Page 120 of Rogue
That causes Diego to snort. “There’s got to be hundreds of dollars worth of damage in here. The booze alone . . . I’d say it’s a waste but . . .”
As they’re talking, I come to my feet, my thighs barking and my abused woman’s place worse for wear. I freeze, glancing up as Diego makes another noise. A very male sounding noise, like a groan.
Sure enough, his eyes are back on me.
“Don’t say it,” Jaxson cuts him off.
“You two are going to kill each other.”
I ignore him and quickly wrap a sheet around me. Leaving a long expanse of sheet available, in case I need to choke him.
Diego moves into the room, filling it with a wild, tempestuous kind of energy. Like a feral cat, checking out unclaimed territory. Except this room’s been claimed. Over and over and over. Marked by our lust.
He sets the antique chair upright, takes a seat, and places his rifle across his thighs.
Jaxson ignores him as he orders room service. More food than the two of us—or make that three of us?—can eat. Then he comes around the side of the bed, wraps an arm casually around my shoulder, and pulls me down to sit on the bed next to him. “Are you here for me?”
I draw in a breath. Jesus, nothing like beating around the bush.
“No.”
“Then we have a problem.”
“You have had a problem since the day you delivered her to the Ranch. I collected a hundred bucks off of Declan from a bet as to whether or not you’d fall in love with her.”
Jaxson pulls me into him. “I’ll pay you back.”
Diego looks around the room once more. “Maid service is going to be pissed off.”
“How long have you been in Paris?” I ask, my tone low and my voice full of gravel.
“A week.”
My forehead wrinkles into a scowl. “You’ve been tracking me for a week?”
“Two days. You’re learned well,amiga. You’re not that easy to find.”
“What now?” Jaxson interrupts.
Diego shifts in his seat, and retrieves his cell phone from his black-chino pants pocket. “We report in.”
He dials, then stands, stalks toward us, and hands me the phone.
Damn it. We—meaningme.
As the phone rings and my anxiousness grows about my impending conversation with Hayden, I feel the warmth of Jaxson’s hand on my arm. Comforting me. Making me believe everything will be hunky-dory. When Hayden is notorious for being anything but predictable.
“Kylie,” he answers on the third ring.
“You’ve been expecting my call?” I demand, glaring at Diego.
“You’ve been busy.”
My cheeks heat. Yeah, in more ways than one. I don’t respond, and in his typically intimidating style of conversing, he says nothing.
One. Two. Three.
“Novák’s dead.” It’s not a question but a statement. Did Jaxson report in without my knowing it?
