Page 17 of Tempting Tessa

Felt like it, too.

She found him in the kitchen, a spread of food on the table. He’d found her hidden laptop—he was definitely more operative than analyst—and was scanning the screen. “Why are we taking a train?”

“To get to the nearest airport. There, we’ll fly to London and grab a flight to the US. We travel as strangers.”

When he glanced up, his assessment of her reminded her of the same scrutiny he’d applied to the passport and driver’s license. It started with her wet hair that she piled on top of her head, then her tank top, his gaze like a brand raking over her collarbone, her shoulders, down her arms.

His focus snagged momentarily on her stitches before drifting to the snug-fitting yoga pants and down to her bare feet.

Everywhere his eyes went, a fire lit inside of her. Not like the ache in her arm from the bullet, but from something very female. The part of her that was exceptionally lonely.

He took a moment to refocus on her face and seemed to need time to remember the gist of their conversation before he replied. “Why not go straight to the States?”

“Two reasons.” She sunk into a chair and helped herself to crackers and dried fruit. “First, I want to make sure your passport works without raising any red flags. Secondly, we’ll draw less attention flying into the United States from the UK than from here.”

He rested his elbows on the table, continuing to study her. “What if the passport pings something?”

“That’s what plans B and C are for.”

“Which you’re going to let me in on, right?”

She stuffed her face and chewed, avoiding his eyes. She didn’t want to talk about plans at the moment. She wanted to force him to the bedroom to undress him. “Sure,” she said around a mouthful.

“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?”

Like before, his voice held a trace of challenge, and she glanced up to see him smiling at her. That smile…damn. The spot between her legs tingled, and it was everything she could do not to push him away from the table and climb into his lap. “Not everything,” she told him.I don’t have you and me figured out yet. “But I’m working on it.”

He asked for details. She didn’t give any. “You’re up for a shower.”

Her body betrayedher long before she admitted she needed rest. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving her limbs heavy and her mind foggy, even after the caffeine and the food.

Or maybe she was simply running away from her feelings. She tended to feel far too uncomfortable and exceptionally awkward around him.

However, she stayed at the kitchen table even after Tommy went to shower. It was better that she didn’t get too close to that door—in her state, she might do something stupid and walk right in.

What if she did? What if she stripped off her clothes and climbed into the shower with him, only to find he didn’t want her?

The horror of that scenario kept her seated and checking flights.

Eventually, her eyes drooped, and she laid her head on the table. Just for a minute—when she heard the shower shut off, she would perk back up and pretend to be as lively as…

She fell asleep. The next thing she knew, Tommy lifted her from the chair and carried her to bed. He smelled and felt so good. She liked his arms around her and enjoyed the gentleness with which he laid her on the bed and covered her with the blanket.

She made noises of protest, but he patted her shoulder. “Get some sleep. You’re safe. “

She drifted off in dreams of strong arms and dark eyes.

Morning light filtered through the curtains when she stirred next. Her arm throbbed dully, but it was the familiar warmth beside her that made her ease deeper into the sheets.

Tommy’s arm draped loosely over her waist, his breathing slow and steady.

For a moment, she didn’t move, her mind scrambling to piece together how she’d gone from the kitchen to the bed—and why he was here with her. Then the memories flooded back, all except the part where he’d slipped in beside her.

They’d shared the same bed for nearly a week, but this felt different.

Her breath caught as he shifted, his eyes fluttering open. “Morning,” he said, his voice thick and rough from sleep.

By the hardness pressing against her thigh, his voice wasn’t the only thing that was thick. What would he do if she wrapped a hand around his erection and squeezed it?

---