Page 47 of Power Play

“It happens a lot. Get used to it.”

“I grew up with Birmingham and Whit. Most of the fucksticks in DC, actually.”

I nod, then shake my head. “Still though, why feel the need to pee on me?”

“Please stop saying that,” Trey says on a sigh. I can't help but smile at his restrained annoyance. “Birmingham and I, plus Whit, have a rocky past.”

“Ah, so it's less about me and more about you and Kyle.” Mouth open, prepared to take another bite, I pause. “Wait. Oh hell, are you gay? Did y'all break up or something?”

“What the—”

“Now the bitter attitude makes sense. You were jealous, thinking I was sleeping with your ex–boyfriend.”

Trey races closer, leaping over the coffee table. I shriek in excitement, the half-eaten burger falling forgotten to the plate. He grips the back of the couch on either side of my head, boxing me between his arms. In slow motion, he leans closer, and I sink deeper into the couch in retreat.

Deep, labored pants fan my face as he hovers inches from my face.

“Benson. Stop your shit. She didn’t mean it,” T calls out from somewhere in the distance, zero concern in his distracted tone.

“Take it back, or you'll regret it,” Trey grunts, his almost smile taking the heat from his words.

“Are you a giver or a taker?” I say around a stifled giggle. Holy hell, it’s hot in here. “I knew you were too pretty to be straight.”

“There are twenty different ways I could kill you right now. I'm fucking badass, not pretty.”

“Why does that turn me on?” His eyes widen at my breathy words. My chest rises and falls in quick succession, my pulse racing through my body, heating every inch. “There is somethingseriouslywrong with me.”

That damn sexy, mischievous smirk tugs at his edible lips. “Or very right.” My breaths come in short pants. His lips brush against the shell of my ear, and I shiver at his raspy low voice. “I’m not gay, but I do love fucking a woman’s nice round ass.”

Who's wheezing? Shit. Am I wheezing? I'm wheezing.

What the hell? Sweat slicks my hands. At some point, my stomach slid up my throat and is now lodged there, preventing me from swallowing all the saliva building in my mouth.

“Get off her,” T says, his words muffled like he's…

Tearing my lust-filled eyes from Trey's, I catch T as he shoves the last of the cheeseburger into his mouth.

“Hey.” I pout. “That was mine.” My hand vibrates with Trey's laugh as I shove against his chest to sit up.

T’s broad shoulders rise and fall in an exaggerated shrug. “You dropped it, five second rule. Now back to business.” The repetitive drumming of his fingers along the side table is the only sound in the quiet suite. Earlier Trey kicked the other agents out so I could tell the story without untrustworthy ears listening. “I'm guessing what happened last night with the accident somehow has to do with Shawn. I'll work on that angle once we get back to DC. It's good you told us; we can better protect you from inside threats now that we know to expect them.”

“Great,” I say with a yawn. A quick glance to the grandfather clock—because what hotel room doesn’t have one of those—tells me it's just past ten. “As much fun as this has been, I have a shit ton of information to memorize before we head home tomorrow.” The room spins a fraction as I stand. A hand dips beneath the suit coat I'm still wearing to slide around my waist, steadying me. I tip my head up. “Thank you.”

“What are friends for?” A full, genuine smile spreads up Trey’s cheeks. For a second, I stay mesmerized by the change in his face. The smirk is sexy, yes, but this smile? Hot fucking damn. The lightness in his features, the happiness in those bunched cheeks, gives him a fun-loving, boyish look.

“You should smile more,” I whisper, still staring. I want that happy. The carefree, self-assured rightness in my life.

Soon. Even though money isn’t an issue anymore, the pressure to keep proving myself is still there. Too many people still doubt me, hoping I fail. Once I prove everyone how wrong they are, how wrong they’ve been my whole life, maybe then I can be truly happy.

“Nah.” He tugs, drawing me closer. “Come on. I'll help you to your room.”

Each step forces our bodies to brush, shock waves of awareness from my racing heart zapping me with each accidental touch. As subtle as I can, I dip my nose to the coat still cocooning me in its warmth. His unique spicy scent fills my nose. As I take another long sniff, the stress from the last few hours eases from my shoulders, allowing them to drop from their place at my ears.

We pause halfway into the room. The fingers wrapped around my waist tighten.

“Where do you want to sit? Bed or chair?”

“Chair,” I say, pointing to the plush chair I sat in earlier. “Shoot, I need my laptop bag.” I try to shrug out of his hold, but his grip tightens, preventing me.

---