On Her Six (Under Covers)

by Christina Elle

  This was a man who knew how to use his body. God didn’t give people muscles like that and not show them how to put them to good use. She wanted to squeeze his butt and run her hands along his thick thighs, making them clench under her touch. She wanted his strength around her, grabbing her hard and leading her to a place she’d never been—teaching, guiding, stroking.

  She felt wanton. Wild. Daring. Hot.

  She shook her head. Where were these thoughts coming from? She’d never had such vivid images flash through her mind.

  At twenty-eight years old, of course she’d dated. But no one had ever inspired the insane horny-as-hell feelings coursing through her.

  “Oh my.” Celia’s gaze darted toward the mauve carpet. “I shouldn’t…we shouldn’t be…” She shot from her chair, the force of her movement making it wobble and snap closed. She turned from the window, walking as far as the doorjamb. Away from the show, but not completely out of the room.

  “I’m not sure this is a good idea anymore,” Maybel said next. “I feel like we’re spying on the man in his element. Just doesn’t seem right.”

  With the break in silence, Sam started to come back to earth. Her heartbeat slowed, and her body belonged to her again. She blinked twice to clear her head.

  “I agree,” Rose said, placing her binoculars on the folding table under the window. “We can leave the audio on, but maybe turn the video off.” She glanced at Sam as if questioning her thoughts.

  Her thoughts…what exactly were her thoughts? She couldn’t seem to locate them at the moment.

  Up, down, up, down.

  Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

  Sam waited for Estelle to chime in.

  She didn’t. She remained at the window, binoculars glued to her eyes, not uttering a peep aside from her deep sighs.

  Sam dared two more peeks before agreeing with her grandmother that it was indeed wrong to spy on her naked neighbor. She did have limits. And morals. Grandma had made sure of it. Staring at him with everything under the sun shining back at her—bobbing and weaving, glistening in the soft evening light, inviting her womanly desires to partake—wasn’t right.

  No matter how good he looked.

  And man, he looked good.

  So good.

  With every sliver of willpower she possessed, she peeled the binoculars from her eyes and turned from the window. She checked to make sure the audio recorder was still on and then followed Rose, Maybel, and Celia downstairs to the kitchen.

  Maybe they could try again in an hour or so. He’d have to be done with his workout by then, right?

  Chapter Seven

  “You’re going to be a good boy and slide in nice and easy, right?” Sam eyed the box she’d brought up to her bedroom from her trunk. “Momma needs you really bad. Just do what she says, ‘kay?”

  As soon as she got this bad boy crankin’, she was going to collapse spread eagle on her bed until every last drop of sweat evaporated from her body. It was going to be glorious.

  Sam approached the box with a knife, taking a deep, strenuous breath. She made one clean slice, and the lid popped open. “See, that didn’t hurt a bit, did it?” Reaching in, she lifted the portable air conditioner unit and aimed for the window frame.

  She shifted her weight on each foot, unsuccessfully matching the perimeter of the machine into the open window frame. “Come on. Just. Go. In!”

  Balancing the contraption on her shoulder, she teetered on her feet a few steps. She almost lost her balance but used her last remaining strength to hurl it forward.

  “A-ha!” Sam brushed her palms together, admiring her handiwork. “Like a glove. I knew you could do it.”

  Turning, she spied the box it came in. “I believe you came with instructions.” She retrieved the lengthy pamphlet and began to read. “Make sure to take off the protective film before operating. Mmm-hmm… Make sure it’s level. Ah huh, got that… Make sure plug is accessible…” She turned to the window. “Where’s the plug?”

  Dropping the instructions, she turned to the AC. It was nowhere in sight.

  Shit. The cord had slipped outside the window.

  As she neared the contraption, her back and shoulders screamed in protest from carrying the stupid thing up her steep, narrow stairs.

  Sam leaned in and braced her body for the impending weight. She was about to pull the AC toward her when something caught her eye through the window.

  A big something.

  A muscular something.

  A next-door neighbor something.

  Sam froze in the awkward forward position, arms stretched, chest against the device. She narrowed her eyes at the figure in an attempt to get a better view.

  Her mysterious, more-complicated-by-the-day neighbor stood about ten yards away in his backyard, mending the fence. It was about two-hundred and fifty degrees outside, and he was close enough that she could see the sweat gleaming on his bare chest and broad shoulders as he pulled and tugged on the main two-by-four holding the fence upright. His dark tattoo stretched from the base of his neck to his right pectoral. The wings of the animal seemed to flap each time the muscle flexed.

  His cargo shorts were slung low across his trim hips, presenting a pack of defined abs like the showcase showdown on the Price Is Right. A path of thick, dark hair trailed from his midsection and dipped below his waistband. For as low as his shorts were, the top of his underwear should have poked out the top. It didn’t. Which meant…

  A hot zing ran up her spine, making her shiver. Commando. She tried to swallow, but just like the night before, her mouth dried up.

  He swung a sledgehammer, drilling the post into the hard ground. His movements were precise and compact, not wasting any additional energy. It gave her the impression he always did everything with such finesse. Such care and attention.

  She sighed. What a strong, capable man.

  Yeah, strong and capable of killing you if he wanted to.

  “But, boy oh boy, would it be nice to have your murderer look like that.” She leaned closer to the windowpane for a better look. Her breasts flattened against the warm plastic of the AC unit, the buttons and knobs jabbing at her already sensitive skin. She yearned for the damn machine to be out of the way so she could stick her entire body out the window and properly gawk.

  “Having that stand over me, staring down all brooding and conflicted…” Her tongue jutted out to moisten her lips. “I’d die with a big, goofy grin on my face if that’s what I got to see right before the end.”

  Smashing her face against the top window, she took in his display of primal mechanics. A man that well-built would command all of her attention and energy. Her breathing picked up, and her nipples began to ache. Those nimble, skin-seeking fingers would run along her soft curves. Goose bumps spread across her skin as she imagined those powerful hands sliding over her breasts, stomach, hips, down her thighs, and traveling inward. He’d set a scorching path, hungry for her—

  She blinked and shook her head. What was she thinking? He was the enemy. She shouldn’t be thinking about his—

  A long, scraping sound sliced through her thought.

  “What the—” Sam jerked back. The air conditioner no longer rested against her body, but instead teetered on the border of the window ledge outside.

  “Oh, shit.” She clawed at the smooth exterior but couldn’t latch on. “Shit.” Her breaths came in ragged staccato pants as she hoisted her head, shoulder, and arms through the open window. “Oh, shit!”

  She hung half out of the opening, her legs dangling inside behind her as she watched her only salvation to the scorching heat falling to its death—

  —on a direct collision course with her neighbor.

  Her arms waved wildly. “OH! OH! EECH!” was all she could get out before the useless plastic device landed within a foot of his side.

  “What the fuck!” Her neighbor leaped back, landing in an attack pose. He crouched on one knee, arms open, seeming ready to disfigure an enemy at a moment
’s notice. He’d pulled a gun from God knows where and gripped it in his right hand. Facial expression hardened and eyes narrowed, he surveyed the area around him. Like a lion ready to fight for its survival. Determined and skilled. Quite impressive, actually. And a little unsettling. Where exactly had he learned to do that?

  His focus snapped up to Sam. His scowl sent arctic shivers across her body. “What in the hell are you trying to do? Kill me?” He got to his feet and dusted himself off with short, jagged strokes.

  “No,” she shot back, immediately defensive—her normal reaction to overly embarrassing situations that were entirely her fault. “Didn’t you hear me scream? If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have given you warning first.”

  “Scream? You mean that animal wail I heard right before this…this…thing almost splattered my brains everywhere? I’d hardly call that a warning, Tarzan. Next time try a ‘hey, watch out!’ or ‘get out of the way!’ Jesus Christ.” He shook his head before doubling-over, hands on his knees, sucking in huge gulps of air.

  “Look,” she spoke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  His head jerked up, and he shot her a frightening stare.

  Her lips cinched into a tight, thin line. He obviously needed a minute or two.

  After a few excruciatingly silent seconds, she tried again. “It was hot. I—”

  His hand went up, again halting her speech. Still bent at the waist, his breathing started to level out, his back rising and falling at a more normal pace.

  “But I—”

  “Are you physically incapable of keeping your mouth closed?”

  Her lips parted and then snapped shut. She bit down on her tongue as long as she could. But her lungs filled to the max and threatened to explode if she didn’t get it out. “You’re a…a…a…”

  “There you go again.”

  “I was trying to be nice and apologize,” she cut in. “Isn’t that what people do when they hurt someone? Or when they shut a door in their face?” She couldn’t resist.

  He let out a humorless laugh. “Nice,” he echoed. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what you were being. Just do me favor—shut your window so you don’t drop a bathtub or anything else on me while I’m out here.”

  As if he didn’t seem intimidating enough, he stretched his body, lengthening every muscle so he appeared taller and more imposing. His shoulders rose. The darkness in his eyes cleared and the tenseness in his frame relaxed. He stored his weapon in the back of his waistband.

  “But—” she tried again.

  “Just go.” He turned his back to her and bent to collect the plastic rubbish littering his yard.

  Slowly, so she didn’t follow the same fate as the air conditioner—’cause God knew her neighbor wouldn’t catch her—she snaked her way back into her bedroom, closed the window, and slumped onto her bed.

  “Excellent work, Sam. If he is dangerous, he’ll be coming after you first, just for making him mad. Perfect.”

  And to top it off, she’d be spending another night glued to her sheets by sweat.

  Double perfect.

  …

  No one got the drop on Ash Cooper.

  No one.

  Which was why the incident with the damn air conditioner made him more than unnerved. He’d been spacing out too much over the last twelve hours, and it had to fucking stop. What was it about this woman that put his head into such a goddamn scramble?

  All he’d been thinking about was her reaction last night, those light-colored eyes opened wide, and how he’d like to see that sweet expression as he drove into her. Hard. Her perfectly arched eyebrows had risen so high they’d almost disappeared into her hairline, and her soft lips formed an ideal round shape. Yeah, she’d be beautiful lying under him sated and exhausted.

  No, goddamn it. The point of last night had not been to arouse her. Or himself.

  Flashing a group of women—older women at that—wasn’t something he did on a regular basis. But he’d needed to do something to get the lot of busybodies flustered. His bared male form had certainly done the trick. The wrinkled biddies quickly left their perch by the window not long after he started his unorthodox workout. Thank Christ it had been eighty degrees last night. If it had been a frigid winter night, he wouldn’t have dared it. He’d wanted to shock the old biddies, not freak the shit out of them with a case of shriveled dick.

  He picked up the demolished heap of plastic and carried it to the front yard.

  Crushing the plastic in his arms, he dropped it on the edge of the curb for trash collection the next morning. He spun and headed for the backyard.

  At the fence, his hand rested on the latch. He stole a glance next door.

  No movement near the windows.

  No prying eyes peering out.

  He opened the gate and entered his yard.

  Odd. For a woman so determined to learn more about him, she wasn’t doing a very good job. He’d expected more from—what did she call herself?—A proud employee of the Baltimore City Police Department? Not much of a cop if she didn’t know how to carry out a discrete investigation.

  A branch cracked beneath his foot as he took a step and then froze. An investigation… Was that what today was? Something to test his reaction? Learn his weaknesses?

  No. Now he was being paranoid. If Heinrich hired someone to run surveillance on him, it wouldn’t be a handful of elderly females led by a pain-in-the-ass woman. No matter how tempting the ringleader may be to him.

  Her apology and embarrassment was real. Her face lit up into thirty shades of red, and her eyes were wide like a cartoon character’s. She hadn’t intended to drop the air conditioner on him.

  Even so. He grinned wryly. Pretty good aim if she had. Another inch or two to the left and he’d be pleading his case for entry into the pearly gates.

  He glanced back up to the window he assumed was her bedroom.

  The image of her hanging out of it wearing just a thin, low-cut tank top sent him reeling. That kind of distraction was the last thing he needed. He reminded himself again that he wasn’t in Baltimore for vacation, though he needed one. Bad. It was so easy to think about the sweet-looking blond next door rather than the mission at hand.

  Damn it, he was doing it again. Letting a woman get in the way of his work. Just like he had with Lorena.

  Beautiful, exotic, and tempting. The first three words that came to mind when Lorena walked into that bar in Buenos Aires. He’d literally lost his breath when she locked onto his gaze and smiled.

  “Damn idiot.” Ash kicked the fence post hard enough to make it rattle. A searing pain shot up his calf, but it only fueled him. He deserved the punishment.

  He needed to find out as much as he could about this group of women. Between Blondie with her handcuffs in the trunk and the state-of-the-art equipment the group had been using last night, he suspected there was a hell of a lot more to the story. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and dialed the agency. Giles, the computer guy who could hack into any computer anywhere, answered.

  “Ash, this is a surprise. How goes it?”

  “Not bad. How’ve you been, Giles?” He cradled the phone on his shoulder as he bent to retrieve the hammer and a nail.

  “Ah, can’t complain. Director Landry locked me in this hole they call the IT department, but I manage. What can I do for you?”

  Ash took a deep breath. “I need a favor.”

  There was a pause.

  Shit. Giles knew about his history with Lorena and the botched assignment in South America. Ash was a pariah. No one at the agency wanted to help him for fear of being dragged into the sewers with him.

  “What do you need?” Giles asked hesitantly.

  Ash held the nail in place with his left hand and swung the hammer with one quick stroke. “Information on a group of women.” Good. He sounded casual. Not pathetically pleading. It didn’t matter at this point if Blondie and the grannies heard him or not. Hell, maybe it would help if they knew he was onto them. Ma
ybe they’d back off.

  “Hmm,” Giles murmured into the receiver. “Women, you say? What information are we talking about exactly?”

  Yep, Giles was definitely thinking about Lorena. “Names, backgrounds, anything you can find. The sooner, the better.”

  There was another silence on the other end.

  “Giles?” Ash asked, sickened by the desperation in his voice.

  “I don’t know, Ash. I mean, I really want to help you out, but Director Landry—”

  “I think it may be life or death,” he added. To his career, at least.

  Another moment passed, and then, “No promises. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sharp afternoon rays pierced the windows in Rose’s house, rivaling the cool air circulating from her perfectly working air conditioner.

  In the spare bedroom, the women sat in their folding chairs as they’d been the day before.

  “Interpol’s got nothing on him,” Maybel said to the group. “Neither does the FBI or CIA. Jackson couldn’t find a lick of information anywhere.”

  Jackson was Maybel’s contact. She wouldn’t tell the group his last name or which agency he worked for. All they knew was Jackson could find anyone, anywhere, at any time.

  Except now.

  “That’s impossible.” Sam’s teeth clenched and her eyes turned to the TV screen. No movement or sound had occurred since last night’s stakeout. “There has to be something. A birth date, place of employment, anything.”

  Maybel shook her head. “It’s like he doesn’t exist. Someone went to an awful lot of trouble to cover his tracks. I asked Jackson to look up this Tyke person he keeps talking to. Still nothing. I’m concerned.”

  Why would someone need to go to that kind of trouble to hide his identity?

  John Black was collecting a lot of strikes.

  Each watch member turned and gave the woman next to her a worried glance. Anxiety blanketed the room.

  “We’ve still got eyes and ears on him,” Estelle said from behind the binoculars. Sam didn’t think the woman had moved from her post the day before.