Page 19 of Tempted by a SEAL

Who knew who was watching them? Who else had been following her around London?

She’d rest later, when she figured out somewhere safe to go.

When she figured out if the man she was with was someone she could trust.

She shuddered, Hunter’s gaze sliding toward her as he punched a button for the elevator. “You cold?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re soaking wet,” he said, his voice soft. “I have some clothes you can change into.”

The elevator doors opened, and he glanced behind them, his eyes narrowing. Emma realized once again that she should be paying more attention. Should be watching everyone around her. Her gaze followed his, but she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary—a couple strolling across the lobby, hand-in-hand. An Australian family checking in as their young toddler jumped up and down.

What did she expect? Someone to jump out from behind the rubbish bin and demand she hand over the documents?

Hunter gestured for her to go ahead, and she stepped onto the elevator, grateful to be out of sight. “I doubt your clothes would fit me anyhow,” she commented. “You’re quite a bit taller than me.”

He jabbed at the elevator buttons for several different floors, the snake tattoo twisting on his muscled forearm as each number lit up, and she looked at him questioningly.

“Just in case anyone was watching for what floor we get off on. The display is above the elevators in the lobby, and I can’t assume no one was watching.”

“Right,” she said faintly, feeling completely out of her element.

“And as for my clothes?” he said, cracking his knuckles as he appraised her. “I won’t complain if you want to walk around naked, princess, but you don’t seem like the type. I don’t like the idea of you walking around shivering in wet clothes all night either, but be my guest if that’s what you prefer.”

She gave a faint laugh, tears smarting her eyes again.

“Hell,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair.

His wet tee-shirt clung to his chest, and she could see the outline of every muscle. Broad pecs, rippling abs—the guy could be the model Michelangelo’s David was chiseled from. Maybe he really was a Navy SEAL—what did she know about the American military anyway? It seemed quite strange that he’d be here in London listening in on conversations to men who had terror ties, but perhaps it was some black ops type thing he wasn’t supposed to talk about.

The type of thing she’d seen only in movies.

Yet he’d told her.

She certainly knew better than to go to a hotel room with a strange man she’d barely just met, but at the moment, what choice did she have? She couldn’t go back to her flat. Shouldn’t call any of her friends on her mobile.

Not without risking harm coming to them.

Emma knew next-to-nothing about Hunter, yet if her choice was him or those two men she’d run from?

Her gut told her she could trust him.

She brushed the tears away as he stepped closer, feeling foolish. She wasn’t even certain if they were tears of laughter or sheer exhaustion at this point. His gaze briefly dropped to her chest, and as her eyes followed his, she blushed, realizing the lacy outline of her bra was now evident through her thin cashmere sweater.

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?”

---