Page 21 of Tempted by a SEAL

“Hell, I don’t mind if you watch.” He winked as she hastened a glance back, much to her utter mortification. There was a third tattoo—some sort of round, tribal symbol across his broad pec. Briefly, she wondered what other tattoos he had—maybe something across his back. Something underneath his cargos. No doubt he’d gladly show her if she asked—and there was absolutely zero chance of that happening.

“Let me grab some clothes for you. I’d offer you a warm shower, but we can’t stay here. Not at the risk someone else was watching us. Let’s gather up some things and go.”

He pulled a clean tee-shirt from his pile of things and tossed it toward her.

She caught it clumsily and then glanced around.

“Go change in the bathroom if you want. Me? I’m not shy.” He unbuttoned his wet cargo pants and pushed them down, and then she was turning, moving toward the bathroom. But not before she’d seen those tight, black boxer briefs—the thick muscles on his thighs. The very large, ah, package concealed beneath his boxers.

Good heavens.

Pink tinged her cheeks as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom, and yes—you could see the lace of her bra though the wet, light pink cashmere sweater. The outline of her nipples as they pebbled in the cold. Silly her for wearing a sexy lace bra while outrunning the bad guys.

Hmmph.

She had a whole drawerful of beautiful lingerie they’d probably torn through back at her flat. She’d have to burn it all now. She couldn’t imagine wearing or wanting any of her things after grubby hands had sifted through her intimate belongings.

She dropped her backpack onto the counter, eyeing the water stains disdainfully, and quickly pulled off her soggy sweater. Tugged on the oversized tee-shirt of Hunter’s—and bloody hell, it even smelled like him.

Clean. A hint of spice.

Hadn’t he been deployed somewhere on a mission?

How’d his clothes smell so damn good?

She inhaled, suddenly feeling foolish. Never mind that his tee-shirt was now resting against her lace-clad breasts, covering her skin. The cotton had touched him—and there was something sexy as hell about wearing a man’s shirt.

About Hunter’s need to protect her.

She was being ridiculous though. They needed to get out of here, not wait around while she swooned over what was likely an insignificant act. She was soaking wet. They were on the run. And they needed to get the documents turned over to the proper authorities.

Opening her backpack, she pulled out her mobile. She had three new messages from friends, but she hastily texted her neighbor.

Someone’s been following me. If you see anything else suspicious around my flat, ring the police immediately.

She glanced toward the bathroom door, which she’d left ajar, and heard Hunter zipping up a bag. Deciding she had a minute to spare while Hunter gathered up the rest of his things, she turned on the hair dryer and quickly dried her dampened locks. She’d just about kill for a hot bath at the moment, but not feeling like a drowned rat would be a start.

“All set, princess?” a deep voice asked, sending her shrieking.

One large hand caught hers while the other neatly nabbed the hairdryer from midair. “It’s just me,” Hunter said, letting his fingers curl around her own. Holding her hand for a beat while she trembled.

“Holy shit,” she protested, tugging her hand away. Immediately regretting the loss of his touch. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

“You knew I was right in the other room—and besides, you left the door partway open.”

Emma blew out an exasperated breath. “That’s because I wanted to be aware if anyone was coming! You know, in case they tried to break down the door of the hotel room and come in here after us?”

He quirked a brow. “So you turned on the hair dryer? Where exactly were you planning to run in the bathroom anyway? It’s not like you can stand there and stop them with a blast of hot air.”

“No—I just—never mind. I was soaking wet.”

“Gotcha, princess.” He eyed her, his blue eyes warming. “You look pretty good in my shirt. Too damn good. Anyway, let’s roll out.”

Sighing, she stuffed her wet sweater into the plastic bag meant for laundry and then put it into her backpack. “And where exactly are we ‘rolling’? Perhaps you should just escort me to the police station. They didn’t believe me before, but after that little incident at the pub? Maybe I can drop off the papers and go. I’m sure it’s already all over the evening news.”

“Uh-huh. And what’s to stop those guys from coming after you? Doesn’t matter if you deliver the goods. You’ve seen it. Read whatever papers they want back.”

A chill snaked down her spine.

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