Page 17 of Covert Temptation

She gave him the flat look that request deserved. “I have asystem. I’ve packed this luggage a thousand times. Everything has to fit just right to avoid damage.”

He folded his arms across his muscled chest and let out an irritated huff.

“Time for my beauties.” She tucked a black silk bag holding a pair of suede heels in the corner of the luggage. “Now your turn, my lovelies.” She added the tan silk bag with another pair of heels into the opposite corner.

“You’re actually talking to your wardrobe.”

“I’d talk to you, but you’re not very friendly.” She might try harder if he didn’t act like a colossal dickhead every time he got around her.

He exhaled, barely shaking his head. “You realize there’s a reason we’re leaving this place, right? When you ran, you might as well have given a map to anyone who might be looking for you. Less shoe worship, more packing, Kennedy.”

She whirled on him. “If you’d just spent weeks alone inthis place”—she swept her hand around the apartment—“you’d find something to converse with too!”

His lips set in a firmer line, but he didn’t come at her again for whatever crazy she might have generated by being alone—and scared—for so long.

She returned to packing, doing her best to ignore him—but it was damn near impossible when the man seemed to fill the entire room, and whatever space he didn’t occupy physically, his attitude claimed.

She stilled with her hand on another silk bag.

“Kennedy.” He growled her name in a tone that rippled over her nape and fast-tracked down her spine.

“These are my best shoes and they deserve some care.” She looked around, making sure she wasn’t missing anything, then zipped the luggage shut. “Don’t you have anything you care about?”

“Yeah. My AR.”

She rolled her eyes so hard she almost saw stars.

“And my body armor,” he added. “Also important. Keeps people alive. You know—like, real people. Not…accessories.”

That stung more than she’d admit. “You think I’m shallow.”

“I think,” he said slowly, “that when people get handed everything, they don’t understand how to prioritize.”

Her jaw dropped. “Handed? You think anything came easy to me? That I didn’t work my ass off for every single thing I have?”

He shrugged. “You’re not packing like someone who knows what danger looks like.”

Kennedy tipped her head back and deliberately held his stare. “I was alone here for weeks. I know exactly what danger looks like. It might be silly stuff to you, but these things make me feel like a person. I didn’t grow up with brothers in my corner or a SEAL team at my back. I built myself.”

His jaw ticked, but he said nothing. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, breathing hard.

She wanted to ball her fists in frustration and storm away, but she held her ground.

He took a step closer, holding his.

She hated how annoyingly good he looked with five-o’clock shadow dusting his angular jaw. Even his hard, unreadable eyes glimmered like obsidian.

Dante King was hot.

And angry and judgmental.

But also frustratingly hot.

She turned away, lifting the suitcase with both hands. He took it from her before she could argue, then rushed her out of the apartment so fast she didn’t even have time to flip the bird to the four dull walls of her former prison.

They drove again, this time out of the city. The tall buildings gave way to undisturbed and wild countryside. Snow coated the empty fields. Lining the side of the road, fence ran for miles.

Kennedy had no idea where they were, but it was rural and quiet. Too quiet.

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