GET A ROOM! Pictures of Rocco Monroe with his new flavor of the month. Is America’s Most Eligible Bachelor finally off the market?

Light shone in through the curtain as Annie yawned and stretched out her body in the big fluffy bed. Usually she wasn’t just up by six, she was up as in wired and eager to move. Today, for the first time in forever, she brought the soft duvet up to her neck and cuddled into one of the even softer pillows that formed a small snuggly cloud around her. Thinking about the naughty and completely inappropriate things Rocco had said to her. The proposition he’d made. Mostly the way his lips felt against hers, his big hands against her neck. She shivered and rubbed her face into the pillow, like a cat, needing more of the sensation against her skin. Lavender fabric softener, one billion thread count sheets—she almost didn’t want to move. She almost wished he’d walk into the room and just do all the things he’d promised.

She wasn’t sure how today would go. The ball was in her court, he’d said so twice already. And the more she thought about it, the more she wanted him. So, they’d have a wild fling for a few months? She could certainly handle that, right? She wanted to be as confident with men as she was with everything else in her life, so she wished she could just forget all her worries, find him and give him a big resounding YES!

Except her phone began to ring, disturbing her once-in-a-lifetime lazy moment.

“Damn it,” she groaned, and rolled over to pluck it from the nightstand. “What do you want, Joey?”

“Colombia’s back on. NHN found a location.”

She sat up. “I already knew that.”

“We need to talk. Sending Clark over to cover for you. I need you at ICS for a few hours.”

A moment ago she’d felt languid and relaxed, now she was charged and confused. “What for?”

“I’ll see you soon.” And the sonofabitch hung up without an explanation.

Before setting her phone down, she noticed she had a dozen messages and a ton of Google alerts. She clicked on the first alert and there she was, fists clawing at Rocco’s shoulders, his big palm cupping the back of her head with one hand and the other arm wrapped around her waist, their lips fused together. It wasn’t the kiss of a budding relationship or an awkward first date, it was a kiss that screamed lust and sex. But worse than that photo was the next one. It was when they’d stopped kissing. In this one her lips were swollen and parted, and her face and neck were completely flushed as she looked away, almost shyly, but his eyes were honed in on her as if he couldn’t wait one more second to strip her naked and devour her. His nostrils were flared, his shirt slightly crumpled, his hair a mess from where her fingers must have gripped. It was erotic and intimate and she didn’t know what the hell to do about the fact that it was now out there for the world to see. She lived mostly under the radar, and now here she was, front and center in a Hollywood scandal.

She knew it would be all over the news this morning, but for some reason she’d buried it in the back of her mind. Seeing it in photos was freaking her out. And the emails—which she was going to ignore for the time being—were surely about the photos.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she didn’t even take a moment to meditate or stretch. She went straight to the bathroom to shower and get ready for whatever it was that Joey wanted to tell her. If her overprotective brother was going to give her a hard time about that kiss, he had another thing coming. She was a grown-ass woman doing her job, a job he’d all but forced her to take.

Twenty minutes later she was sitting outside the house waiting for Clark to get there, not wanting to wake Rocco.

“Hey, kid.” Clark, an older member of ICS, greeted her when he pulled up in one of ICS’s vans. He was maybe thirty-five. It annoyed the hell out of her that they saw her as a kid.

“’Mornin’. Rocco is a late sleeper. We have an event tonight, but I’ll be back by then. Make sure he stays indoors. He has two video meetings and will likely be holed up in his office. There’s some construction people coming in to install a new window, but other than that, keep the alarm on. If he wants to go for a run, go with him or tell him no.”

“No? You want me to tell Rocco Monroe no?”

“Yes.” She stepped into the van, which he’d left on for her. “Clark, you sure you’re up to this?”

“I’ve been serving this country since you were in diapers.”

“But this isn’t Iraq, Clark. This is a hardheaded actor who doesn’t think there’s a threat.” She pulled out the buzzing phone from her pocket. It was Joey, texting her to hurry up. “Shit. Just don’t let him out of your sight. Call me if there’s a problem. The front door is open, I’ll close the gate when I leave,” she said as she prepared to meet her fate.

* * *

“What’s going on, Joe?”

Joey sat behind his desk at ICS. Jax was sitting on a chair in front, his legs stretched out casually. As if they’d just been discussing baseball rather than one of the many highly dangerous missions ICS had been contracted to do—or the damning photos they’d seen earlier.

“How are things at Casa Rocco?” Jax asked.

Annie went around and sat on the chair next to him, annoyed at how cavalier they were acting when they’d just demanded her presence at headquarters as if there had been some sort of emergency. “Other than the broken window the other day, it’s been quiet.” They already knew what had happened and had been updating her on the guys who’d been arrested, currently out on bail. “What’s the problem? Why’d you pull me today?”

“So we’re ignoring the elephant in the room?” Joey chided.

Huffing, she crossed her arms over her chest. “So we kissed. What’s the big deal? I was hired to be his girlfriend, wasn’t I?”

“Fake girlfriend. That didn’t entail making out with him in front of all the paparazzi in Miami.”

“Shut up. I’m not having this conversation with you. Is that why you summoned me here?”

“No, but as your big brother, I thought I’d remind you that this is just a job and that Monroe isn’t boyfriend or husband material. I don’t want to see you get hurt, Annie. Don’t forget this is all pretend.”

“I know, Joey. It’s fine. Don’t worry about me. What else did you want to discuss?”

“We’ve started coordinating things for the filming in Colombia. I don’t like it.” Joey said. “We don’t like it,” he clarified. “Colombia is where all the threats are stemming from, and I don’t think it’s safe.”

“Yeah, I know, you’ve made it perfectly clear how you don’t like me anywhere except holed up in here in your protective bubble. But it’s happening, so if you brought me in to bitch, you can just stop it right now, Joey. We already resolved this shit at my apartment before I agreed to do the job.”

“I’m just expressing my concern now that Colombia’s back in the picture.”

“Okay, got it. Now that you’ve gotten all of that off your chest I’m leaving.” She stood up.

“No, that’s not all.” Joey leaned forward on his desk. “I want you back in the Gridiron. I wish you’d been able to do more hands-on training in there before the movie starts. I want you to do a run-through. See how you do. If there are any weaknesses, we can try to squeeze in a quick refresher before filming starts here in Miami next week and definitely before you head off to Colombia.”

“You want me to go through the Gridiron?” The Gridiron was a state-of-the-art training facility that ICS used to simulate a variety of situations. To say it was hardcore was an understatement. Normally, Annie would have thrived on the challenge and the chance to show her overprotective ass of a brother up, but right now was not normal. And it wasn’t procedure. Joey didn’t want her to go through the Gridiron as extra training; he wanted to try to trip her up and remove her from the case.

She stood up, feeling the anger starting to boil. “That’s absurd. I’m in the middle of a job. I don’t have to prove anything to you. I can pass the Gridiron in my sleep.”

“Annabelle—” he barked, standing up too. She could tell by his tone, and the red on his face, that he was angry.

“I’ll do it, I’m not scared. But this is bullshit, and you know it. Would you do this to a man on the team? The Gridiron is for getting ready and preparation during off times. You do not take me out of a mission to see if I’m qualified to continue. I was in the United States Army, Joey, for Christ sake. I’ve been to war. I’m capable.”

“You were in a raid, missing for two fucking days, and catatonic for three. I’m still amazed they didn’t relieve you of duty right then and there! I almost lost my goddamn mind when I received the call. You almost killed Ma! I’m not going to let that happen again. I need to know you’re ready! If you can’t show me you can handle this, I’m pulling you from the job!” He slammed his fists on the table. And for the first time in a long time, something became obvious. Ridiculously obvious. It wasn’t that her brother didn’t trust her or her ability.

It was that he was scared.

Terrified.

She had gone through hell and he had been right there alongside of her, unable to do a damn thing about it.

“Joey,” she whispered. Were his eyes a little misty?

He walked around the table and stood right in front of her. “Do you know what it’s like to get a call while you’re in the middle of Iraq to let you know that your baby sister was missing? I have never in my life felt more helpless or scared. I couldn’t take it if something happened to you. I just need to make sure you can handle this. Before Dad died, I promised to take care of you, and I failed him once. I failed you both. I won’t do it again, Annie. I won’t.”

Her shoulders dropped. She could see the weight of this burden on him, the dark purple under his eyes. He was genuinely worried. “Okay, Joey.”

“Thank you.”

Jax stood and put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go, kid, the Gridiron waits for no one.”

She stood there looking at her brother for a few minutes, her throat felt tight. That week had been hell. “Hell” was not even the right word. For two days, she’d been deprived of all senses, stuck under rubble, unable to move, barely able to breathe, coming in and out of consciousness. She’d been sure she would die before anyone found her. To top it off, she’d seen the only man she’d ever loved die instantly in the first explosion, and then in her arms, Yagana followed. All hope she had was gone.

By the second day, she’d prayed for death.

If she could survive that, she could survive the Gridiron.

The three of them walked to the back of ICS and opened the heavy rolling garage door that led outside and to another warehouse of equal size. Annie had been inside countless times and had done a few of the less stringent simulation courses. Mostly, however, she came in to use the gym, which took up a small percentage of the square footage of the enormous room.

“You may not believe your dainty little sister is capable, but let’s not forget I probably saw more action than you and Jax combined. I’m not incompetent and I’m not out of shape.”

“No one’s calling you incompetent. I just want to make sure you can handle yourself. See where your head’s at. I read some of the reports from the cops here in the US and from Interpol, and these fanatics aren’t fucking around, Annie.” Joey handed her a bag full of gear she was more than familiar with, including Kevlar.

The entire thing was her brother’s brainchild, but he seemed to have forgotten that she’d helped write the codes. It was a highly sophisticated system that truly mimicked being on the front lines, including rubber bullets and heat sensors.

She had a smile on her face when she stepped out of the changing booth. “Ready.” The adrenaline was already pumping through her veins.

Joey and Jax were behind a wall and Jax gave her the thumbs-up as she took out her weapon and racked it, making sure it was ready.

The enormous warehouse was set up to look like a war zone, complete with mud, trees, broken logs, puddles, and darkness. So when the lights went out and it was pitch-black, she was ready.

It took a moment to get accustomed to the darkness, which was the sensory deprivation part of the training. As expected, the first rubber bullet came at her, but she had already ducked before it was fired, shooting the insurgent right between the eyes in the process. Or so she hoped. She would know when they reviewed her stats afterward, but the fact that the machine shooting at her had stopped was a good sign. She pushed down some heat-sensing goggles and continued to trek farther in the dark. An unexpected far-off scream startled her.

A female.

She was back in Afghanistan. Screams everywhere as the motherfucking suicide bombers walked the street trying to blend in with the civilians.

Trying to focus on the current situation and not the clusterfuck of six years ago, she carefully hid between a tree and some bushes while crawling up the artificial hilly embankment, following the sounds of the screams.

When it was safe to look, she saw a droid resembling a mother holding a child and another, in the shape of a man wearing an explosive vest, twenty feet behind the woman. The man hadn’t seen Annie yet. The robots they’d created could sense heat and were capable of shooting back. Plus, the vest she wore had special sensors, almost like Bluetooth, that connected her to the droids, so they would react as humans when confronted.

That afternoon in Kandahar came rushing back, the only difference being that then, instead of the rural landscape, she had been in the middle of a city, and instead of a screaming mother, it had been a screaming child. On a military crawl, Annabelle tried to ignore the synthetic screams that echoed all around the warehouse, and she continued to move. Deciding to attack from behind, even if it was risky because it would take a little more of the precious time the mother and child robots didn’t have, she went slow and methodically around. She wished the screams would stop but she continued on her forearms, moving forward underneath a plastic, albeit realistic, fallen log, and through a swamp. Her uniform, now wet and muddy, weighed a ton. But the sound of an automatic weapon from afar stunned her into jumping into an upright position. She narrowed her eyes and saw the robotic body of the killer pointing a gun at her. Ducking, she rolled and shot at his leg at the same time as a bullet came flying from behind and grazed her shoulder. She kept moving forward, even though it stung.

A series of clicks resonated around her, confusing her, and two real live humans, who she recognized as ICS recruits, charged at her. This was unexpected and not at all what had been designed into the simulation.

Fucking Joey!

She moved aside, avoiding a fist to the face.

What the fuck?

An elbow jab to the gut and a kick to the guy she felt creeping up behind her. It was dark, so it wasn’t easy. She had to rely on her senses.

“This is bullshit, Joey!” she yelled out loud as she moved quickly to the half-disabled insurgent, arms outstretched forward. One eye on the target, she pulled the trigger just as the air left her in a blow to the rib from one of the recruits, bowling her over in pain.

It took a moment to adjust to the lights that were suddenly turned on. She was on her knees, hunched over, arms around her waist. Recruits number one and two, which she now saw clearly as Shawn and James, didn’t look any better. She looked up to find the droid’s eyes X’ed, which meant he was dead. The mother looked like she’d survived.

“You think you’ll be able to protect a man twice your height and weight against God knows who is trying to terrorize him? You’re on your hands and knees.”

She looked up at Joey and cringed from the stinging pain. Still holding her bruised ribs and ego, she stood. “Motherfucker, you ambushed me. Since when do you send live people in here? You want me to fail, you sonofabitch.” She felt a lump in her throat.

“You think the bad guys will have a sign to let you know they’re coming? You think they’re going to come at you one by one? An ambush is not unheard of, kid. When I agreed to the Monroe job I didn’t think you’d be in actual danger. Now that Colombia’s back on, I needed to make sure you’re ready. Colombia’s no joke. You did good in there, I’m proud of you. Makes me feel better sending you out.”

And that was it. She’d had enough.

She was fighting real battles out in the field and fake fucking battles with her brother.

He didn’t know the shit she’d gone through overseas. “This is bullshit, and you know it. The target is down, the civilians rescued, and two of your fucking men are in no better shape than I am. I don’t give a fuck if you’re proud of me. If I was ambushed on the job, I’ve just proven I can keep the client alive long enough to do my damn job.”

Annie paused to take a breath. “But that’s not what this is about. You thought I couldn’t handle a real ambush? You had to put me through all of that to prove it? I’ll give you a glimpse of my life, Josef. The man I loved, he died three feet away from me. You didn’t know that, did you? You didn’t know I was in love and that I watched him die.”

“Annie . . .” he whispered.

“And my friend, a little girl, she died in my arms. She lasted a few hours but I couldn’t dig us out of the rubble to get her the help she needed, so she died and I held her lifeless body for almost three days! So, I’m not experienced? Have you ever been stuck under boulders, barely able to breathe, with a dead girl in your arms, not knowing if anyone would ever find you? No! You haven’t. And guess what, Joey, even after that, I served my country for another four fucking years. I did not give up. I kept going. So don’t tell me that I don’t know what war is. That I don’t know how to defend myself or protect others. I should not have to prove myself, especially not to my own brother! So fuck you, Joey. Fuck you! And do not fucking call me kid. In fact, don’t call me at all.”

On her way out of the room, she glanced at Shawn and James, who she’d hit full-on. This wasn’t a mock anything, this had been a real gauntlet and they all had real bruises and scrapes to prove it. And the rubber bullet? The one that grazed her shoulder? It burned.

Not bothering with the locker room, she slid off her shirt, took off the Kevlar, threw it on the floor—they’d all seen a sports bra before—put her shirt back on, tossed the weapons on a bench, and got the hell out of ICS.

Was this Joey’s sick way of punishing her for kissing a client or was this his sick way of telling her she wasn’t qualified for the job? Probably both, she thought.

She was fuming, in pain, and pissed. She should’ve gone home, but she’d been gone for three hours and it was time to relieve Clark from Rocco duty.

What got her through the drive (and pain) was that Jacuzzi waiting for her at Rocco’s house. Fuck being professional, she was going to soak in there for the next twelve hours.

Rounding the corner, she pressed the button on the app and the gate swung open. A moment later Clark opened the door. “Holy shit, you okay?”

“Fine,” she hissed. “You’re off. I’m in,” she said walking right past him. “Anything to report?”

“Uh . . . no.”

“Let yourself out.”

* * *

Rocco woke up with a stupid grin on his face and a huge hard-on courtesy of Annie. He couldn’t stop thinking about their kiss. She had been shy, which he hadn’t expected. And that, for some reason, had turned him on. Or maybe it was just her. Everything she did just turned him on. Plus, she hadn’t kicked his ass for being so forward. That had to count for something, right?

He couldn’t wait to walk downstairs and finish what they started last night. He just hoped she’d be on the same page as he was. He’d given her the night to think about it, but now it was time to make a decision.

By the time he finished his morning routine, it was almost eleven. He wondered if she’d slept in. She never seemed to sleep in, but since they’d arrived home so late last night, maybe she’d sleep longer. Sleeping would do her good. Set her mind at ease, put things into perspective. There weren’t many things in life he enjoyed more than a good night’s sleep. And he wanted that for her too.

When he rounded the last step he was startled to see a man in a suit sitting on the couch. Quickly folding his newspaper, the man stood up.

“Who the hell are you?” Rocco snapped.

“Good morning, Mr. Monroe. Wilson Clark, from ICS.”

What?

“Where’s Annabelle?”

“She had to leave.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. I just follow orders.”

Suddenly, that giddy feeling he’d had a moment ago whooshed out of his system. Trying to school his emotions, he walked straight to the kitchen. Leave? Forever? Why didn’t she say anything last night? Maybe she really didn’t like the kiss.

He felt like a fool but he was also angry. At the very least he deserved some sort of explanation or good-bye.

“There’s coffee, sir. But it’s been hours since Annabelle made it.”

She made him coffee? She didn’t drink coffee, so it was something she’d done for him. His emotions were all over the place.

He took out a mug, and when he went to pour himself a cup, he noticed a note against the coffeemaker.

I was called into ICS. Didn’t want to wake you. Clark will be here a few hours until I get back. Behave. I gave Clark instructions to use physical force to subdue you, if need be.

Annie

He let out a big breath. Okay, so, she hadn’t just left him. The relief he experienced was an unfamiliar feeling.

The phone vibrated in his pocket with an incoming text. It was Paul.

I guess you finally charmed her into sleeping with you.

Attached was a photo of a couple lost in a kiss. So much so, they looked ready to rip off their clothes, irrespective of who was watching. It wasn’t a “pretend” embrace. It was real and raw and way too intimate to be splattered across the media. He wanted to be the only one who got to see that look in her eyes. He did not want that photo on display. He almost flung his phone across the room.

Damn. Did she know about this? Is that why she’d been summoned to ICS? He thought about the warning Paul had given him when he’d first told him about hiring Annie. Sleeping with him could ruin her reputation and credibility. Plus, she’d said time and time again that she needed to be professional and do her job and she was trying really hard to make a name for herself. Making out with him had the exact opposite effect, and maybe right this second she was getting fired or reprimanded.

He didn’t want to disturb her by calling, but he was worried. He paced around his house hoping to get some answers from Clark, but the bodyguard said he had no idea what they needed Annie back at ICS for.

When he couldn’t concentrate on anything else, Rocco spent the next two hours in his home gym. At some point, Annie’s dress was delivered and Clark gave the delivery man a hard time until Rocco had to interfere and assure him that it was just a dress. Around midday, as he was ending a call, he heard the gate to the front of the house open.

Thank God. He’d been anxious to talk to her about those photos from last night.

He hardly even knew this woman, yet he’d missed her those hours she wasn’t there.

In jeans and a plain white tee, Rocco leaned against the front door as Clark and Annie switched cars and then Annie walked inside. Her head was down and she was tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

Hm? Something was off. He felt it the instant she stepped closer, still looking down at her feet.

“You okay? Glad you’re back. How did—holy shit, Annabelle. What the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” she replied, passing right by him. “Clark said everything’s fine here. Going to shower.”

“Goddammit, Annie.” He followed her up the stairs and took her arm, causing her to wince. Her face, her beautiful face, was black and blue. Her blue eyes were rimmed red, her hair was mangled, and she had a cut on her lip. He didn’t even know where to touch her that wouldn’t cause her pain. “What happened?”

She pulled her arm free. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” he roared. An anger he didn’t even know he had in him tore through his body as he guided her to the hallway mirror. Gently cupping her chin he faced her forward. “Nothing? Look at yourself!” He softly ran his thumb against the bruise that was already forming on her cheek.

She looked as surprised as he was when she looked at herself in the mirror. “Who did this to you?” His voice was icy and his eyes flicked over the injury. He was trying to be soft and compassionate, but he also wanted to ram his fist through a wall when she didn’t say anything. Instead, she stepped closer to the mirror.

“Damn,” she whispered to herself, and then she turned and pulled the collar of her shirt a little, and looked at her shoulder. It was raw and bruised and looked infinitely worse than her face.

“Jesus Christ, were you shot?”

“Kind of.” She let go of her collar, righted her clothes and walked around him to her room.

“Kind of? What does that mean?” She continued to ignore him, walking into the bathroom and turning on the water to its hottest setting. Was she just going to walk away? She was absolutely out of her goddamn mind. He followed her inside, sticking out his arm to stop her from closing the door on his face.

“I swear to God, if you don’t start talking . . . I’m going to, going to . . .” He wasn’t sure what to say so he spit out. “I’m going to fire you.”

“Fire me?” She whipped around, her eyes blazing. “I’ve had a shit day. You’re going to fire me? Fuck it. Fire me. I don’t care.” She pulled up her shirt and he saw her flinch in pain. Did she have a broken rib? “But guess what, dude, I’m going to fucking bathe in this magnificent motherfucking tub you own.” She opened the medicine cabinet and then slammed it shut. Then the drawers underneath the sink and then finally the linen closet. “You don’t have Epsom Salt?”

She unzipped her jeans and pulled them down her legs. He shouldn’t look down, this wasn’t something she was doing to seduce him, but fuck, she was stripping in front of him, how could he not look?

“Woman, I swear to God . . .” He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. “Get your ass in the tub, I’ll be right back.”

She had said she’d gone to ICS for some work and a few hours later she was back with bruises all over her body and a bullet wound of some sort? Rocco was many things, but short tempered wasn’t one of them. With enough poking and prodding he’d blow just like anyone else, but it normally took a hell of a lot of poking to wake the beast.

The beast was up.

Why the hell couldn’t she confide in him?

Why the hell did she wear armor so thick and tight he’d need a pickax just to pierce the surface that was Annabelle Clad?

And why the hell did he want to dig?

She was complicated. Clearly had baggage and obviously didn’t want him around.

Yet he’d never wanted to get to know a person more.

She intrigued him and in those rare instances when she let that armor crack, he could see something in her he wanted. Maybe even needed.

They were the same. Two broken souls. Except he’d been able to fight off his demons and put all his energy in his career. She, on the other hand, pushed her demons down by trying to hide behind a tough, self-assured demeanor. And by pushing away anyone who wanted to help. She needed to fight those demons head-on, acknowledge them, whatever they were, in order to move on. It took years of therapy, but if he could do it, so could she.

He dug around his medicine cabinet, one that was always stocked, found what he was looking for, and jogged back to the bathroom. Still full of rage, he opened the door, not bothering to knock. And, fuck him, the image of her naked he’d conjured up in his fantasies held nothing to the naked woman lying in a bathtub a foot from him. Even though bubbles concealed most of the view, he could still see her toned legs, washboard abs, and the swell of her breasts.

“What the fuck, man? Leave!” she yelled, sending water splashing over the edge of the tub as she tried to cover herself. “Ow!”

“Calm down, crazy, I can’t see anything. You’re hurting.” He didn’t like seeing her in pain. He opened the box of Epsom Salt and poured some into the tub, then poured some tap water into a glass by the sink and handed it to her along with a Percocet.

“Get out,” she hissed.

“No.” He shoved the glass closer. “Take this or I’m driving you to the hospital.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “I’m not going to the hospital. A few bruises? I’ve had worse.”

No doubt.

“I don’t care. You’re hurt. Take this.”

“What is it? And can you please turn around?”

“Calm down, I can’t see anything with all those fucking bubbles.”

“I’m trying to relax.”

“You don’t look relaxed.”

“Of course not! I’m naked and you’re just standing there.”

He rolled his eyes and kneeled next to the tub. “I can’t see anything. Really.” It was true. A little bit of delicious skin but nothing that a bikini wouldn’t expose. She moved some of the bubbles around and seemed to give up the fight. He sat on the floor, placing the glass on the sink. “So what happened?”

With a raised eyebrow, she eyed his comfortable position on the floor but apparently deciding it wasn’t worth the fight, she laid her head back and closed her eyes. “I went to ICS. We have a simulation room. Joey doesn’t think I can handle this job, so I did the course, which I helped develop, by the way. But he added two real people, which I wasn’t expecting. Serves me right for not being on my toes.”

“You’re telling me that your brother did this to you?”

“He didn’t do this to me. I did this by slacking on my tactical skills.”

“That’s bullshit.”

She shrugged and reached for the soap and the sponge. “And he saw the photos. Did you? There are photos of us kissing. He wasn’t happy. I’m surprised he didn’t make more of a big deal about it. I told him it was part of the pretend girlfriend thing.”

“Then he made you go through a course that got you hurt. He didn’t make it more of a big deal? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. Don’t care.” When he heard her whimper as she tried to lather herself, he took the soap from her hand. “Been meaning to tell you, I don’t like bars of soap. I mean, who uses a bar of soap anymore? You need body wash.” She was speaking softer now and rambling, as if the exhaustion was setting in.

“Men do.”

“I’m sure they use liquid body wash too.”

“I’m sure they do, but not this man right here.” He liked that she smelled like him. How caveman was that? The first time he’d noticed was the second day she’d been there and he walked past her in the kitchen. It was such an odd and startling reaction.

He started lathering her arm and worked down to the tips of her fingers. Then the other one. “Move up a little, Tiger. Need to get your back.”

Lazily, she did what he asked. “This isn’t professional of me,” she argued halfheartedly.

“Stop thinking.”

He reached behind her and cleaned her back and shoulders, paying special attention to the small shallow gash where the rubber bullet had grazed her. She hissed when he touched it, but didn’t push away. “Okay, lay back down the way you were.”

She moved back, her eyes closed, as he worked the sponge down her neck and then under the water between her breasts and then lower to her abdomen and belly. She didn’t move much while he washed her. Careful not to make it too uncomfortable for her, because she was after all hurt and naked, he moved down to her feet. Her cute nails were painted a pale pink. For some reason, he expected her to have bloodred nail polish or none at all. Pale pink was completely unexpected. He lathered more soap into the sponge and rubbed her feet, eliciting a moan from her.

Her eyes were closed and her head back against the tub, her lips parted, just like in the photo from last night. What the fuck was wrong with him? What was he doing?

When he got to the apex of her thighs he stopped. The bubbles were beginning to dissipate and he didn’t want to take advantage. “You better?” His voice came out hoarse and his cock was straining against his jeans.

“Not at all,” she lulled. “I hurt and I’m tired.”

“Let’s get you to bed. Maybe with a little rest you can still make it to the gala tonight.”

“You didn’t finish,” she said, parting her legs slightly. Very slightly but enough for him to see the very light splay of blonde hair and definitely the hint of what she wanted—needed—coming across loud and clear.

His cock almost exploded.

“Either the pain is making you delirious or you’re so tired you’re not lucid.” He reached for the glass of water and the pain pill.

“Drugs.” She shook her head.

“I had knee surgery last year and never took the Percocet, just take one.”

“This is ridiculous. I don’t need you to worry—”

“Goddamn it, Annabelle. Shut your fucking mouth, take the pain meds, and relax.”

Grumbling, she took the pill, popped it in her mouth, and gulped the water. “There. Happy?” She shoved the glass back at him.

“No, actually. Not even a little.” He stood up.

With the cutest pout she said, “You don’t want to touch me?”

He groaned. “I do. God, do I ever. But you’re hurt and about to pass out. Another time.” He grabbed a towel. Then he bent down and carried her out of the tub, soaking his own clothes in the process. He tried not to look. God did he try. But she was there, completely naked. Smelling of him. And completely open and sweet.

“I want you too,” she admitted. “I was going to tell you this morning but then I had to go.” Her voice was a slow drawl.

”Time for bed, Tiger.” Once the towel was securely wrapped around her, he lifted her up again and walked to the bedroom with her.

He tugged gently on her lower lip. “Why are you pouting?”

She tucked her head into his neck, completely vulnerable and soft, and God, his heart swelled in a way he’d never thought possible. “It makes me sad when you call me Tiger. But it also makes me feel gooey and nice.”

“Sad?”

She didn’t answer, instead she yawned. Sitting her on the bed, he went searching for clothes. When he found a T-shirt, he slid it over her head and down her body, then reached under the shirt and undid the towel.

“Maybe one day you can tell me why it makes you sad.”

“It’s a secret.” Her eyes closed and she pressed her cheek against the pillow. The pill was starting to kick in.

“Maybe I want you to tell me all your secrets,” he admitted, but he wasn’t sure if she was even awake anymore.

He pulled the covers over her and looked at her for a moment. For such a tall, sexy woman, she looked years younger and so sweet on his oversized bed surrounded by pillows and blankets. He turned off the light and was walking out when she mumbled, “I’ll tell you one secret.”

“I don’t think that’s a good—”

“You promise not to laugh?”

“I promise.”

There was a long moment of silence and he chuckled. She must’ve fallen asleep.

Just as he stepped out the room he heard, “I’m a virgin.”