Page 70 of Silent Comrade
Rubbing her legs together, she winced at thedelicious tenderness in her hips. Worth it.
She froze, thinking. The next logical trainof thought which entailed logistics like meeting each other’sfriends, house key privileges, and cohabitation? None of that wouldever happen. Not with his line of work. Not as long as Beau Lequirehunted her.
She was his mission, for Heaven’s sake.
Hell of a mission.
Who was Al, really? She tensed. Staring atthe gray morning light against the window, she frowned.
“You’re thinking so loud I can hear it.” Hisbreath feathered her hair and gave her vagina total amnesiaregarding being sore.
She rolled over, her head resting on hisarm. A firm, strong biceps flexed as he adjusted position to staredown at her.
“I’m thinking you’re a terrible fashionstudent,” she said.
That quick, broad grin created warmth in herchest that spread out to her fingers and toes. He winked. “At leastyou don’t think I’m terrible at other things.”
“Like … dancing?”
Twining the fingers of his free hand inhers, he half-shrugged. “Sure.”
“Fair to middling skills there.”
“Glad it’s not a job requirement.” Hischuckle vibrated the bones in her chest. “I’ll try harder nexttime.”
She snuggled into his warm chest and hereleased her hand to tug the quilt around her shoulders. “Try anyharder and one of us will need medical attention.”
Whatever he was about to say was lost at aknock on the door.
Like a light switch flipped, every muscle inAl’s frame went tense, and he pressed a hand on her chest. “Stayhere.” The playful light in his eyes changed to a calculating andlethal squint.
It would take one fist, one flick of an arm,and he could kill someone. The guy was dangerous. She couldn’tsuppress a shiver.
What waited outside that door? She held herbreath.
Sliding noiselessly from the bed, he pausedlong enough to draw on underwear and a shirt and palm his gun. Thenhe stalked out of the room.
No limp. Hell of a recovery from a gunshotwound twelve hours prior. Two gunshots this week. She frowned.
The thudding of her heart drowned out allother sounds. The spot where he’d pressed his hand tingled withheat from his palm.
The click of a door filtered back toher.
Then she heard low, male voices. Were theythe men from JT Armstrong, back to finish the job? The guys fromthe MARTA train? Her breath rasped in and out of her mouth. Herheart hammered on ribs double time. She gripped the bedding,calculating how quickly she could open the bedroom window and howbad it would hurt when she fell three stories to the ground toescape.
More murmurs. A chuckle. Al.
No. Britt wasn’t going to cower under thecovers like a big chicken. She tiptoed around the room, pulling onsweatpants and a tank top. Crouching next to the bedroom door, sheheld her breath and listened.
“…look, Magic Mike, I know you’ve gone andlost your entire goddamn mind.” The new voice reached her.
“Keep it down. Besides, you got a betteridea? Just give me that dose already and monitor security while Irecover.” That was Al, his low voice laced with anger.
“Hard to monitor security when you turn offthe feed, bro.” A pause. “Here you go.”
“Thank God and damn it.” Al grunted and blewout an audible breath. Then two more breaths.
“Ears drying up?”
