“Look, if you wanna shower, it’s now or never. Once I hit the bed, I’m not budging, and neither are you.”
“Let go,” she ordered, and jerked away from his grasp. “Keep your hands off me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, honey. Women like you grow on trees in the D.C. area.”
“Women like me?”
“Senator’s playthings? You know, bouncing the old mattress? Rocking the old headboards? Putting out?”
She clenched her fists at her sides. “I am not some Senator’s toy.”
“Special Agent’s toy, then. Same difference. You’re a political plaything.”
“Ooh, more than you can ever imagine, cowboy, but I’m―”
“What,” he growled, fury etching his face.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. What are you so pissed off about?”
“Are you denying you’re in Mac’s stable?”
“I’m a mare, now? This just gets better and better.”
“Deny it. Give me a reason not to be pissed.”
Flayme opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap. “I’m not going to deny anything to you. I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“No, you don’t. But, doll baby, don’t play coy and innocent with me, I know better.”
“What gets your goat the most, Mr. Hot Shot Agent, the fact that Mac beat you to me or because I belong to him, so you can’t or won’t touch me?”
“Wouldn’t count on the ‘won’t,’” he said absently, parting the drapes a mere inch and peeking outside.
“Nothing.” He fiddled with the curtains, making sure they closed tightly. “What gave you the idea I want to touch you?”
It dawned on Flayme that he wasn’t really absorbing the conversation. He was saying the words, but that’s exactly what he was doing, saying the words. He wasn’t into the conversation. He was immersed in checking their surroundings, but giving her his watered-down version of lip service. For some reason, it made her angrier to know he wasn’t really tuned in to their conversation.
“Oh, you know, there’s a certain little pointy part of your body that just gives you away, cowboy.”
“Huh.” Suddenly he whipped around eyeing her.
It struck her that although he’d given the impression he was only half listening to her, he’d been paying closer attention than she’d thought.
“Don’t flatter yourself, honey. I haven’t had a woman in a―let’s just say it’s been a long, dry spell. If a mosquito bumped against my zipper I’d get a hard-on right now.”
Flayme lifted a brow. “A long, dry spell, huh?”
“Don’t let it trouble your pretty little head, sweetheart. I told you, you aren’t my type.” He tore off his denim coat and draped it across the back of the only chair in the room. With just that small movement, he groaned and what little color he had left drained away, leaving his face pale as the snow outside on the ground.
Flayme bit her lower lip and sent up another silent prayer that he didn’t die on her. Her eyes widened as she slowly scanned his body. Good grief, the man was armed to the gills. A shoulder holster fit snug against his side. When he turned to lock the door, she saw a second weapon at the small of his back. “You have one of those tucked in your boot, too?”
“What?” He frowned, dragging the chair across the room and jamming it beneath the doorknob, making the room as secure as possible.
“You expecting an invasion?” she asked, half joking. The other half of her mind darkened with fear. If he was this concerned, she thought maybe she should be too, or at the least, a bit more alert of what was going on around her. His unease worried her, because it meant there was something more than someone taking potshots at a little nobody CIA secretary. All current releases available in print at Amazon.com E-format: http://www.moongypsypress.com/ http://www.eternalpress.biz/ http://www.tabithashay.com/ http://www.jaydynchelcee.com/ Email: firstname.lastname@example.org
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