Chapter Thirty-Three
“I think you broke me,” Claire said as she lay bonelessly in bed beside Jean-Luc. “I’m a noodle.”
“Mm. Noodles. I’m hungry.”
She smiled into her pillow as Jean-Luc jumped out of bed like he was spring-loaded. Did the man never run out of energy? She was exhausted and could barely lift her head to watch him grab a fresh pair of cargo pants from his pack.
He pulled them on, then returned to her side and leaned over the bed to nuzzle her temple. “Want room service, cher?”
At his question, her stomach rumbled so loudly there was no way he hadn’t heard it. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment. Her last full meal had been in the mess hall yesterday with Sunday and Marcus.
Yesterday. God. It already seemed like a lifetime ago.
Jean-Luc laughed softly and straightened. “I’ll take that as a yes. Any preferences?”
She sat up and dragged the sheet up over her breasts. “No. Whatever looks good. I’ll eat anything at this point.”
“One order for whatever looks good coming right up. There’s time if you want to shower again.”
She didn’t. She liked that she could smell him on her skin. “No need.”
He flashed a wicked grin. “Good, ’cause after I fuel up I’m gonna want to spend more time between your legs worshiping that perfect pussy.”
His words, said so casually, made her throb and dampen in anticipation. She’d never had a lover speak to her in such a way before. Never had a lover rock her world like he had, either. “It’s all yours for the worshiping.”
He growled low in his throat and took a step toward the bed, but stopped when her belly grumbled again. His gaze dropped to her middle, then roved back to her face in a way that made her feel hot and flushed. She thought for sure he’d come back to bed, but he turned away with visible effort.
“Food first,” he said as if reminding himself. “Sex later.”
She settled against the headboard and watched him walk out into the living room, still shirtless. He’d lost some weight, but the man still had the kind of body that inspired wet panties. And it was all hers. She’d never thought of herself as an especially sexual creature, but when he looked at her like he wanted to spend hours ravaging her, she felt sexy and oh so powerful.
She liked it. A lot.
She snuggled down into the bed, luxuriating in the scent of him on the sheets. She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, Jean-Luc was crouched beside her, smiling as he pushed her hair back from her face.
“Dinner will be here soon.”
“Oh.” She yawned and stretched. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“S’all good. You need sleep, but I want you to eat first. Can you do that for me, cher?”
She nodded and on a groan, rolled out of bed. She yawned again. Her head was fuzzy like she’d been awakened mid-dream. She looked at her pile of clothes on the floor and frowned. She liked the Ankara dress, thought it pretty, but it was short and form fitting. She really didn’t want to put it back on.
Jean-Luc must have read her mind because he went to his pack again and pulled out a T-shirt and sweatpants. “Here. They’ll be big, but the pants have a drawstring. More comfortable than what you had on before.”
“Thank you.” She took the clothes with her into the bathroom. She used the toilet, washed her hands, then studied herself in the mirror.
Oh, boy. She looked haggard. The bags under her eyes would definitely be charged overweight fees at the airport, and here she was with no makeup to fix it.
Ugh. How could Jean-Luc look at her now and see anything he wanted sharing his bed?
She turned on the cold tap and splashed her face a couple times. That helped. When she glanced up in the mirror again, she not only felt more alive, but she looked it. Some color had returned to her cheeks at least.
Jean-Luc’s T-shirt fell nearly to her knees. The sweatpants still sagged even when cinched as tight as they would go, but he was right. The outfit was much more comfortable than the dress.
She padded out to the living room to find him standing in front of the TV, flipping through the channels. He noticed her in the doorway and shut it off, but not before she caught a glimpse of a news report about the militant attack on the hospital. The picture of Sunday sent a spear of pain through her chest. Another friend lost, all because of her.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly.
“It’s okay.” She walked over to sit in one of the cushy armchairs. She pulled her knees up to her chest. “Has the story gone international?”
“Yeah.” He set the remote aside and went over to the table, where his gun lay on a towel amid a mess of supplies. He must have been cleaning it while she slept. The room still smelled faintly of gun oil.
She nodded to the weapon as he cleared off the table. “Do you think you’ll need that?”
“If there’s one thing the CIA taught me, it’s better to be ready and not need it than to need it and not be ready.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” A knock sounded at the door. His hands were full, so she uncurled from the chair and went to answer it.
“Wait! Claire—” He dropped everything except for the weapon and took up position by the door.
“Really?” She scowled at him. “Nobody knows we’re here. It’s room service.”
“Probably, but I’m not taking chances. Check the peep.”
She sighed. Just one night, she wanted a bit of normalcy. Was that too much to ask? She answered her own question: yes. Right now, it was. There was nothing normal about having a group of mercenaries try to kidnap you not once, but twice. Jean-Luc was right to be overly cautious.
Resigned, she rose up on her toes and checked the peephole. It wasn’t room service.
“Dayo? Oh my God.” She threw open the door. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?”
He looked gray and wild eyed. He gasped for breath like he’d sprinted up the stairs. “I came as soon as I heard. Is Sunday…? Where is she? This hotel was our rendezvous in case we were separated.”
Claire’s heart broke all over again. In her mind’s eye, she saw Sunday collapsing into the mud, a bullet between her eyes…
No. She shut down that mental image. “I’m so sorry, Dayo. She didn’t make it.”
His expression crumpled and he leaned an arm on the doorframe. “I had hoped… I wanted her to be with…” He sucked in a sharp breath and nodded to himself as if making up his mind about something. “It doesn’t matter now. We have to leave. They’re coming for you.”
“Who’s coming?” Jean-Luc asked and stepped up beside her, still holding his weapon, but now down at his side. He set a protective hand on her shoulder and the simple touch fortified her in a way nothing else could.
“The people who want her research,” Dayo said, desperation thick in his voice.
“But they already have it,” she protested.
Dayo returned his attention to her. “They want you too and they’re here. I saw them.”
“How do you know?” Jean-Luc asked, still suspicious.
“I recognized one of them. Claire, she was there when we went to Lagos. She was following us and I made sure to lose her, but she’s here now with backup. If I tricked the front desk into giving me your room number, it’s only a matter of time until they do, too. I ran up the stairs to find you before they did.”
Oh, God. Was this ever going to end?
Heartsick, she glanced back at Jean-Luc. “If that’s true, we can’t stay. I don’t want to be the cause of another hostage situation.”
Jean-Luc said something in another language that sounded like a string of profound cursing. Russian again? It seemed to be his go-to preference for swearing whenever he was extremely upset.
“Hang on,” he said.
“We gotta go, man,” Dayo said.
Jean-Luc ignored him and disappeared for a second, then came back with his rucksack and a phone to his ear. “Marcus isn’t answering.”
He crossed the hall and lifted a fist to knock, but at that moment, Dayo tugged on her hand hard enough that her only choices were to follow or fall on her face.
“There’s no time. They are here now!” Dayo dragged her toward the elevator.
She wasn’t wearing shoes, and the tile floor was cold under her feet. She wasn’t dressed to go anywhere and tried to tug her hand free of Dayo’s. “Please, can I at least change and get my shoes? Dayo—ow!” His grip tightened. She was going to have a bruise. “Jean-Luc,” she called over her shoulder. “My shoes!”
Jean-Luc looked at Marcus’s door one last time, then ducked back into their room. He emerged a second later and sprinted after them, her sneakers in hand. He caught the elevator just before the doors slid shut and nipped inside.