Page 9 of Extracted

Charlene would have robbed her of him if she’d known.

A night with Dallas had given her a year’s worth of pleasure, a lifetime of memories. She’d placed his black-stubbled jaw in a filing cabinet in her mind and only took it out to examine his grin when she needed it most. Not that he’d grinned a whole heck of a lot. Broody, a man holding himself on a short leash, was a more accurate description of Dallas Holmes.

But god, his hands were like heaven. Warm and strong. Those hands had given her something to look forward to. Without the memory of him, she would have sunk into a bottomless pit of despair. Some days she’d wondered if those hours with him had been real. Maybe she’d conjured up the ultimate fantasy hottie to keep herself from going insane with loneliness.

Seeing him today had been a sign.

A reminder that she could reclaim her life. That she had to. At thirty years old, she was done being a slave for an ungrateful team of people who didn’t care if she lived or died unless they needed her the next day.

All that was over.

They could threaten her all they wanted. She wouldn’t cooperate anymore, and the sooner she told Charlene the better. That phone call was for tomorrow.

Removing the earbud out of her ear and taking the soothing sounds of the ocean and seagulls along with it, she flopped onto her back. Turning her head to the clock on the nightstand, she winced. It was 1:02 a.m.

She closed her eyes and paid attention to her breath.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Too close.

She snapped open her eyes and jerked her gaze to the door.

* * *

Dallas rapped his knuckles on the wooden door of Gemma’s hotel room. Dare had managed to track Gemma through his facial recognition program using the street and hotel cameras. Something Dallas would have been able to do had his computer not been blown up. Thankfully, he had the same equipment safely at home in Seattle.

Soft footsteps sounded near the door, then silence.

The chain tinkled and the door opened a crack. Gemma’s wild, fearful eyes locked on his. Relief filled her face and then vanished. “Dallas. Gosh. You scared me. What are you doing here?”

He placed his palm on the door with more pressure than he should have. “Let me in.” And damn if his temper didn’t rise a notch at the sight of her.

He was done being her boy toy. Done with her enigmatic persona, which used to be alluring and now made him furious.

Her eyebrows snapped low in a formidable glare. “I think you’d better go.”

“Hell no.” He used more force.

She drew her head back an inch, and the muscles in her neck tensed. “Fine.” He let go of the door and it swung open. She stood back. A light pink robe cloaked her frame, stopping just above her knees. The material crossed in front of her chest, exposing her delicious cleavage.

Her hand immediately went to the folds and held them together as if he hadn’t just banged her from behind in a closet six hours ago. Great. Now he was getting the cold shoulder, which meant she’d had her fuck-fix for the year and was done with him.

So much for one last lay. “We need to talk.” He shut the door behind him and removed his shoes. At least she didn’t insist he stay at the door.

She walked farther into the room. Her hair trailed down her back, the strands wet, making them look a couple of inches longer than usual. Her calves and bare feet stirred something inside him. Desire for her that would never die even if he lived a thousand years.

He followed her. His gaze landed on the king-sized bed. The white duvet was tossed back as if she’d just leaped out.

Gemma steered away from the bed and sat at the desk chair. She folded her arms across her chest. “I’d appreciate it if we could do this little chat”—she flicked her wrist—“tomorrow. It’s late and I’m beat.”

“Well, I just about got blown up and I think you have something to do with that. And I’m not leaving without answers.” His veins vibrated with anger.

From the beginning, he’d known Gemma was the guarded type. Suspected she had some kind of sordid past or something that kept her in invisible chains. But he’d been wrong. She’d murdered innocent people in cold blood. It took everything in him not to shake her by the throat.

Her lip trembled. She sucked the plump flesh into her mouth and hiked up her chin. “I—” She shook her head and her gaze darted away from his stare as tears filled her eyes.

His gut twisted. She either didn’t trust him or this whole situation was even worse than he’d imagined. He knelt in front of her. The silky skin of the top of her thigh peeked out from her robe, begging him to stroke it, but he balled his hands into fists.

He wouldn’t touch her again. Not if she was some kind of serial bomber. “Gemma. Did you plant those bombs? I need to know.”

---