Page 82 of Hostile Rival
Our gazes burn into each other. My glare projecting confidence––his piqued with curiosity. “He didn’t.” I assure him. “And he won’t. So we don’t need to have this conversation.”
Matheus lets go and steps into me, spreading what's left of the conditioner in his palm through my soaking hair. I grit my teeth at the way he washes it with so much thought. I never knew intimacy could be this simple and intoxicating.
As he thinks, his brows pinch together. “What if I met with him and he put a gun to my head?” He stares into my eyes. “Would you kill him to save me?”
A tug-of-war plays out between my heart and my head. Quickly shaking it off, I tell myself that scenario would never play out. I inhale deeply and slide my hand between us, all the way down the planes of carved muscles in his abdomen. “Stop talking.”
He smiles a little and ignites that spark of desire in his eyes, the flare of it truly epic. My heart hammers and my clit throbs when his smirk melts into my lips, our kiss slow and sloppy.
I love how he tastes and how his fingers tighten around my roots, the slight tug of each strand rocketing a shiver down my spine.
I’m so ready for him. Until he breaks away, rakes his fingers through his drenched hair, inhaling deeply like it pains him to stop touching me, and moves past me.
“I guess time will tell who you’d choose…huh?” he calls over his shoulder, stepping out of the shower.
31
DANIELA
I’m naked and drying my hair in the bathroom when Matheus reappears, fully dressed in utility pants, a snug black t-shirt, and a baseball cap on his head.
The peak of his cap shadows his eyes. I can feel them burn into my bare ass.
His shoulder is propped against the doorjamb as I blow hot air through the hair he’d washed.
After walking out on me in the shower, leaving me breathless and frustrated, the cocky fucker can stand there and stare all he wants. I have nothing to say.
And I certainly won’t give him an eyeful by bending over to pick up the comb I’d dropped a few seconds ago…or should I? Inwardly, I laugh, switch off the hair dryer, and take my sweet time to slowly fold, ignoring the slight tug of my stitches.
Straightening, I meet his hot gaze in the mirror. He’s rewarded with my typical standoffish expression.
Yeah, smartass, I can tease too.
He pushes off the frame and advances, dropping my phone on the counter. “We’ve got a new mission. Turns out it’s just me and you this time.” A subtle smile dances over his mouth.
I grab the phone and tap open the text message. I whisper the words as I read my latest mission, which just so happens to be in our homeland, Colombia.
My eyebrows furrow as I read the summary twice. The intel is limited. All I know is the target would be in a nightclub. Coordinates are provided, the premises name noted, and a time given. Apparently, the rest of the information would follow.
He reaches across and tucks hair behind one of my ears. I unintentionally turn my cheek into the heat of his hand and then instantly sidestep away, my hip bumping into the counter.
“There’s a helicopter arriving in eight minutes,” he says, looking amused. “It’ll drop us at the nearest airfield where a private jet will be waiting.”
“Okay.” I turn my back to him. “Are you going to linger behind me for the whole eight minutes?” Our gazes clash in the mirror. He’s directly behind me now, not showing any signs of leaving. “It’s kind of stalkerish, Mat.” I lean across the washbasin and grab my toothbrush.
“Any plans for the long flight?”
I hesitate for a second, thrown by his question. “Food and liquor to help me sleep through it.”
“How about a date…well, that’s not really a question. More of an announcement.” He grins. “Me and you are having a date thousands of miles high in the sky. It will give us time to really get to know each other with no outside influences.”
I stare at him, my pulse thrumming. “Right, a date. Sounds dull.”
He takes one confident step forward and presses his chest into my back, so close I can smell tobacco and his cologne. Every time we’re together, he finds a way to touch me, even now. And I swear, when he does, another piece of my heart melts from the heat of it.
He frowns. “What sort of dates have you been on?”
I laugh at the absurdity and squeeze a streak of minty paste onto my toothbrush. “I don’t do dates. That would involve making conversation with people I’ve no interest in talking to and never want to see again.”
