Page 37 of Lethal Torture
I shiver, the memory of Luke’s flat turquoise stare sending a bolt of heat through me that has nothing to do with the steady stream of water beating down on my skin.
I can still see him as he was on the water: raw, primal strength and a poetry of motion that I can’t get out of my damned head no matter how hard and fast I run. Just like those flat, brilliant eyes seem to follow me everywhere, from my dreams to the gym and now into the shower.
Thinking of him while I’m naked, blood still racing from my early-morning workout, is a big mistake.
I rinse my hair and turn the taps off, leaning against the marble wall in an effort to calm the insistent pulse of desire.
I have to get myself under control, pull my iron-hard mask down and keep it in place. I haven’t come this far just to be undone in a matter of days by a body that looks like it’s been carved from granite and a pair of eyes that make my insides dissolve.
I turn decisively and step out of the shower, reaching for a towel.
I’ve just wrapped it around my body when an arm locks around my waist in an iron grip and the unmistakable touch of a pistol muzzle presses into the base of my spine.
The eyes that have been haunting my every thought stare flatly at me in the mirror.
“Clearly,” comes Luke’s low, slightly rough voice in my ear, “there are holes in your security that we need to discuss.”
Fuck.
For a hard moment, I freeze completely.
Don’t lose your shit, Zin.
It’s a primal instinct honed throughout a life where danger has lurked in every shadow, whether it shows its face or not.
I know how to keep my cool.
Even naked, dripping, and held by an arm thick as a tree trunk, in an apartment that is supposed to be a fortress.
“Clearly.” I step lightly forward, holding Luke’s eyes in the mirror. His arm drops instantly, not attempting to prevent my movement.
His eyes are as laser clear as they were in the viewing room, and just as unreadable. Standing so close to the mirror highlights the shocking difference in our respective sizes. The top of my head barely reaches his armpit. The massive width of his shoulders and chest loom behind me, as still and unmovable as a megalith.
“I see you managed to buy a decent suit.” I pull my eyes away from his with an effort, scanning his black-clad form with as much scathing disinterest as I can muster.
Another mistake.
He wears the fucking thing like he was born to it.
I need to regain the upper hand.
I raise my eyes to his in the mirror and very deliberately drop the towel.
His expression doesn’t alter by the merest twitch.
Is the bastard carved from ice?
“Holes in my security, huh?” Turning my back, I saunter into the bedroom, swaying my ass like I’m dancing burlesque. “Wecan discuss them now, if you like.” I walk directly to the closet and bend slowly over, giving him a perfect glimpse of what he wouldn’t look at the other night.
Which, given the current state of my body, probably isn’t overly wise.
How the hell am I turned on by having a gun held to my back?
I straighten up before he can see that my body is calling my own bluff.
“We’ll discuss security as soon as you’re done here.” His voice has a low, gravelly timbre of command that sets up a delicious vibration at the base of my spine. “You have a breakfast meeting scheduled for seven, which means we have an hour.”
I’d ask how he knows that, but I’m guessing that if he can break into my bathroom, his skills extend to hacking into my schedule.
