Chapter Twenty-Five
Liam made his way to the bathroom with a small smile he couldn’t shake off his face. Chelsea had jumped, and he’d never pictured her as… cute.
And that she was. Very cute, in a jumpy, sweet, sexy kind of way that he should ignore since it made her uncomfortable. Hell, it did him too, but in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe in a way he wasn’t supposed to feel again.
He squinted, not having thought about dating since Julia. Was a year long enough? Who set the rules when it came to next steps?
He entered into the bathroom and breathed in the citrus-warmed air. Humidity hung from Chelsea’s shower, and while the fog on the mirror had faded, moisture shadowed the glass with iridescent patches.
Liam stared at his reflection. Maybe he was the one to make up the rules.
Or maybe he should chill out. He was only there to enlist Chelsea’s help.
“Focus,” he said, then flipped the hot water on in the shower.
Three bottles were decorated with lemons and flowers, each with a slightly different label—shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. They were the source of the lemons and lavender scent that had driven him to distraction. Now they gave him the mental image of Chelsea rinsing suds from her body.
He’d never make it through the day if he didn’t stop the explicit thoughts. He stripped and pulled the curtain back then caught himself because there was no way he could use her lemon-colored plastic poof. A washcloth would do fine.
After a quick inspection in a cabinet and under the sink came up empty, he checked a tall, skinny closet to the side of the shower. A quick perusal showed towels, which he grabbed, hand towels, and more poofs. How many poofs does a woman need? But no washcloths.
A plastic closet organizer with drawers sat on a shelf, and he pulled the top one open—hair crap—then shut it, checking the bottom one—“Oh, damn!”
A bottle of lube and a thin pink vibrator. He slammed them away. The plastic drawer organizer pushed far into the closet.
Cringing, he tried to move it back. The last damn thing he needed was for Chelsea to think he’d snooped.
To hell with the washcloth. But he couldn’t let go of the image of the vibrator. He entered the shower as his erection thickened and let the water spray his face. Closing his eyes didn’t help.
What does she think about?
He puffed out his cheeks and blew into the water. Why couldn’t he let it go?
Liam adjusted the temperature until the water was nearly too hot, and he gritted his teeth. He shouldn’t have looked, shouldn’t have imagined. But God help him if he didn’t wonder how soft the insides of her thighs might be.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He pulled out of the scalding water and pressed against the cool tile, unable to tone down his arousal.
Why is Chelsea different now?
She’d always been attractive with a heavy curtain of dark hair that hung around her face, but he’d never wondered how the strands would feel.
Her lips had always been the same shade of pink. But now he wanted to feel them against his own.
Nothing had changed about Chelsea overnight.
Not in the last week or over the last year.
He was the one who had changed.
Hell. Liam growled and grasped the bottle of shampoo, needing to do his business then escape the bathroom. He shampooed as quickly as he could manage then used her soap to wash, praying that if he was the one to smell like a bowl of lemons and flowers, his reaction to Chelsea’s scent would wane.
He showered off then turned the water to cold, holding himself there until he had to get out.
Liam took the added step of reciting the names of every ugly, hairy, dirty, and disgusting dude he’d ever had the misfortune to smell, whether in boot camp or a cramped plane, so he could finish the afternoon without a hard-on.
Still, that wasn’t enough to calm down his curious, horny mind.
Liam wiped a streak through the steam-covered mirror and told himself, “Everything will be fine.”
It had to be. If he couldn’t concentrate while they planned, the closest thing he’d ever had to a family would be at risk.
Liam closed his eyes, aggravated that he needed a pep talk to keep himself in line. But like it or not, the lecture was needed, and the voice of his boot camp instructor barked for him to focus.
He took a deep breath and… glanced at the pile of his dirty clothes. No change of clean clothes. Awesome.
He scowled. If ever was there a screaming example of how distracted he was, then a lack of clean clothes was it. How could he protect anyone if he couldn’t manage to dress himself?
He considered donning the dirty ones but they were soaked after dripping all over them.
Liam wrapped the towel around his waist and cracked the door. “Hey, Chelsea?”
Nothing.
He stepped into the hallway and called again.
No answer. Again. Where is she?
“Hey.” He slicked water off his hair then walked toward the living room when the front door opened. “Hey—”
“Liam!” Chelsea put a hand over her eyes and spun away. “What are you doing?”
He tried not to laugh. “I was looking for you.”
“You’re naked!”
“You didn’t get a good look then.” He snickered as she continued to cover her eyes while facing away. “I’m more covered than I’d be at the pool.”
“I went to take out the trash.” She waved her arm behind her back. “Go put on your clothes.”
“Clothes are the problem and why I was looking for you.”
“What does that mean?” She stopped waving but didn’t turn.
“Mine are dirty and wet. Do you have something I can throw on?”
She waited, maybe working that over in her mind. “Hang on a second.”
Then she sped down the hall.
He stared and smiled. “I’ll be in the bathroom.”
“Sure,” she called. “Sounds good. Shut the door.”
He chuckled and wandered back to the bathroom.
A minute passed until she knocked. “Incoming.”
He cracked the door, and Chelsea blindly tossed clothing his direction then rushed away. “Thanks.” He picked up the sweats and held them out. They seemed far too large to fit her. “Whose are these?”
“What?”
He pulled on the sweatpants. Not his size, but definitely closer to his than hers. He opened the door. “Whose clothing did you give me?”
“Does it matter?” she called.
“Just curious.” Or something. He pulled the sweatshirt over his head. Was she dating someone? Did these belong to an ex? Liam pulled at the tight sleeves, making his way to the living room and spied her on the couch. “Snug fit.”
Chelsea’s eyebrow arched. “Better than a towel.”
“I appreciate the clothes,” he said. “Even if they’re small.”
Her other eyebrow arched, and she cocked her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m bigger than whoever is missing their clothes.”
Her lips parted, then Chelsea rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe men sometimes.”
“What?” he asked.
“Bigger than? Are you trying to one-up someone you don’t know?”
He balked. “No, I’m not.”
She jumped off the couch and re-enacted his entrance, strutting, and then flexed. “It’s a little tight around all these big, manly muscles.”
“You like pretending to be me, huh?”
“Who wouldn’t?” She flexed again. “With guns like these.”
He laughed. “I don’t sound like that.”
She shrugged and slid back onto the couch. “Maybe you’re wearing my dad’s clothes.”
“Then your dad’s a little skinny.”
She chucked a pillow at him.
The unknown bothered him more than it should. “You’re not going to tell me?”
She ignored him then led the way to the table. “I worked while you played in the shower. Take a look at what I’ve put together.”
He might’ve done a lot of things in the bathroom, but playing wasn’t on the list—even if he’d wanted to.
A notepad with a hand-sketched layout waited, and Liam picked it up. She’d marked the drawing with a few Xs and arrows.
He flipped through the pages and read detailed notes. Chelsea notated the Nymans’ routines—their jobs, habits, commutes, and usual errands. Basically, she’d nailed everything about how the Nymans lived. “You did all that when I was in the shower?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow.” All he’d accomplished was finding her vibe and managing not to jerk off again. “Good work, Sunshine.”
She sat down at the table and twirled a pen. “Thanks.”
Liam pulled out a chair. The condo seemed darker than it had been, as if on cue, thunder boomed and shook the condo. “Here it comes again.”
A knock on the door made him jump.
“Easy, gunslinger,” Chelsea joked and shooed him back into his chair. “I ordered pizza.”
“Good thinking.” But he couldn’t settle back into his seat. The unexpected made him edgy, and everything about today had an element of surprise. As she settled up, he walked into the kitchen, needing something to do like plates or napkins.
Liam grabbed a cabinet handle but paused. Would he stumble upon a sinfully sexy belonging? Hopefully not in the kitchen. Still, he nervously swung the door open and stole an uncertain glance. Nothing but plates. Hallelujah.
For the next few hours, they ate pizza and made plans. He marveled at how her mind worked and congratulated himself for asking her for a helping hand. This was very much her bailiwick.
By the time the pizza was gone and evening had come, they had three operational objectives, and Liam was semi-comfortable they could assure the Nymans’ safety. Though, he was less than semi-sure they could do so while avoiding Senator Sorenson’s intrusive eye.
But if they ran into a problem with the senator, he’d figure out how to cover his ass. It might even mean sharing the truth with Chelsea. He wondered how she’d react to Sorenson’s use of civilians to capture a terrorist.
Right now, that wasn’t the intel he wanted to burden her with. The repercussions could be ugly.
If only he’d had more time with Westin and Black. Liam was certain that they would see the situation from his side and would assist in detailed planning with firepower.
He flicked a pencil and watched it roll over the papers. Then he glanced at her.
Chelsea pulled a band off her wrist and knotted her hair into a messy bun. Strands fell loose, but she didn’t touch them. Maybe she didn’t notice. But he had.
It’d been hours since they first started working. While they were busy, his mind didn’t wander. Now that they were finished…? His mind was on a roll. He pushed his chair to balance on its back legs.
Thunder clapped again, and Chelsea startled. The earlier storm had been all bluster with only a few raindrops.
Now, another boom vibrated the condo, promising far more intensity than the earlier sprinkle. Just as soon as the thunder hit, thick splats of water pelted the windows.
Liam eased his chair onto the front legs. Lightning lit the darkening sky. The overhead lights flickered and turned off.
A shiver rolled down his back. He always enjoyed power outages and couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was the silence, shadows, and stillness that came with hiding in the dark.
“Guess this one is for real.” Chelsea pushed from the table and left the room.
She returned with a small plastic tub, set it on the table, and extracted a bag of small candles. “If I go through the fuss of lighting a few candles, the lights will turn back on like magic.”
He laughed. “Is that so?”
“It’s a proven fact.” Chelsea struck a match and lit two small candles then shuffled their paperwork into a pile. She gathered it in her arm and handed him the matchbook. “Maybe we need a couple more lit. There are some by the couch.”
His eyes were adjusting well in the dark, and Liam watched her store their plan in a kitchen cabinet that held a small, paper-sized safe.
He chuckled quietly. So the unexpected did exist behind cabinet doors in her kitchen.
But a safe wasn’t likely to do anything for his arousal like imagining Chelsea’s orgasm.
She returned to the living room as he struck a match and lit two candles in glass jars. They cast a warm, waving light. Chelsea eased by, taking the lit candles, and placed one on a side table and the other on the coffee table.
Lemons and lavender hung in the air.
“The quiet’s my favorite part,” he said. Gone were the hum of the circulating HVAC unit, the slow spin of a fan, and the gentle sound of the refrigerator. Their movements were the only thing that could be heard.
They stood by the coffee table, and she didn’t say anything. The small candles barely lit the room, and with each second of quiet, pressure tightened in his chest.
Liam licked his lips. His breaths slowed, and he couldn’t ignore the wonder and hunger—but he had to.
How he reacted toward her, with her, because of her… he needed to leave. He gestured toward the door. “I’ll head out.”
She gave a quiet “Oh” marred by a slip of disappointment.
Shit, that wasn’t what he needed to hear. How about a high five? A kick in the ass? Anything that would show his interest was one-sided. He didn’t want to go. That was the problem.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Not at all. He stepped closer. Her beautiful eyes watched warily. They couldn’t do this. Because of the past. Because they had a job to do. Those were catastrophic problems.
Touching Chelsea would change everything.