Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Christ. Dani’s lithe little body straddled his lap, and the only barriers stopping his dick from going exactly where it belonged were their pants. The material had to go. He shaped his palms over her heart-shaped ass and flicked his tongue inside her mouth again.
She moaned and arched against him, pressing the crevice between her thighs that much closer.
All the blood left his head and filled his cock.
His member twitched and thumped against his pants, demanding to be released.
He pulled his mouth away from her delicious lips to nuzzle her throat.
Her feminine scent swarmed his head as he kissed the column of her neck.
A niggle of hesitation gnawed at his insides, but there was no fucking way he was pulling the brake on this.
It wasn’t that he feared he’d regret sleeping with her.
Where Dani was concerned, regret didn’t linger when it came to sex.
Nor was it that he didn’t want to complicate things between them.
Right now, he cared about one thing only: getting inside her.
No, the doubt had nothing to do with all the real reasons they shouldn’t be intimate right now and everything to do with the stark, nearly sobering fear that getting naked with Dani would cause her to distance herself.
Ah, shit. He closed his eyes and pressed his face between her full, perky breasts.
She wiggled against him. “Brock. Why’d you stop?” Her throaty question was enough for him to bring his fingers to her pants. He couldn’t form a cognizant thought.
“I want you so damn bad,” he said against the creamy skin at his mouth. He licked the top of her breast and she gasped.
“Honey, if you have any reservations about fucking, you’d better say so now.” He worked his index and middle finger inside the waistband of her pants and stroked the delicate lace beneath.
Her body tensed and her nails curled into his shoulders. If she didn’t give him the green light, he would burst. Her chest flattened against his and she curled her arms around his neck in a hug.
No.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she said. “I want to . . . believe me. But if we do, we’ll regret it. You know that. Things will never be the same between us. But maybe we can be friends now.” Her voice broke on the words, and pain expanded in his chest.
He wanted to be angry. To toss her from his lap and run the streets of the damn city until his blue balls went away. But he couldn’t do any of that. Not when she clung to him as if he were a lifeline.
He forced his head to nod and retracted his fingers from the warmth of her underwear. “All right.” Hell, he sounded like a petulant teenager. He didn’t agree with her, but he had no choice but to respect her decision. Even if it fucking sucked.
She leaned back in his arms and he lifted his gaze to take in her face.
Her luscious lips were plump and pink from his kisses.
The clear blues of her eyes clashed with the black eyelashes that framed them, creating the brightest aquamarines he’d ever seen.
A rosy tint speckled her cheeks and neck.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and dragged her top teeth over her bottom lip.
God, she was beautiful. She wiggled on his lap, separating their crotches. He ached for the closeness of her heat.
“Are you mad?”
He pressed his hands to the sides of his thighs to stop himself from touching her. “No. ’Course not.”
A shadow crossed her face and guilt marred the light in her eyes. She knew him better than that.
He forced a half grin and chucked her under her chin with his knuckle. “You know you can’t resist for long and I promise, when we do have sex, your legs will be shaking.”
She snorted out a laugh but her skin flamed red.
There was that sound he’d missed so much. Her laugh. It drew him in from somewhere deep inside his chest and pulled at the memories in his brain that had refused to forget her all these years.
“Very funny.” She clambered off his lap and worked strands of her hair around her fingers. She might have just shot him down with the emotion of an ice queen, but she sure as hell didn’t seem confident in her decision.
He couldn’t blame her. They had serious issues, and if they were home right now, none of this would have happened.
Hell, she still wouldn’t be speaking to him.
The last thing he wanted was for her to regret sleeping with him.
But goddamn, he wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life.
“Can I ask you something?” Her fingers fell from her hair and she mindlessly straightened the bedding they’d wrinkled moments before.
“Shoot.”
“Earlier, when I said you were a criminal, you said, ‘Who said I still do that.’ Did you get out?”
He picked up his tattered shirt from the floor and tossed it in the trash. No point trying to remove the blood or sew the bullet hole. He went to his bag, dug out a fresh shirt, and weighed his words.
“I don’t do heists like we used to. I have a different operation, but I wouldn’t say it’s much better. Just less risky.” He pulled on a long-sleeved white shirt and nodded at his injured arm. “Thanks for helping with that.”
She waved the last part away, her interest locked on his face. “What kind of operation?”
He chuckled and leaned against the desk opposite the bed. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”
“What, like I’m going to rat you out? If I’d wanted to do that, I would have done it when you’d have gotten hard time.
Tell me.” She narrowed one eye, which warned him she wouldn’t let this go.
He didn’t want to talk about his illegal activities.
And actually, that life was getting really fucking old.
He was getting old. At thirty-two he wanted to settle down—not worry about losing everything and going to jail.
More importantly, he wanted a life with someone.
Someone like Dani.
Nope. He couldn’t go there. He’d fucked up royally and she’d made it blatantly clear that she had no room in her heart for forgiveness.
He sighed. “Let’s just say I’m into online sales, all right?”
She leaned forward on the bed, her hands clasped over her knees. “Like what? Are you selling something bogus?”
Insulted, he tapped his fingers on the edge of the desk at his hip.
“Hell no. I have a team that hijacks delivery trucks. Major appliances, sporting equipment, stuff like that. I have an off-site garage and sell the items online.” He reached for a small bottle of water on the desk and downed it.
“It’s actually quite lucrative and a hell of a lot more stable than one big random job two or three times a year. ”
“But more tedious.”
“Yeah, there’s that. And I have more people working for me than I’d like, but it allows me to stay pretty hands-off.”
“Hmm. Well, I guess you’re still very much into it then, aren’t you?” Disappointment laced her words.
Had she hoped he was out? Why would she care if she wanted nothing to do with him?
The need to tell her what he hadn’t said aloud to anyone tugged at him.
He crunched the plastic bottle in his hand.
Exposing his deepest wants to Dani shouldn’t be so hard.
But fuck, when she was around he felt exposed, vulnerable, and, hell, even pathetic.
“What is it?” She watched him carefully.
He shrugged. “You’re right, is all. I haven’t gotten out.
” He picked at the label of the bottle with his thumb, keeping his gaze away from the heat of hers.
“I don’t enjoy it anymore. The thrill is gone.
Even when I started stealing from the trucks .
. . it’s just not worth it.” He chortled.
“It’s stupid. But I have nothing else I can do.
I’ve been doing this so long, I don’t even know how to be different. ”
He peeked up. Her eyes had softened, but she didn’t say a word. He tossed the bottle in the recycling bin and rocked back against the desk. Silence stretched, and the need to explain himself further pulsed through him.
“Milo and Serena . . . they have it figured out. He’s into renovating houses, she sells them. It’s a good gig. And they’re happy.”
Dani stood and crossed the room. She stopped in front of him and folded her arms over her chest. “We—”
Ring, ring
He jumped as his phone burst out in song and then fished it from his pocket. Shit. “It’s Leland. I’ve got to get this.” He answered the call and pressed the device to his ear. “Hey—”
“What the fuck, Brock! A dead body? Tell me you don’t know anything about this.”
Brock mumbled a curse. Jesus. How could he have forgotten about the Interpol guy? “Man, I’m so sorry. There was a break-in and—”
“Don’t give me that. Your friend, Danielle Metcalf, US citizen, is all over the news and wanted as a fucking terrorist.”
Brock’s stomach lurched. “W-What?”
“Turn on the TV.”
He grabbed the remote off the desk and turned on the flat screen that hung on the wall. He flicked through the channels until he landed on the news.
Danielle Metcalf is believed to be involved in a bioterrorism attack in Geneva, Switzerland. The twenty-eight-year-old United States citizen . . .
Dani inhaled sharply behind him. “Oh my god.”
He turned to face her. Leland’s voice droned on in his ear. “Is she there with you? You need to turn her in, Brock. You’re going to end up—”
Dani’s face went from stark white to fluorescent green as two images of her—a social media profile picture and her driver’s license photo—filled the screen. Brock hung up the phone and caught her by the elbows as her knees gave out.
. . . suspected of murdering Interpol agent Rudolph James. Police are investigating the agent’s reasons for being at the young American’s residence off duty.
He wanted to ease her terror, to comfort her, but fear ate away at his attempts. One thing was for sure: they weren’t safe here anymore.
“Oh my god. Brock, I’m going to prison.” A sob tore through Dani’s chest. Brock crushed her against his body. She scrunched his shirt in her hands, anchoring herself to him. Her nails dug into his skin, but if he cared, he didn’t flinch.
“I won’t let that happen. I promise.” The rough edge of his voice broke with doubt.
“They’re going to find us. Just like the men at the library.” She backed out of his embrace and fisted her hands in the hair at her scalp. “I mean, how do they keep finding me? Ubrigg’s men, the Interpol agent, the guys from the library . . . It doesn’t make sense.”
Brock straightened. “Where’s your phone? The non-encrypted one?”
She went to her purse. “It’s here. But it’s off and I even pulled the battery. That makes it untraceable—right?”
“Yeah. Far as I know.” He snapped off the back of the device. A small chip, no bigger than a SIM card, fell onto his lap.
Her vision blurred and she reached out to grab the wall. “What’s that?”
He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and held it up. “It’s a tracking device. Get your stuff—now.”
Ice coated her veins, making her skin pucker.
Questions whipped through her mind. “How did that get there?” Still holding the device, Brock ushered her toward her suitcase.
The fibers of her lungs cramped on every breath.
Someone had been close. Close enough to plant the device—but why not kill her then?
“We need to get as far from here as we can. We’ll discuss it later.”
His words popped the bubble of gray that wanted to suck her into oblivion.
She grabbed the stray garments on the chair then ran to the bathroom for her toiletries.
By the time she’d zipped up her go bag, Brock had his suitcase upright and was scanning the perimeter of the room.
He slapped his hands to his pockets. “Got your passport?”
“Still in my bag.” She slung it over her shoulder. “Why? It’s not like I can use it. We’ll be lucky if we make it out of the hotel without someone calling the cops.”
“Damn it. You need a disguise.” He pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Can you do anything with your hair?”
She toyed with the strands confined in a ponytail. “Like color my hair? I don’t have any dye.”
“Nah. We don’t have time for that. Maybe later. I have a hat—can you tuck it under?”
“I think so.”
He pulled a baseball cap from his bag and handed it to her. She freed her hair from the elastic, wound up the strands on top of her head, and fit the baseball cap overtop. Then she tucked the wayward strands under the rim.
Brock dug deeper in his bag and pulled out a sweatshirt. “Wear this instead. It’ll hide your frame. The yoga pants still give away that you’re a woman, but with your face hidden, you won’t draw that much attention.”
She fit the sweatshirt over her head and turned to the mirror. Whoa. The hat and lack of hair framing her face made her features appear sharper. And makeup-free face and the men’s sweatshirt certainly aided in making her look less feminine.
“Still beautiful.”
She snapped her gaze to Brock’s in the mirror.
She had to tip her head back an inch to take in his full height.
He stepped behind her and his body towered over hers, his frame easily twice her width.
He brought his hand to the nape of her neck.
A tingling sensation rippled over her skin.
He planted a kiss on the top of the cap and squeezed her shoulder.
“Time to go.”
She nodded and followed him out of the room. In the elevator, he hit the button for the garage.
“Where are we going if I can’t use my passport?”
He leaned his back against the elevator wall and grinned. “You’re forgetting where we came from.”