She hadn’t exactly been planning to run through a downpour and go back to the hotel with a strange man. She sniffed again, looking away.
“Don’t cry,” he said gruffly.
“I’m not,” she said, swiping at her eyes again. Feeling the wetness of her tears on the back of her hand. “I’m perfectly fine. What floor is your room on, anyway?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’re not crying?”
“Of course not—don’t be ridiculous.”
“Eight.”
“Eight?”
“The floor.”
“Oh. Right.”
She avoided his gaze, glancing at the advert for London restaurants on one wall of the elevator. The slightly worn edges of the carpet.
“I guess the saying about Brits is true,” he commented dryly.
“And what saying is that?” she asked, regaining some of her composure as the elevator dinged at his floor and the doors opened.
“You have a stiff upper lip.”
She huffed, trying to hide her amusement as she stepped off into the hallway. “And are all American men as rude as you?”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve been nothing but a gentleman, princess,” he said, easily falling in step beside her. Fortunately, she’d chosen the right direction to walk on. Or else he was just humoring her.
He took a quick glance over his shoulder behind them, then rested one large hand on the small of her back. They could’ve been any other couple walking to their hotel room—except she was drenched. Frightened. Exhausted.
“Not hardly,” she said. “You just pointed out that I was standing in the elevator crying—there’s hardly anything gentleman-like about that.”
“And I was supposed to just ignore a woman crying and stand there like some asshole? That doesn’t seem very chivalrous. Not that I’m usually the chivalrous sort—you must bring it out in me.”
“I’m beginning to think your tough-guy act is just a show.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“The tattoos, the scowl on your face.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he muttered, pulling a card from one of the pockets of his cargo pants. He swiped keycard to the door of his room and shoved it open, taking one last glance around the hallway. “Home sweet—well, whatever the hell it is. You know, usually when I bring a woman back to my hotel room, I’m trying to undress her, not offer her dry clothes.”
“How comforting,” she murmured, taking in the piles of rumpled clothes, his military issue duffel bag, and backpack scattered on the floor.
He secured the door, taking a cursory glance into the bathroom, and then swaggered by her—really, there was no other description for the way he moved. His broad shoulders framed the bulging biceps of his arms, the muscles of his back. His hips narrowed where his pants perfectly hung, showcasing his ass. Why yes, she was actually staring at this man’s ass.
Did her rescuer have to be so bloody good-looking?
Hunter crouched down, digging around in his duffel bag. Grumbling to himself, he stood, tossing both the backpack and duffel bag onto his neatly made bed, pulling the earpiece from his ear as he muttered a curse.
A loud noise in the hall startled her, and she jumped, her heart racing.
“Ice machine. Damn thing makes noise day and night.”
Her eyes widened as he pulled a gun from his bag, checking the cartridge before setting it on the night table. “I’ve got a gun and a Ka-Bar,” he said, his blue eyes meeting hers.
“Ka-Bar?”
“Military-issued knife. I don’t want you to be frightened, but we don’t know who’s been following you. If they tried to grab you in Kabul and ransacked your apartment, we’ll need a hell of a lot more firepower than this.”
“Firepower?”
“It’s not like I’m carrying around a couple HK416 assault rifles. We need to be careful.”
“Maybe I should just go back to the police.”
“Maybe so. But if someone is following you in the meantime, I want to be prepared. My goal was to get you out of the damn pub unharmed. Turning over the information you have is second on my list of priorities.”
He stood and stripped his wet tee-shirt above his head, revealing an abdomen full of rippling muscles. She forced herself to look away, to look around the hotel room, to let her gaze rest anywhere but on him.
His low chuckle sent a feeling of warmth through her shivering body, and she could feel the blush spreading across her cheeks.
“Hell, I don’t mind if you watch.” He winked as she hastened a glance back, much to her utter mortification. There was a third tattoo—some sort of round, tribal symbol across his broad pec. Briefly, she wondered what other tattoos he had—maybe something across his back. Something underneath his cargos. No doubt he’d gladly show her if she asked—and there was absolutely zero chance of that happening.
“Let me grab some clothes for you. I’d offer you a warm shower, but we can’t stay here. Not at the risk someone else was watching us. Let’s gather up some things and go.”
He pulled a clean tee-shirt from his pile of things and tossed it toward her.
She caught it clumsily and then glanced around.
“Go change in the bathroom if you want. Me? I’m not shy.” He unbuttoned his wet cargo pants and pushed them down, and then she was turning, moving toward the bathroom. But not before she’d seen those tight, black boxer briefs—the thick muscles on his thighs. The very large, ah, package concealed beneath his boxers.
Good heavens.
Pink tinged her cheeks as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom, and yes—you could see the lace of her bra though the wet, light pink cashmere sweater. The outline of her nipples as they pebbled in the cold. Silly her for wearing a sexy lace bra while outrunning the bad guys.
Hmmph.
She had a whole drawerful of beautiful lingerie they’d probably torn through back at her flat. She’d have to burn it all now. She couldn’t imagine wearing or wanting any of her things after grubby hands had sifted through her intimate belongings.
She dropped her backpack onto the counter, eyeing the water stains disdainfully, and quickly pulled off her soggy sweater. Tugged on the oversized tee-shirt of Hunter’s—and bloody hell, it even smelled like him.
Clean. A hint of spice.
Hadn’t he been deployed somewhere on a mission?
How’d his clothes smell so damn good?
She inhaled, suddenly feeling foolish. Never mind that his tee-shirt was now resting against her lace-clad breasts, covering her skin. The cotton had touched him—and there was something sexy as hell about wearing a man’s shirt.
About Hunter’s need to protect her.
She was being ridiculous though. They needed to get out of here, not wait around while she swooned over what was likely an insignificant act. She was soaking wet. They were on the run. And they needed to get the documents turned over to the proper authorities.
Opening her backpack, she pulled out her mobile. She had three new messages from friends, but she hastily texted her neighbor.
Someone’s been following me. If you see anything else suspicious around my flat, ring the police immediately.
She glanced toward the bathroom door, which she’d left ajar, and heard Hunter zipping up a bag. Deciding she had a minute to spare while Hunter gathered up the rest of his things, she turned on the hair dryer and quickly dried her dampened locks. She’d just about kill for a hot bath at the moment, but not feeling like a drowned rat would be a start.
“All set, princess?” a deep voice asked, sending her shrieking.
One large hand caught hers while the other neatly nabbed the hairdryer from midair. “It’s just me,” Hunter said, letting his fingers curl around her own. Holding her hand for a beat while she trembled.
“Holy shit,” she protested, tugging her hand away. Immediately regretting the loss of his touch. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”
“Y
ou knew I was right in the other room—and besides, you left the door partway open.”
Emma blew out an exasperated breath. “That’s because I wanted to be aware if anyone was coming! You know, in case they tried to break down the door of the hotel room and come in here after us?”
He quirked a brow. “So you turned on the hair dryer? Where exactly were you planning to run in the bathroom anyway? It’s not like you can stand there and stop them with a blast of hot air.”
“No—I just—never mind. I was soaking wet.”
“Gotcha, princess.” He eyed her, his blue eyes warming. “You look pretty good in my shirt. Too damn good. Anyway, let’s roll out.”
Sighing, she stuffed her wet sweater into the plastic bag meant for laundry and then put it into her backpack. “And where exactly are we ‘rolling’? Perhaps you should just escort me to the police station. They didn’t believe me before, but after that little incident at the pub? Maybe I can drop off the papers and go. I’m sure it’s already all over the evening news.”
“Uh-huh. And what’s to stop those guys from coming after you? Doesn’t matter if you deliver the goods. You’ve seen it. Read whatever papers they want back.”
A chill snaked down her spine.
She had read it. Had a backup copy.
Even if she handed off everything tonight—they’d still want her.
This wouldn’t end until they’d found her.
“I contacted my CO. As soon as you fill me in on whatever papers you have in your hot little hands, we can help you. Take them through the proper military channels. Turn them over to the Brits—guessing MI6 if you’re somehow mixed up with this terrorist group.”
“You think?” she commented dryly. “Too bad the police officer I spoke with earlier couldn’t have cared less.”
“Let’s go,” he said, a large hand closing over her shoulder. “Stay behind me,” he added, pausing at the door. “Normally I’d say, ‘ladies first,’ but with these assholes after you? Not a chance in hell.”
“Such a gentleman,” she murmured.
His hand rested at his waist as he peered through the peephole of the door, and she realized his gun was there. No telling where he’d hidden his knife.
Hunter probably was used to charging into situations guns blazing. She’d seen SEALs in movies—all decked out in their military gear. No fear as they stormed into the unknown. Is that was this guy did every day?
It was a far cry from her life.
His blue eyes blazed as he glanced back at her. “Far from it.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, bewildered.
“I’m far from being a gentleman. But I’ll protect you—and that’s all that matters right now.”
Chapter 4
Hunter pulled open the door of his hotel room, feeling Emma’s small frame trembling behind. He shifted his backpack to one shoulder and stepped into the carpeted hall. Sucked to leave the rest of his things behind, but this was no time to gather up all his belongings. Maybe he’d be back—maybe not.
At the moment, he just needed to get Emma out of her unharmed.
Fucking hell.
How someone like her had gotten mixed up in this defied explanation. She was a British archeologist—an academic. She wrote papers and did research for a living. He jumped out of airplanes and infiltrated terrorist camps. Fought the bad guys. Deployed all over the goddamn world.
But a woman like her?
This situation was FUBAR—and he needed to get her the hell out of it. Sure, he could drop her off at the nearest police station and be on his merry way. Hop on a flight back to the States, assuming those two assholes in the pub were taken care of.
But to leave her here alone? Unarmed and frightened?
There wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening.
His gaze swept the vacant hall. Every door was closed, but that didn’t mean there were no threats. Despite his precautions, someone could have followed them up here. Could be casing the place now.
Which was why they needed to leave as quickly as possible.
His phone buzzed with a new text from Mason.
Finishing up with the Brits. Flight’s leaving out of Heathrow at 0800.
Shit.
He quickly thumbed a response.
They take you down to the station?
Mason’s reply flashed on his screen.
Yep. Had to call the CO and American Embassy. Headed back soon.
Hunter clenched his jaw. He should be glad they were on their way home—neatly extricating themselves from a situation they shouldn’t have been involved with in the first place.
But as for Emma?
He’d bring her back to Little Creek with him if he had to.
He’d sure as hell feel a lot better on familiar territory—with his SEAL team close by. He could get whatever documents she had to the proper British authorities, but leaving her behind? No fucking way. Not when there were still men looking for her.
“I don’t suppose you have some quiet little house in the country we could hide out in,” he said over his shoulder as they walked down the hall.
“A quiet house in the country?” she laughed. “Why, are you looking to extend your vacation?”
He muttered a curse. Yeah, that was just his thing—a bed and breakfast that served scones and clotted cream every morning. In her dreams. “My CO has us on a flight tomorrow out of Heathrow. And I’m not leaving you alone here, princess.”
“London’s a big city. I can find somewhere to stay aside from my flat. If you’re returning home, you needn’t concern yourself with me.”
“Too late for that,” he muttered, feeling his gut clench. Uneasiness rolled over him at the thought of leaving her alone. He glanced back, not missing the fear and concern etched across her face. The uneasiness in her green eyes. “We just need somewhere to spend the night, and then I’ll bring you with me.”
“Bring me where? Back to the U.S.? In case you’re forgetting, I just got back to London. I can’t go running off again. I have my work. My family and friends.”
He paused and nailed her with a glare. “And where exactly are you planning on going? You already told me your apartment’s been ransacked. That you don’t want to drag your friends into this.”
“Agreed—my flat isn’t safe right now.”
“Flat, apartment—whatever the hell you want to call it. You can’t go back there. Not now—not ever.
He turned and continued walking toward the stairwell.
“What do you mean I can’t go back there ‘ever’?” she asked, sounding more irritated than frightened. “And why are we walking this way? The elevator’s back there.”
“We’re taking the stairs. Just a precaution. And as I was saying, I’ll arrange to bring you back with me.”
“Back? Back where?”
“I’m stationed in Little Creek. It’s near Virginia Beach—about four hours south of DC, depending on traffic, of course.”
“I can’t go back with you,” she said.
“And I can’t leave you here. Your research—you can do that anywhere, right? All you need is your laptop. I’m a Navy SEAL supposedly on R&R—I have to get back to base at some point. But I’ll feel better with you nearby until this entire shit show is over.”
“I’m not your responsibility. You certainly don’t need to feel obligated to offer me some sort of protection.”
The elevator dinged behind them, and he glanced back, watching a middle-aged couple get off. Walk in the other direction.
Emma stopped behind him as he paused at the door to the stairwell, listening. The small square window didn’t show much—anyone could be crouching down behind it. Waiting on the level below.
Emma’s floral scent filled the air as she edged closer behind him, and his groin tightened. Yeah, like now was the appropriate time to be thinking with his dick. He’d already had her in his hotel room and hadn’t even touched her. He was here to protect her—that was all.
The fact
that she had his libido rising was inconvenient, but this wasn’t some chick he’d bang and then walk away from. Never see again. He’d felt protective toward her since the moment she’d bumped into him earlier—all green eyes, pale skin, and gorgeous hair. And when he’d realized she was the one those assholes had been after?
He’d seen red. The idea of letting her out of his sight now was unfathomable.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked as she tried to peer around his shoulder. “Is someone there?”
Fucking hell.
She was so small, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders. Her lips were at his bicep as she tried to peer around him—and he could feel her breath on his skin. Wouldn’t he love to be able to turn and pull her against him. Back her against the door. Kiss her until she whimpered and gasped for more.
He was hard everywhere she was soft, and yeah. It would be pretty damn spectacular.
Like they had time for that right now.
“Just listening,” he said, his voice gravel. “Making sure no one is hiding in the stairwell. I doubt anyone followed us up here, but I’m not taking any chances.”
He didn’t miss the intake of her breath. The way she stiffened behind him.
“Oh, right. Of course.”
Hell. He didn’t want to frighten her any more than she already was. He should keep his damn mouth shut. But was it better to keep her in the dark? She was clueless about the most basic of precautions. He clenched his fist, moving his hand back to his weapon.
Hunter was just pushing open the door to the stairwell when they were startled by angry shouts behind them. By the screams of the couple walking the other way.
Two men came charging off the elevator, looking left and right. Emma shrieked behind him as they came running down the hall, and Hunter tugged her in front of him as he grabbed his firearm. Pushed her through the doorway of the stairwell.
“Run!” he commanded. “Don’t wait for me.”
She didn’t question him or look back, just dashed down the stairs, red hair flying behind her. Hunter muttered under his breath and ducked out of the way as shots ran down the corridor. As the heavy door shut behind him. Grabbing a wet umbrella someone had left on the stairs, he jammed it into the door handle.
Tempted by a SEAL (Alpha SEALs Book 8) Page 5
