Page 45 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

“Georgia?”

“Hmmmmm?”

“Is it a date?”

“Of course. I asked you first, didn’t I?”

“That’s right, you did.”

“Two weeks after, right?”

“Two weeks.”

“Got it.”

She should pull away and resume sitting on her own crate, but he was so warm. Not soft. The hard planes of his muscles, flexing every so often beneath her hands, were anything but soft, and they ignited more than her imagination. She could picture him on a beach, wearing nothing more than a trim pair of trunks. The kind that didn’t hide a thing. Molten heat crept up from between her legs, rising past her belly, through her breasts to partially close off her throat.

Georgia closed her arms around his waist tighter. Selfishness might not be a virtue, but she was too tired to care, she didn’t want to let go.

“You don’t mind, do you?” She yawned, letting the swirling sleepy warmth have its way with her.

“Mind what?”

“My staying like...this.” She squeezed him for emphasis.

He squeezed back. “No, I don’t mind.”

“Good. Night,” she said.

“Georgia?”

Barely conscious, she buried her head further into his shoulder and answered, “You smell good.”

***

Peter sat rigid forseveral seconds after the woman in his arms drifted off to sleep.

He smelled good? It had been twenty-four hours of sweating stress since his last shower. Good wasn’t the word he’d have chosen to describe how he smelled.

Georgia’s head slipped down on his shoulder, putting her neck at an awkward angle. He adjusted his hold on her, pulling her right into his lap. Moving back a bit more on the crate, he eased into the corner, letting the dirt walls brace his back and shoulders, making it almost effortless to cradle her.

Peter smiled. She was a nice bundle of toasty softness. Better than a blanket. Draped over him, her breasts pressed into his chest and her breath heated his skin through his shirt. She mumbled something about a swimsuit and snuggled into him farther.

He groaned as her hip came in firm contact with his groin. Fuck, now he was getting too hot. And erect.

Of all the times to get a hard-on.

He could picture her on a real bed, her rich auburn hair against a white pillowcase. And those blue eyes of hers, he’d like to see them without any questions swirling around in them. He’d like to see them half closed with desire, her mouth open, lips smiling, soft and wet, her legs wide, her...Whoa.

Peter took a firm grip on his self-control and glanced down at the top of her head covered by the black chador he’d stolen for her. Only an asshole would be thinking about sex after what she’d been through. The woman had been assaulted once already; it wasn’t likely that she’d appreciate his thoughts being in the gutter. Even though, in the literal sense, they were pretty much in one right now.

He closed his eyes, determined to get some sleep, and tried to erase, cast out, and forget those errant erogenous pictures flashing through his head.

A second later, his eyes popped open. They weren’t going. He stared at the shaft of light shining through the opening above them. Nope, those nasty naked thoughts weren’t going anywhere.

He moved her up a little higher, hissing as her hip rubbed over the bulge in his pants. He settled her so that her buttocks cradled him in torturous comfort. Then he put his head back against the wall and let himself drift into a light doze. His hard-on still in full gear, Peter had no doubt he’d have some truly inspiring dreams.

He closed his eyes. The verdict was in, and he was in deep trouble.

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