Page 70 of Code Name: Reaper
I grabbed one box of photos, she grabbed the other, and we raced down the stairs. “Should you…?” I pointed to Mr. Hill’s house across the street.
“No.”
I didn’t try to talk her into it. While she locked the front door, I opened the hatch of the SUV and put one box in, then the other. I grabbed her wrist as she walked away. “Are you sure about this?”
“Are you?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“Then, what are you waiting for?”
The eight-mile drive from her grandparents’ place to the town house felt longer than our earlier two-hour trips. I was certain I’d hit every red light along the way.
“Maybe we should order something.”
Granted, my brain wasn’t the part of my body currently doing the thinking, but it shouldn’t affect my hearing. “What did you say?”
“You know, food?”
“You want food?” If I had to think any harder about what she was trying to say, I’d have to pull over.
“Notnow. For later.”
“Yeah. Um, later.”
“How much farther?”
“I don’t know. I think we’re close.” When I glanced over at her and saw she had one hand on her breast and the other between her legs, I almost rammed into the car in front of me. “Don’t.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to be more specific?—”
“Do not touch yourself.Is that clear enough? If you keep that up, we’re going to end up in the backseat of the SUV, behind some convenience store, and that is not the memory either of us wants of the first time we make love.”
“But—”
“I’m not kidding.” I saw our street, and blessedly, the light stayed green long enough for me to make a left turn and come to a screeching halt in front of the place. Pulling into the driveway would take too long.
“What are you doing?” she whined when I opened the hatch to get the boxes of photos.
“I thought?—”
“Stop thinking and get us inside.”
The irony might’ve been amusing if I couldthinkabout anything other than how I could not wait to see Amaryllis naked.
“Hurry up,” she demanded, shifting from one foot to the other while I tried to jam the key in the lock.
“Do you have to use the restroom?”
“What?”She screeched louder than the SUV’s tires had.
“You’re, you know, kind of bouncing around.”
She grabbed the keys from my hand and pushed me out of the way. “You are the least romantic man who ever lived. ‘Do I have to use the restroom?’God.”
The door sprang open, we raced inside, and I slammed it behind us. Then it was a frenzy of ripping clothes off. I alternated between trying to help her and removing something else of mine. “Upstairs,” I said when we were both down to our underwear.
She pulled me into the first room we came to—hers—then pushed me onto the bed.
