Page 75 of Steel Vengeance
Him.
She jerked her leg away and stared at the window on her side of the room. The blinds were drawn, but light streamed in from underneath and around the sides. It was morning.
Matthew had tried to kill her. He was one of the bad guys.
Fully awake now, she replayed the events from last night—the hotel bar, Jeremy, the look on his face when he saw her standing there. Even though she’d enjoyed the moment, she couldn’t muster a smile. It was still such a shock, they wanted her dead. She knew too much about their heroine importing scheme.
Still, it had felt good to confront him like that. It was now a game of cat and mouse, but they were winning. The fuck-you message she’d delivered last night had said:You’re going down, buster. You’re not going to get me.
And it was all thanks to Stitch.
How crazy was it that a month ago, she’d arrived in this city with nothing but a case of clothes and an assignment? Now here she was, teamed up with two Navy SEAL operators, about to take down a drug trafficking ring. It was surreal.
This had been the weirdest, most insane month of her life. She was now a CIA agent on her first mission. She’d been shot, met a man who made her pulse race, and now she was helping to dismantle a drug cartel. Real life would seem boring after this.
Then again, boring would be a relief.
Boring was safe. It meant she could go home, and not worry that a lone gunman on a motorcycle was going to take her out as soon as she let her guard down.
One thing she knew for sure—she wasn’t going back to the CIA.
No freakin’ way.
She was done with the Agency. It was pretty clear that the life of an agent wasn’t for her. She’d take the chaos and mayhem of a school day over this any time.
Except for Stitch.
She could never regret meeting him—her scarred, rough, and damaged sailor.
Sitting up in bed, she looked over at him, still sleeping soundly. He was on his back, his broad chest rising and falling steadily. She admired his naked torso, the powerful muscles now relaxed in sleep, the tattoo winding down his arm.
She imagined what it would be like to caress the patch of hair on his chest, trace it down to his belly button, and over his chiseled abs.
“Sleep well?” asked a deep, growly voice beside her.
She gasped, her eyes darting to his face. Had he caught her staring?
“Uh, yeah, thanks,” she replied, coloring. “You?”
“Fine.” He tossed the sheet back and strode to the bathroom wearing nothing but his boxers. She knew she shouldn’t, but her gaze dropped to his firm, muscular butt. The kind that demanded attention.
Once the door was shut, she sprung out of bed and reached for her clothes, wincing as she did so. Her arm still ached, even though the shot he’d given her had helped. She hadn’t asked him to redress the bandage last night, since she’d dozed off before he’d gotten out of the shower, but she had managed to apply the gauze and a strip of band-aid she’d found rummaging through his medical kit.
He emerged, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt.
“Let me see your arm,” he said, gesturing to the stool beside the dresser. “The band-aid’s fine for nighttime, but you need to keep it covered during the day.”
She sat and tried not to move as he wrapped the dressing around her arm. Those massive, scarred hands—so gentle. She still felt them holding her hips, moving over her back, in her hair.
I’ll never let you go.
Words she longed to hear, but they were for someone else.
Not her. Never her.
A melancholy slapped her in the face, and she sighed.
“You okay?” He was looking down at her, his gaze narrowed.