Page 74 of These White Lies
One bed. With Elizabeth. How the hell am I going to keep my hands off her after that kiss?
The universe hates me.
I don’t say a word about the sleeping arrangements as we climb the staircase. When Elizabeth pauses just past the threshold, her gaze skims over the queen-size bed and then farther into the small room, searching for a sofa that doesn’t exist. I brace for her reaction.
“Only room left.” I lift my hands in a sheepish gesture.
“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say.” She doesn’t sound upset, and I let out my breath.
She nods toward the bathroom. “I’m going to change.”
“Into what?” Neither of us brought extra clothing, expecting to return to Atlanta the same day.
“The robe.”
For a split second, my brain short-circuits. I picture her in soft, white terry cloth, cinched at the waist, nothing underneath. My mouth goes dry.
I shake my head hard, shrug off my overshirt, and hang it on the back of a small chair, before setting my holster and gun on the table within easy reach. Retrieving my phone, I call Vincent.
“We had a tail in Savannah. I’m pretty sure they didn’t follow us here. They may have come across the same lease and had the same thought we did. But just in case, I’m not risking going back for our vehicle, so I need you to have one delivered to us.”
“Anything specific?”
“Silver or blue. Mid-size SUV. No GPS in case their guy’s better than Finn thinks.”
“You want weapons stashed?”
I picture Elizabeth’s face. “Yeah. I’m not taking any chances.”
My gaze flicks to the bathroom. I can hear faint movement inside. The quiet thump of a hanger against the wooden door.
“You want me to send backup?”
I think it over, weighing the risks. “No, I think we’re okay for tonight. My gut tells me they were checking the apartment, but I want to play it safe. We’ll lie low until tomorrow.”
“Did you find anything at the apartment?”
“A burner,” I say, leaning back in the chair. “Haven’t had a chance to look at it yet.”
We finish the logistics, and he promises to text me the address where someone will drop off the car. Ending the call, I set my phone on the table and turn toward the sound of the bathroom door opening.
My brain stalls.
Elizabeth steps into the room, and for a second I can’t look away. She’s wrapped in a thin, white cotton robe, her hair loose around her face. Her pink lips lift in a smile when she sees me.
She’s beautiful.
As Elizabeth moves to the table, and I can almost believe we are on a romantic getaway like the other couples we passed today. I force myself to blink and focus on the job and not on the way the material clings to her breasts as she walks, the two sides fluttering, showing a hint of her bare legs.
“So,” she says, lips quirking. “What are we going to do for the rest of the day?”
My voice comes out a little rough. “First things first—room service.”
“I could eat.”
She takes the menu, and leans one hip against the table. I attempt to concentrate on the burner phone in my hand instead of the curve of her waist and the peeks I’m getting of her creamy skin. My gaze lasers onto the hanging belt. One pull and…
“What do you want?” Her question makes my eyes snap to hers.
