Page 20 of Tempted by a SEAL

“The floor.”

“Oh. Right.”

She avoided his gaze, glancing at the advert for London restaurants on one wall of the elevator. The slightly worn edges of the carpet.

“I guess the saying about Brits is true,” he commented dryly.

“And what saying is that?” she asked, regaining some of her composure as the elevator dinged at his floor and the doors opened.

“You have a stiff upper lip.”

She huffed, trying to hide her amusement as she stepped off into the hallway. “And are all American men as rude as you?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve been nothing but a gentleman, princess,” he said, easily falling in step beside her. Fortunately, she’d chosen the right direction to walk on. Or else he was just humoring her.

He took a quick glance over his shoulder behind them, then rested one large hand on the small of her back. They could’ve been any other couple walking to their hotel room—except she was drenched. Frightened. Exhausted.

“Not hardly,” she said. “You just pointed out that I was standing in the elevator crying—there’s hardly anything gentleman-like about that.”

“And I was supposed to just ignore a woman crying and stand there like some asshole? That doesn’t seem very chivalrous. Not that I’m usually the chivalrous sort—you must bring it out in me.”

“I’m beginning to think your tough-guy act is just a show.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“The tattoos, the scowl on your face.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he muttered, pulling a card from one of the pockets of his cargo pants. He swiped keycard to the door of his room and shoved it open, taking one last glance around the hallway. “Home sweet—well, whatever the hell it is. You know, usually when I bring a woman back to my hotel room, I’m trying to undress her, not offer her dry clothes.”

“How comforting,” she murmured, taking in the piles of rumpled clothes, his military issue duffel bag, and backpack scattered on the floor.

He secured the door, taking a cursory glance into the bathroom, and then swaggered by her—really, there was no other description for the way he moved. His broad shoulders framed the bulging biceps of his arms, the muscles of his back. His hips narrowed where his pants perfectly hung, showcasing his ass. Why yes, she was actually staring at this man’s ass.

Did her rescuer have to be so bloody good-looking?

Hunter crouched down, digging around in his duffel bag. Grumbling to himself, he stood, tossing both the backpack and duffel bag onto his neatly made bed, pulling the earpiece from his ear as he muttered a curse.

A loud noise in the hall startled her, and she jumped, her heart racing.

“Ice machine. Damn thing makes noise day and night.”

Her eyes widened as he pulled a gun from his bag, checking the cartridge before setting it on the night table. “I’ve got a gun and a Ka-Bar,” he said, his blue eyes meeting hers.

“Ka-Bar?”

“Military-issued knife. I don’t want you to be frightened, but we don’t know who’s been following you. If they tried to grab you in Kabul and ransacked your apartment, we’ll need a hell of a lot more firepower than this.”

“Firepower?”

“It’s not like I’m carrying around a couple HK416 assault rifles. We need to be careful.”

“Maybe I should just go back to the police.”

“Maybe so. But if someone is following you in the meantime, I want to be prepared. My goal was to get you out of the damn pub unharmed. Turning over the information you have is second on my list of priorities.”

He stood and stripped his wet tee-shirt above his head, revealing an abdomen full of rippling muscles. She forced herself to look away, to look around the hotel room, to let her gaze rest anywhere but on him.

His low chuckle sent a feeling of warmth through her shivering body, and she could feel the blush spreading across her cheeks.

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