Page 12 of Stealthy Seduction
THREE
Steele shoved through the base’s gym door, the bitter taste of yet another meeting about the elusive terrorist still lingering on his tongue. He needed iron and sweat, the acid bite of strain in his muscles—anything to drown out the nonstop reel of Izzy Cruz’s face playing behind his eyes for the past two days.
Her toned thighs…
Wrapped around him.
Her bikini riding high on her curvy hips…
Which he shoved aside so he could bury his fingers in her tight heat.
He stifled a groan. Stealing one night of pleasure with the woman had been a mistake. It didn’t slake his lust for her one bit. If anything, his balls were bluer than ever.
Nothing a hard workout wouldn’t fix.
Lucky for him, the gym had top-of-the-line equipment and was empty. He wouldn’t need to answer any questions about why he was pushing himself harder than normal.
He loaded the bench bar heavier than usual. Steele told himself it was for mission readiness, but he knew the truth. If he didn’t push his body to the edge, he’d keep thinking about Izzy’s soft mouth, the way she’d said his name like she trusted him when he questioned how she couldevertrust another human.
The bar came down, nearly chest-crushing, then he shoved it back up with a grunt. Again. And again.
“Christ, Steele, you training for the Olympics or making up for all the poker money you lost?” Con’s voice carried as he and Chase strolled in.
“Man’s got a death wish.” Chase grabbed a dumbbell. “Or maybe he’s just trying to impress whoever he was mystery-texting at midnight.”
Fuck. Chase caught him texting with Izzy.
He told himself it was only a courtesy after sex text.
Except he wasn’t even kidding himself. He never texted women he slept with. He hit it and quit it, then slept like a baby afterward.
But he had to know that Izzy was all right.
Her reply had been short.I’m good. You don’t have to check on me.
But the second text, a few minutes later, had gotten under his skin.Still, thanks. No one ever asks.
That was the one that stuck in his chest like a blade.
Steele racked the weight with a hard clang. “I don’t wanna know whatyouwere doing at midnight,” he shot back.
The identical smirks his brothers-in-arms tossed him said they weren’t easily diverted.
He took up the bar and pumped ten reps of his record weight then racked it again. Breathing hard, he sauntered across the gym, shaking out his arms as he did, and straddled the rowing machine.
Steele let the rhythm carry him until snippets of Con and Chase’s low voices cut through. They were talking perimeter security again, specifically the tweaks to the system around the mansion.
“Rear entrance still feels light.” Chase was doing burpees with the physical grace of a three-legged donkey. The man was built for speed with sleek muscles, but burpees weren’t his thing.
Steele slowed his pulls, then spoke without looking up. “Add an extra camera. Motion trip. Better coverage for anyone trying to slip in through there.”
It sounded like a general precaution, but every man in that room knew the rear path led straight past the hot tub where the women hung out no matter the weather.
“Good thinking, Steele.” Con grunted through a few squats with a heavy bar of weight.
“I’ll get on it today,” Chase said.
No one brought up the topic again, but Steele felt the weight of their silence on the matter. The men in Blackout weren’t supposed to have relationships or families. Charlie wasn’t the first team to break the rules, but that came with waves that rippled outward.
