Franklin’s back was turned toward me, and my fingers itched to reach out and trace the swirling tattoos that covered the length of his arm. He was so tough, so strong, and yet he was one of the kindest men I’d ever met. A part of me wanted to get close to him, to feel his body wrapped around mine.

But he wasn’t interested, I could tell. He hadn’t wanted to get into bed with me, and when he had—after my begging…how embarrassing—he’d immediately turned away from me to stare at the wall.

My breathing was heavy, and I couldn’t relax. Not with this perfect specimen in bed beside me. It had been a long time since I’d felt the comforting arms of a man. Maybe if I just pressed my hand against his back, he’d get the message. He’d turn toward me, and then…

I shifted closer to him, letting my thigh touch his. Immediately, he stiffened, his body going rigid.

“What are you doing?” he asked in strained voice.

“I’m cold,” I said, which was a bit of a lie. My whole body felt flushed and hot.

He twisted to face me, and his eyes searched my face. My skin hummed from the intensity I saw in his expression. My breath caught. I’d been wrong. There was something there, I could tell. This wasn’t how a man looked at a woman unless he wanted her, like he was using all his willpower to stay on his side of the bed.

His rough palm cupped my cheek, and I shuddered uncontrollably at his touch.

“You don’t feel cold,” he said quietly.

“I’m not actually cold,” I said in a whisper, my body arching toward his.

His mouth was on me then, his tongue spreading open my lips. I moaned and closed my eyes, pressing my body up against the hard planes of his chest. His thumb rubbed against my cheek as his kiss deepened even more, and my heart began to pound hard in my chest.

God, everything about him felt so damn good.

My breath quickened, and my thighs grew wet as he slid his hand up to cup my breast underneath my shirt. His finger teased my nipple, making the ache between my legs so overwhelming that I felt the need to cry out, both in pleasure and in pain.

His lips moved down to my neck, his tongue slipping across the delicate skin underneath my ear.

“Franklin,” I gasped.

Suddenly, a harsh vacuum of cold air was between us. He pulled away, his eyes wide, his cheeks flushed, his breath coming out in quick gasps. He shook his head and pounded a hand against his forehead, and disappointment flooded through me at his reaction. He seemed angry, pissed off.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, tears pricking my eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Rosie,” he said in a gruff voice, glancing away from me. His jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth. “I can’t do this. It isn’t right.”

“It isn’t right?” I couldn’t help the hurt that spread throughout me. I’d presented himself to him, opened up my body for his taking, and now he was pushing me away. For no fucking reason at all.

“You don’t know me.” He stood from the bed and grabbed a pillow. “I’m the worst possible thing for you right now.”

I scoffed. For some reason, I’d thought this guy wouldn’t play those stupid games. It’s not you, it’s me. Always bullshit, always a code word for: you’re just not what I want.

“You know what? Fine.” Huffing, I twisted in the sheets and pulled my shirt back down over my exposed breast. Embarrassed, my cheeks still flamed and my heart still raced. I squeezed my eyes tight and pretended I was going to sleep. I could feel him standing in the middle of the hotel room, staring down at me with those smoldering dark eyes of his.

Everything inside me wanted to look at him, but I didn’t give in. Eventually, I heard him settle onto the floor with a sigh. The floor creaked as he tried to get comfortable, and immediately I regretted letting him sleep down there instead of on the bed with me. But my pride wouldn’t let me give in. After a few long silent moments, his breathing deepened and his body stilled. He’d managed to fall asleep.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t relax at all.

* * *

Bright lights shone on my face, and confusion rippled through me as I tried to place where I was. Memories of the night before flooded my brain when I saw Franklin’s tall and muscular frame silhouetted by the morning sun. Franklin. Scooter. Running in the freezing rain. Me throwing myself at a hot guy who wanted nothing to do with me.

Oh god. Shame flushed my cheeks and I scooted further under the sheets, wishing I could disappear without facing Franklin. What would I say? How would he look at me? He must have thought I was some kind of crazy girl who just threw herself at any guy who fell into her mess of a life.

Hell, I didn’t even know his last name.

The sliding door whirred open and shut, and I peeked over the sheet to see Franklin edging quietly back into the room.

“Morning,” I said.

“Good morning.” A frown pulled down his lips, and lines criss-crossed his forehead, as if he were deep in thought. For a moment, I felt pure panic that he might abandon me now. Even though I liked to pride myself on my independence, I’d realized as I tossed and turned in bed that I needed his help if I wanted to get Owen out of here.

“I need to talk to you about your handler,” he said.

I frowned. I certainly hadn’t expected that. After last night, I’d assumed we’d make some kind of acknowledgement about what had passed between us, but no, he was being a typical guy. Ignore it and it’ll go away. Ugh. Men.

“What about him?” I sat up on the bed, making sure that the sheets covered my bare legs. Now that he’d turned me down, I couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing my body. How freaking embarrassing.

“You said your handler knew you were coming here.” He began to pace back and forth across the room, his jaw rippling, his arms crossed tight across his chest. “You said he was aware that you wanted to retrieve Owen from Carlsville.”

My cheeks burned as I watched him pace. That hadn’t been the entire truth, but I hadn’t felt comfortable filling him in on everything about my situation. “Yeah, that’s what I said. Why are you asking about it?”

He stopped pacing, turning to face me. “I can’t help you if you aren’t honest with me, Rosie.”

Something flickered in my brain, some kind of warning. How could he have known I hadn’t been totally honest? Taking a slow breath, I tried to steady my nerves, but the intensity of his stare made that impossible. “What makes you think I’m not being honest?”

“I’ve just spoken with your handler,” he said after a moment of silence. “He had no idea you left your safe house, and he certainly had no idea of your intentions to come to Carlsville this weekend. You should have told him. He would have sent a team for extraction. It could have prevented this whole thing from happening.”

“You talked to my handler? How?” Anger and shock tore through me, and I scrambled backwards off the bed. My ears rang, and my heart thumped so hard it shook my chest. “Who the hell are you?”