by Gail Barrett
“I look that bad?”
He swiped his finger down the bridge of her nose, the gentle touch making her breath catch. He lifted his blackened finger and quirked a brow.
She winced. “I’ll stay here.”
“Good decision.” His quick grin crinkled his eyes. He jumped out of the truck and made his way toward the motel’s office, closing the distance with easy strides. When he disappeared into the building, she undid her seat belt and looked in the rearview mirror.
She shrieked. Her face was black with grime. Her hair had become a rat’s nest, adorned with dirt and twigs. Her arms and legs were covered with filth, her clothes mere rags, as if she’d barely survived a bomb blast.
And she felt even worse. A terrible thirst clawed her throat. Her stomach was so hollow she could hardly think. Every muscle protested the tumble off that cliff, and she wanted desperately to sleep.
Coop emerged from the office a second later. He leaped back into the idling truck, released the brake, and shot her a grin. “We’re in luck. Room thirty-eight. Around the back.”
“Did you have to show an ID?”
“No, I paid cash. They preferred it. I got the feeling their clientele isn’t the best.”
“I’m just glad we got a room.” And that Coop had money—because her wallet was in her knapsack in that ravine.
They bumped through the rutted parking lot to the back of the motel. The numbers had fallen off the door, but she could see thirty-eight outlined in the faded paint, the second room to the end. The room had a Dumpster view, its curtains half hanging off the rod. The bottom of the door looked gnawed, as if a rodent had feasted on the wood.
Or someone had kicked it in. Apprehensive, she glanced around the deserted parking lot.
Coop grimaced. “Sorry it’s not nicer.”
She was touched that he cared. “Don’t be silly. As long as it has a shower and a bed, I don’t mind.”
She climbed out of the truck and went to the door, taking her grandfather’s backpack with her. Coop jiggled the key in the flimsy lock. “Not much security.”
“We don’t have anything to steal.”
“Except that flash drive.”
She shivered at the grim reminder and patted her pocket where the flash drive was. It was hard to believe people would kill for something so small, so ordinary. And as soon as she got to a computer, she’d find out why.
Coop pushed open the door, and she limped ahead of him into the room. A bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. The odor of stale cigarette smoke permeated the air. A sagging double bed with a dingy, Southwestern-styled bedspread took up most of the space.
Coop closed the door and turned on the light. “I told him I was alone,” he said, sounding apologetic.
“That was smart, safer.” She eyed the stained red carpet, the television bolted to the wall, the locked door to the adjoining room.
The far too narrow bed.
The room grew hot. She clutched her hands, feeling suddenly awkward. And suddenly, the memory of that kiss rushed back—Coop’s erotic mouth, the warm, male scent of his skin. The thrilling bulge nudging the apex of her thighs…
She struggled to sound offhand. “This is the first time in almost two days we haven’t been moving.”
“Yeah.” He speared his hand through his hair, dislodging dirt and making his biceps flex. His gaze collided with hers, then shifted away, leaving a blast of heat in its wake. “You want to shower first?”
“No, go ahead.”
He slanted his head. “It won’t take long. Then I’ll go scrounge up supplies.”
“All right.”
He squeezed past the bed, his arm brushing hers, and every cell inside her sprang to life. He entered the bathroom and closed the door, and she tried to get a grip. She was acting ridiculous. Certainly they could share a room without thinking about sex.
Right.
She grabbed the complimentary bottle of water and gulped it down, not bothering with the plastic cup. Determined to focus on their predicament instead of the virile man stripping off his clothes behind that door, she turned the television to the news. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, and peeled off her shoes and socks. She had blisters on one heel. Her twisted ankle throbbed, but an ACE bandage would remedy that.
The news channel cut to sports. Still trying not to think about Coop, she took another long pull of water and stared at the men playing baseball on the screen. It seemed unreal that the world had continued on its normal course while her life had fallen apart.
And then the shower turned on, and every one of her nerve endings went berserk. She tried not to imagine Coop standing in the shower naked—his thick, black hair slicked to his head, his hard muscles glistening under the spray, water sluicing down his shoulders…down the roped tendons of his arms, down his flat abdomen to parts below… She closed her eyes and groaned.
How on earth were they going to lie together in that bed? The room didn’t have a couch, just a small, rickety armchair in the corner. And she wouldn’t let an animal sleep on the filthy floor.
She sighed and realized she might as well admit it. She wanted to have sex with Coop. She hungered for that excitement, to relive the pleasure of his arms.
And was that so wrong? Was it selfish to want to escape reality for awhile, to forget the danger, the terrible fear, and surrender to the mind-numbing bliss?
She didn’t know. Maybe it was selfish. But more than guilt and the urgent need to find her grandfather held her back. She’d never been the type to engage in casual sex. And she was already dangerously close to falling for Coop. Memories of the past kept rushing back, merging with the reality of the man he’d become—a brave, strong man she craved and admired. Could she spend a night in his arms and stay detached?
The shower turned off. She jumped to her feet, sat back down, then bolted upright again, clutching the water bottle to her chest. She heard the rustle of clothes, and then the bathroom door jerked open, discharging a billow of steam.
Coop stepped out. He wore the same clothes—jeans, T-shirt, flight boots. But his hair was wet, his T-shirt clinging to his broad chest. Drops of water trickled through the whiskers on his face, turning the neck of his T-shirt damp.
Their gazes connected. Her nerves went into overdrive, jittering with sudden heat. His sexual appeal hit her like a desert sandstorm, shutting down all rational thought. She yearned to touch him so badly she had to clench her hands to resist.
The moment stretched. She knew she should look away, get a grip, move so he could get by. But the heat in his gaze and the tension pulsing between them held her in place. He wanted her. She couldn’t mistake the raw, simmering hunger in his granite eyes.
And she knew right then that she wouldn’t resist.
“Be careful out there,” she croaked.
He nodded, releasing her gaze, and she managed to step aside. “Lock the door,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ll take the key. Don’t open to anyone else.”
“I won’t.” But as he headed for the door, his muscles rippling, his raw sexuality like a kick to her throat, she had a feeling the real danger wouldn’t come from without.
But the devastation this man could wreak on her heart.
Chapter 9
Coop thought that safeguarding Zoe had been hard, but protecting her from himself was going to do him in.
Gripping the bag of supplies he’d bought at the café next door, he unlocked the door to the motel room and strode inside. He didn’t know how he would survive the next few hours. Her gentle touch, the blatant hunger in her eyes had nearly brought him to his knees. How could he lie beside her on that bed?
He shouldn’t touch her; he realized that. She was scared right now, worried about her grandfather. Their assailants could catch them unaware. No matter how strong the temptation, he had to resist.
Even if they were alone in a too-small motel room in an even smaller bed.
He pulled one of the T-shirts he bought from the plastic
bag and tossed it on the chair. Then, steeling himself, he knocked on the bathroom door.
“Just a minute,” she called, her voice muffled.
He waited, trying not to envision her naked, the muscles of his shoulders tense. She opened the door a crack, letting steam escape, and peeked out. Her hair was wet, her eyelashes spiky and moist, the scrape visible on her freshly scrubbed face. Water trickled down her cheek, gathering at the base of her throat.
And he couldn’t stop his gaze from devouring every alluring inch he could see of her—her bare shoulders pink from the sun, the cleavage visible above the towel she gripped, her long, slender thighs and bare feet.
He dragged his gaze back up with effort and cleared the huskiness from his throat. “I got you a T-shirt.” He handed her the plastic bag. “There wasn’t much of a selection.” Just a few touristy items on a rack in the café.
She tugged the shirt from the bag. It had a silhouette of Nevada in blue on the front, flanked by various state symbols—a mountain bluebird, a desert tortoise, a bristlecone pine tree.
A smile lit her eyes. She held the shirt to her nose and inhaled, as if smelling the finest perfume. “This is great. It’s so clean.”
And she looked too appealing.
“There’s more stuff in the bag. Toothbrushes, a bandage for your ankle.” Shaving supplies for himself.
“A toothbrush?” Her smile broadened, her eyes dancing with delight. “That’s better than diamonds.”
She opened the door wider. Then her arms came around him, bombarding him with sensations—full breasts, warm, naked arms, the shampoo scent of her hair. But just as quickly, she whirled around, slipped back into the bathroom, and shut the door.
He forced himself to breathe.
She was going to kill him, all right.
His pulse thundering, he paced back to the television and turned it on, keeping the volume low. He tried not to think about Zoe dropping the towel, pulling that T-shirt over her breasts, the feel of her satiny skin…
He peeled off his own filthy T-shirt and donned the one he’d bought for himself. He heard Zoe rustling in the bathroom, the faucet turning on, then off. He sat on the edge of the bed, stared unseeing at the television, way too conscious of how her bare legs had brushed against his, the arousing feel of her curves.
He could push this. It wouldn’t take much to get her to agree; he’d seen the desire in her eyes, felt her response to his kiss. And God knew he was willing; he’d been deployed for months, then spent several lonely weeks sitting at Pedro’s airstrip after that.
And with anyone else he wouldn’t hesitate. But this was Zoe. Nothing about her had ever been casual. And he couldn’t take advantage of her now. He had to exert some self-control, do the right thing.
Be the honorable man she believed him to be.
No matter how hot they’d once burned.
He scowled at the television, his attention briefly diverted by people picketing in Las Vegas, protesting the new nuclear power plant going online in a couple of days. He turned up the volume, wondering if it had anything to do with Zoe’s grandfather, although he didn’t see how.
Then the news went to a commercial, Zoe emerged from the bathroom, and he flicked off the television. He rose, tossed the remote aside and turned to face her. She paused a few feet away.
And before he could stop it, his gaze swept the length of her, over her lightly freckled nose, the tiny mole by her wide mouth, the loose fall of her wet, blonde hair. The T-shirt dwarfed her, nearly covering her shorts, but couldn’t disguise the fullness of her breasts. Her legs and feet were bare, making her look softer, more approachable. More tempting.
“You look clean.”
Her lips curved, a wry smile warming her eyes. “I washed my hair about ten times. I used up all the shampoo.” Her gaze dropped to his T-shirt, and her eyes warmed even more. “Great shirt.”
The edge of his mouth ticked up. His shirt was black with “I love Nevada” printed across the front. “It was the only other choice. I didn’t think we’d want to match.”
She tilted her head. “Well, if we have to pose as tourists, at least we’re clean ones.”
“Yeah.” He lifted his hand, tested the heavy growth of beard stubble along his jaw. “But if you can hold off on food for a minute, I’d better shave. I don’t want to scare little children.”
“Good idea.” She leaned close, ran her fingers lightly over his face, spurring a surge of heat in his blood.
And he couldn’t help but react. He caught her wrist, trapping her palm against his face, pinning her in place with his eyes.
His heart tapped an irregular beat. For an eternity, neither moved. And the desire to haul her into his arms and slake the fierce need building inside him laid siege to his resolve.
She wanted him. He saw it her eyes, felt her pulse scatter under his thumb like a panicked jackrabbit zigzagging through the brush.
And a litany of warnings blared in his mind. They didn’t have time. He couldn’t complicate things. Zoe wasn’t the type for a simple affair.
He dropped his hand and forced himself to squeeze past her. The disappointment in her eyes almost made him cave. But he strode into the bathroom and kicked shut the door, then braced his hands on the sink. He hung his head, summoning every ounce of willpower he had to keep from jerking that door open again.
He’d done the right thing. He’d had to keep his hands off her. But like a man facing a firing squad, he knew the reprieve wouldn’t last. This attraction was growing too strong.
And next time, he wouldn’t have the power to resist.
The torture continued as Coop sat across from Zoe at the café a short time later, their knees bumping in the cramped booth, her clean, feminine scent taunting his nerves.
“That was the best hamburger I’ve ever eaten,” she announced. She picked up her last French fry and munched it down. “And the fastest. I think I just set a speed-eating record.”
“Yeah, hunger will do that.” He’d wolfed down two burgers himself. But even the desperate need for food didn’t match the lust quickly demolishing his control. He eyed the soft lilt to her mouth, the glorious blond silk tumbling around her face—and he wanted to fist that hair in his hands, pull her naked beneath him, make her eyes grow glazed with desire.
He clenched his teeth, fighting the heavy rush pulsing inside him, and lowered his gaze to her empty plate. “You want more?”
“No, I’m good for now. We’d better get to work.”
“Good idea.” He slapped some bills on the table and scanned the parking lot outside the café. No one had taken an interest in them so far. But there weren’t many towns in the desert, not enough places to hide. And once their assailants realized they’d escaped…
“The computers are in the back by the restrooms,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’ll stay by the slot machines and keep watch.”
“All right.”
She scooted across the bench seat, but he snagged her wrist and stopped her before she could rise. He waited until her gaze swung back to his. “Listen, Zoe. If anything happens and I have to leave, don’t follow me. Climb out through the bathroom window and leave.”
Protests gathered in her eyes, but he cut them off. “I mean it.” He hated to scare her, but he had to keep her safe. “You’ve got to listen this time. Don’t worry about me. I’ll catch up with you later. Just get out of here and run.”
“All right.” When he didn’t move, she lifted her brows. “I said I would do it.”
“You’d better.” He held on to her wrist for another heartbeat, and then let go. Her eyes flashing, she snatched back her arm and rose, then stalked past the slot machines to the back of the café.
He stayed in his seat, eyeing the other patrons to see if they watched her go. The waitress continued wiping down tables. A gray-haired couple sat at a nearby booth, their heads bent over a map. Two soldiers—out of uniform, but clearly marines with their high and tight haircuts—sat on stool
s at the counter, laughing and drinking beer.
Coop stood, then strolled over to the slot machines, choosing one with a view of the door. He pulled some quarters from his pocket and started to play, keeping an eye on the road outside.
But as the slot machine’s tumbler spun, so did the questions in his mind. Why hadn’t a search team returned to the crash site? How were those terrorists connected to Shaw—assuming that’s what they were? And how were the kidnappers going to notify Zoe about the rendezvous point?
He tugged her cell phone from his pocket and turned it on. There were no missed calls, no new text messages. She’d wiped her call history clean.
And realization dawned. She’d lied to him. She already knew the drop-off point. She just hadn’t revealed it to him.
His forehead furrowed, the awareness that she’d deceived him digging at his nerves. But he couldn’t really blame her; in her place, he’d have done the same. Still, her distrust rankled, which was ironic given how he had lied to her.
Frowning over that thought, he pocketed the phone, surveyed the parking lot again, then scooped up his winnings and went after Zoe. He found her hunched over one of the two computers crammed against the back wall.
She glanced up absently as he approached. “I’m almost done.”
She swiveled back to the computer, and he leaned over her shoulder, studying the complex equations on the screen. She scrolled through the data quickly, her hands tapping the keyboard, going through page after page.
And suddenly, his perception shifted. He’d always admired Zoe’s intelligence, but seeing her whiz through the complicated formulas forced him to alter his view. The woman was more than smart; she was brilliant.
And that revelation spawned another—that eight years ago, he hadn’t been fair to Zoe. He hadn’t thought about what she’d needed, not really. He hadn’t thought enough about her career, about where she’d need to live to do her research or what pursuing her goals might entail. Too caught up in his own plans, he’d expected her to accommodate him.
