but I can’t write the vulgar details of such scenes.”
“Vulgar, huh?” His shoulders rounded back, which had his chest lifting. “You have a thing against sex?” He angled his head to the side, his blues traveling the length of her body, upward from her toes.
“I don’t like writing about it. Too many moving parts.” She flipped her wrists as if dismissing the idea.
“Maybe you haven’t had the best experience to draw from.”
One step.
He edged only one step closer to her, but that one step was so powerful, it had her bumping up against the dresser.
Predator. Prey.
Check. Check.
The look in his eyes made one thing perfectly clear: he wanted her.
And maybe she’d only be a casual lay. Maybe that’s all the man was capable of—and maybe she should be offended by a man wanting her sexually while he’s supposed to protect her, but her body didn’t seem to give a shit.
Her body craved the rough hands of this stranger running over every inch of her.
There’d only been one time in her life when white-hot lust had crept up on her, making her weak with the insatiable need to have sex.
Craig Louis. He’d been a childhood TV star who’d lured her into his trap of charm and sexiness, and she’d given him her virginity at seventeen. And Craig had dumped her as soon as he’d realized dating her wouldn’t land him a role in any of her father’s movies.
“My two questions,” she rushed out, deciding to protect her heart, even if her body didn’t want to listen.
She wasn’t quite ready to live freely yet, especially with a man like this, a man who could clearly pulverize her heart with one crushing flick of his wrist when he dismissed her later.
Not that he’d probably have a choice in the matter given his top-secret life. “I want my two questions.”
He heaved out a deep sigh and looked at the ground briefly. When his eyes found hers again, the smoldering look faded, and fast.
And why was that disappointing to her? She’d been the one to flip the switch.
“What do you want to know?”
She walked past him to the en-suite bathroom and grabbed a towel. “First, wipe that sweat from your body. It’s distracting.”
His lips curved when he caught the towel.
He loved making her uncomfortable, didn’t he?
Surely he could tell by looking at her she was fighting the impulse to squeeze her thighs together.
She couldn’t stop herself from imagining how it’d feel to have him part her legs with his knee and press his mouth to her center.
“Hurry,” she cried, as he continued to slowly torture her by rubbing the towel across his tan body. Who the hell is still naturally tan in January—other than actors? And his tan was definitely a result of the sunshine. No way in hell this man cooked beneath fake rays.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
She’d prefer Hollywood to ma’am. “Ma’am is for teachers, mothers, and anyone over forty.”
“Really?” He clenched the towel tight between his palms. “Want me to grab a shirt, too, before I break government protocol and answer your two questions?”
“Like you’ll tell me anything too classified,” she snapped.
“‘Fuck classified,’ right?”
She spun in the other direction because it was the only way to steal her gaze away from the ripple of his flesh. “Sure,” she whispered, a chill snaking up her spine when she felt his breath meet the nape of her neck like it had last night at dinner.
He shifted the hair over her shoulder. His lips brushed against her earlobe, and the honest-to-God, only-happens-in-the-movies tingles swept from her neck down the curve of her back and to her ass.
“What are you doing?” she meekly asked and her eyes fell shut.
“Making you as uncomfortable as I am,” he whispered.
Didn’t he know she’d crossed that line basically the moment he told her she needed to hide in the woods or die?
Sexual tension was a blip on the radar compared to her life being threatened, wasn’t it?
But she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “I make you uncomfortable?”
Another warm breath kissed her skin, and this one had her breasts puckering to new life, getting overly optimistic that a touch after a long dry spell was imminent.
“You want me to talk about my job, and that makes me uneasy.”
“Oh,” she said, a whisper of disappointment softly echoing inside of her.
His hand curved over her shoulder. “Sure you don’t want to back down?”