He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. The ogling was an invasion of her privacy, however unintentional, and he had to cut the shit. He tried to think of something else. Anything. The score of the game. The job. The number of countries that began with the letter M. But nothing worked.
Luckily, Sarabeth’s screech as she passed by the mirror against the wall distracted him from wondering if her bra matched those panties. Or if she had taken it off altogether.
“Do you even know what these letters mean?”
She gestured toward the pink, bedazzled letters across her chest, “DTF,” also drawing attention to the very prominent answer to his question. Teacup br**sts with small, tight ni**les straining against the thin cotton. His throat went dry and he shrugged, tearing his gaze away to meet her incredulous stare.
“DTF? I dunno. I thought it was like a college acronym or an association of some kind or something. Like MADD or DARE.”
She flopped onto the bed and threw the covers over her bare legs with a groan. “Right. I’m sure you did.”
Her cheeks blazed and he found himself biting back a grin. He’d gotten her riled again and he hadn’t even meant to this time. At least she wasn’t crying. “What does it mean, then?”
“I’m not going to justify that question with an answer. Good night.” She turned her back to him, but now that she’d stopped crying, the devil in him couldn’t help but bait her one more time. There was something about her outrage that was strangely endearing.
“That’s a nice birthmark you’ve got.”
When she turned to face him, her face was blank. But when realization dawned, her eyes flashed, and she threw her entire body in the other direction, bouncing so hard against the mattress that the springs squealed for release. “We’re not speaking.”
“Aw, come on.”
She snapped off the light on her nightstand and five seconds later, started making soft snoring sounds.
“Nobody falls asleep that quickly.”
The snoring got louder, and he decided to give up the fight. Still, despite everything, he found himself smiling. Yep, the doc was tougher than she looked, but in order to keep her safe, he was going to have to watch her like a hawk. Not only did her bravery make her a danger to herself, but it was becoming more and more clear that if he didn’t look out for her, nobody else was going to.
His anger toward her grandparents burned hot again. He knew better than anyone how deep that kind of rejection cut, and it bothered him more than it should that Sarabeth had had to suffer it. That part couldn’t be helped. You couldn’t pick your family. But he had been picked to take care of her, and that’s what he was going to do. He’d protect her. From the enemy. From herself.
And who’s going to protect her from you? his conscience bleated.
He lay awake for a few minutes until Sarabeth’s fake snores turned to even, soft breaths. Then, he got up and grabbed his satphone from the nightstand. Silently, he edged across the room and outside the door, dialing the phone as he went.
It only rang once before the line picked up.
“Yeah.” Maddy, his partner, sounded even more impatient than usual.
“Not even a hello?”
“Car blown up, hotel heiress, and suspected kidnapping? I’ve been expecting this call for too long to waste time on the pleasantries. But hey, how’s it hanging?”
He snorted a laugh. “Fine, thanks.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Set her up with a new name, fake documents, the works.”
“Already done. She’s Sarah Lockwood now. God, you act like this is my first rodeo.”
“Well, how about this for a loop? Get her a badge and uniform. She’ll be coming into the office with me for the time being.”
“What do you mean?” Maddy’s tone was a decibel short of a screech, and he winced. He’d known she wasn’t going to be thrilled about having Sarabeth underfoot, but after the day he’d had, he’d been hoping that maybe one thing would go his way.
She groaned. “Come on, Gav. Just leave her at the house. We’ll send a guy over to sit outside. I’ll see if we can spare Tate.”
An ex-Special Forces extraction operative, Tate Boyd was the best security specialist they had at McClintock and Saunders, with the exception of himself and Maddy. If Gavin was going to trust anyone else with Sarabeth, it would be Tate.
But he wasn’t.
“No can do. You think Nico didn’t have top-of-the-line security and guards? She’s a walking bull’s-eye, and the only way to protect her is to keep her close until we figure out who’s behind this.”
“Walking bull’s-eye. Nice,” she said with a snort. “I hope you tell her that way. Your little debutante will probably fall into a fit of the vapors at that description.”
You’d be surprised. “I’ll deal with her, you just get the documents together.” He was about to disconnect but then remembered something else. “Oh, and Maddy?”
“What?”
“What’s DTF mean?” He waited for her to answer, but the she was silent on the other end. “Hello?”
His partner blew out a sigh. “Sorry, I was debating whether to ask you why you wanted to know, but then I realized I probably don’t want to hear the answer. It’s sort of Internet shorthand for ‘down to fuck.’ Annnnd, on that note, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
She hung up, leaving him staring dumbly at the flashing vacancy sign.
Fuck all.
Chapter Five
“Sarabeth?”
The low, gruff voice teased at her consciousness even as an unfamiliar scent tickled her nose. Clove…and something woodsy. Cold droplets of water splattered her feet and ankles and, for a moment, panic skittered through her as she wondered if she’d been caught. Was she out in the woods somewhere, tied to a tree and left for dead? After a night of dreams filled with chase scenes that ended with her falling off cliffs, it seemed about right. But no. She could still feel the sheets all around her, thank God. She was in the motel and safe. There was just something dripping on her feet, forcing her to face a day she was not at all ready to face yet.
Reluctantly, she blinked her eyes open to stare at the ceiling. No leaks. It didn’t even sound like it was raining. So where was the wa—
She scrubbed a hand over her face and sat up to find Gavin at the foot of her bed with a tiny motel towel hitched precariously around his lean hips. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she stared. His tattoo stood out in bold relief against his swarthy skin. The shoulders that had looked broad with a shirt on were even more spectacular unclothed. Thickly muscled and gorgeous. Don’t look down. Don’t look—
It was no use, though. Her gaze tripped lower as if magnetized, and she took in the contours of his chest, the ropy muscles of his abs, the tight vee right about that thin, white towel…
She swallowed hard and shook her head to clear it. It was way too early for this. Too early to tamp down her reaction to his brutish but undeniable sexuality. He’d already gotten her feet wet and the condition seemed to be spreading upward. But as hard as she tried to tear her gaze away, it seemed as though she always found herself in the exact same spot. Staring at the droplets of water clinging to his pecs, inanely jealous she wasn’t one of them.
Not that she’d ever tell him that. She worked up some saliva and met his eyes with a frown. “Ugh, will you put it away? It’s sort of early for stripper-robics, I think.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry, sleeping beauty, but we’ve got to get going. The shower’s free if you want in.”
She was surprised by how easy his smile looked. As if he hadn’t just obliterated her insides by flashing around his mostly naked body all over the place.
“I just forgot to grab my clothes. I’ll only be another minute and then it’s all you.” He flexed over his suitcase, and she caught a glimpse of that tattoo again, 8-28-02. Curiosity tugged at her. First, at what it meant, and second at why she couldn’t seem to look away.
And as she stared, she noticed there was more than just the tattoo. A long, thin line extended from the center of his chest to just above his right nipple. The lower left section of his stomach was peppered with long-healed pink reminders of previous wounds.
Until that moment, she’d sort of thought of him as a hired hand. He did his job and got out. His body told a different story. He’d sacrificed. He’d suffered. He was a warrior. And while that should have comforted her considering their situation, it only managed to make her that much more afraid. She wasn’t the only one at risk here. Her unwitting actions had also put someone else in danger.
She cleared her throat, trying to wrap her head around the turn her life had taken. She had to get her mind off of the situation… to focus on the future because the now was just too damned scary.
“Where are we going, exactly?”
“Breakfast.” He tossed the word over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.
“Funny. But really, where?”
“Denny’s probably. Delicious food. Plus, it’s five a.m., and they have a great early-bird discount.”
She sighed. Maybe the best course of action was to stay mute. Trying to make conversation with this confounding man was a one-way path to insanity. “Awesome. We’re on the lam from a hit man, and your plan is to hit the Denny’s,” she mumbled.
Clearly not as quietly as she’d hoped because he shouted through the door a second later. “Man’s gotta eat.”
She grumbled under her breath some more, this time more softly. He was the expert, so she’d do what he said, but it went against the grain. Still, if he was half as good as Owen said he was, following his directives could make this whole thing go away a lot faster, so she’d make the best of it.
She quickly packed up the few things she’d brought, and he emerged from the bathroom a minute later fully clothed, thank the baby Jesus. She pushed past him into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. After a quick hosing off in the surprisingly not filthy shower, and a mirror pep talk full of affirmations about how she was strong, confident, and not a victim, she was feeling marginally better and refreshed. She applied a dab of lip gloss and some mascara just for the illusion of normalcy and pulled on the next outfit she’d found in the plastic bag of horrors—another pair of jeans that were a size smaller than they should’ve been and a tight purple scoop-neck shirt. She was lucky that her br**sts weren’t big enough to pour over the top of the collar. The same couldn’t be said for the bottom half of the shirt. No matter how she turned, it wouldn’t meet the top of her jeans. Instead, it clung to her stomach, exposing a three-inch swath of skin almost to her belly button. She shot a glance down at the balled-up, bedazzled DTF shirt and sighed. Not a whole lot of options.
So much for feeling refreshed and confident. She wiped her suddenly damp palms on her second-skin jeans and threw her shoulders back. If she was going to wear it, there was no point in skulking around. What was that Lindy was always muttering to herself when she got stressed?
Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine.
She swung open the bathroom door to find Gavin sitting on the bed, waiting for her. He leaned back on his elbows, and the motion made his biceps bulge in a way that made her want to test one with her fingers.
“Good, you’re all set. Right then, let’s go.” He pushed himself up and crossed the room without looking at her twice, which may have been a blessing. Tight as her clothes were, his pants were far more distracting. The dark wash skimmed his bottom, and she couldn’t keep herself from watching every tantalizing movement as he strode ahead of her. He might be the kind of guy who liked to push buttons, but clearly Mother Nature had doled out a little extra in the “Fine” department to even it all out.