Page 35 of Only the Wicked
I grin. “I can’t fall back asleep.”
“Did I say anything about sleep?”
I stride for my suitcase and unzip the compartment holding tops.
“I thought we were going hiking today?”
“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”
My hair slides over my shoulder as I glance back at him, smiling. “I need a shower.”
“I can join you.”
I narrow my eyes, tempted but...
He groans, shaking his head. “Fine. If I stay here, I’ll beg and that’s not attractive.”
With an audible groan, he moves off the mattress, scoots by me with a slight caress of my ass, and the bathroom door shuts.
I pull on a T-shirt that hits at my hips and stare at the closed door.
Should I confess to my lie and haul him into bed? Say, screw the hike and screw him?
No. Go on the hike. Get to know him. Get the job done.
You’re a professional. Score access. Allow the team to breach his systems. Withdraw.
The door swings open and in four long strides he reaches me, tilts my head back, and places his lips over mine. A profusion of mint fills my mouth. Strong hands grip my bottom and haul me against him.
My arms lift over his shoulders and I rock against his hard, lean body, loving the pressure against my core and the heat rolling off his hard chest.
He breaks the kiss, brushes his thumb over my lips, slaps my ass, and says, “I’m going to shower. Meet in thirty? We’ll grab breakfast and head out?”
The beats of my heart reverberate through my breastbone. It’s like I’ve run a marathon, but I’ve only kissed the man. The novel reaction to a kiss is one I’ve got to wrap my head around, because the strength of the physical reaction goes beyond lust. Adrenaline? The thrill of an op?
He’s at the door when it occurs to him I haven’t responded.
“Syd? Is that okay?”
I nod, and he’s gone.
Syd? How is he already shortening my name?
The silence that follows his departure feels heavy, loaded with everything I’m not letting myself think about.
I sink onto the bed, stunned by my reaction to his kiss. This isn’t good.
I should call Quinn. Check in. Do my job.
But my hands shake slightly as I reach for the work phone Hudson gave me. When was the last time a target affected me like this? I’ve cared for targets before, but intimacy? Never.
The phone feels foreign in my hands, heavier than it should. I stare at Quinn’s contact information, thumb hovering over the call button. Once I make this call, I’m back in mission mode. Back to thinking of Rhodes as a target instead of...whatever he’s becoming. Dozens of assets died last year in addition to mine. Professional distance is a luxury I can’t afford. I dial Quinn’s number and set the phone to speaker, busying myself with digging through my suitcase to pick an outfit for the day. Multitasking maintains the illusion that this is just another check-in call.
“Sydney?”
“Hey Quinn. Checking in.”
“How’d last night go?”
