CHAPTER 7
Six hours later, Cecily blinked in the sudden glare, her heart pounding in her chest as Shane looked down at her in the bed. He must have flipped on the light.
“Bad dream,” he said. “You okay?”
It took longer to adjust to the sight of him than it did to the light: Bare-chested, fly of his jeans unbuttoned, hair tousled, just that single magnificent tattoo twining around his arm. Holy hell, he looked good. “I actually screamed?” she said breathlessly, sitting up.
He shrugged. “More like called out for help.”
She shook her head in disgust, her pulse still racing. “I am so, so sorry I woke you. I guess I didn’t know where I was for a moment. I thought . . . I thought it was him. That James was here. I got scared. I—I’m sorry. God, this is all so humiliating.”
“You’re worried he’s not going to let you go without a fight? ’Cause I’m gonna tell you something. He’s not getting to you on my watch,” Shane said.
“Am I worried? Yes and no. I mean, it’s weird. Sometimes it seemed like he couldn’t care less. But then he’d get so possessive. I honestly think that he’d never come after me if he really loved me, that he’d let me go, but the more distance I get . . .” She swallowed hard. “I don’t think he really loved me. And I don’t think I really loved him.” She closed her trembling fingers into a fist, hoping against hope that it wasn’t pity making his eyes look so fierce. “Seriously, I’m not this girl. This is not who I am,” she mumbled.
Shane swiped the hair out of his eyes and grabbed the back of his neck, obviously trying to figure out what to do with her. “I’m gonna sit down on the bed for a sec,” he finally said.
Cecily watched, fascinated as Shane slowly sat down on the bed next to her, keeping his body angled away as if to make it clear this wasn’t a pass. She got a whiff of bourbon, a nice view of his broad muscular back, the cut of his jaw, and the palm of his hand so close to hers she could feel the heat.
“I’m not the most . . .” He frowned and trailed off, a muscle in his jaw throbbing. “I mean, this isn’t my . . . Dex would . . .”
“Dex would just give me a hug and say, ‘Chin up,’” Cecily said with a faint laugh.
She could have sworn he said “Fuck me,” under his breath, but she couldn’t be sure. Besides, Shane’s gaze had flipped back to her, a curiously determined look in his eyes. All of sudden, he twisted his body, extended an arm, and tipped his head, as much of an invitation as Cecily figured she was ever going to get.
Cecily closed her eyes and leaned against Shane’s torso, curling her arms up against his chest. His body tensed in her embrace, and his arm was still just kind of stuck out straight.
She opened her eyes again. Okay, bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea. This is definitely a pity hug. It’s probably actually painful for him to be doing this. And just as Cecily was going to pull away and apologize and maybe escape again to the bathroom and this time refuse to come out for the rest of her life, Shane’s body began to relax. And slowly, oh so slowly, he lifted one arm and brought his palm up to her back and closed the embrace. A huff escaped his lips; she would have given anything to see his face, to know what he was thinking, but the sound was so tender, so sweet, she just closed her eyes, afraid to break the spell.
“Chin up,” came the gruff words whispered into her ear.
Cecily broke the embrace, raised her chin, and realized her move put her mouth in line with his. And then she did something she’d been afraid to do in months, literally afraid: she decided to take something she wanted, without asking permission.
A flash of sudden comprehension had Shane giving a small shake of his head: No. He looked mesmerized, his gaze pinned to her mouth.
Stop thinking, sweet boy. Let’s both stop all this thinking and just let it happen. She licked her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and leaned into him, feeling his cock press against her thigh.
“Fu-u-u-u-ck,” Shane whispered.
Yes. Though they barely touched now, Cecily’s skin was electrified. She swallowed hard, gathered every ounce of courage she still possessed, and brushed her lips against his. The fire of that touch made her instantly wet; also instantaneous was Shane’s reaction.
“Kid. No.” Shane pulled back, forcing himself to literally set her away from him, and without a word, without a shred of emotion on his face, he got to his feet and he got the hell out.
Shane woke up in the hallway, against the door of their—Cecily’s—hotel room. He’d been dozing on and off, not getting much sleep, as the hotel staff drove room service carts around his long legs and inevitably asked if “sir” was okay. “Sir” was not okay. To wit, he woke up thinking about her, her smile, her scent, her body, and the same thing he’d fallen asleep thinking: I can’t breathe. I cannot breathe. I can’t do this. I can’t take it. It’s too fucking sweet, and nothing this sweet ever lasts. It couldn’t possibly be worth the pain.
Very not okay.
His body didn’t just hurt from sleeping in the hall; it hurt from controlling every tiny muscle that wanted to organize a rebellion and push Cecily down on the bed and fuck her until management called to complain about the number of orgasms she was screaming into the night. He wanted her down on the bed, legs spread, his cock, fingers, mouth working on her until that pretty face erupted in rapture over and over and over.
He’d done everything in the book to keep his hands off her, but she kept breaking down the wall, entering his space, coming at him with that smile, that trust, that open, good-hearted nature. She just kept coming at him with everything that mattered. How the fuck could he explain that to Dex?
Let’s see: “Well, Dex, your little sister is one in a million. I’m hearing myself really laugh for the first time in years; she’s got a smile that makes a guy who’s living life on an infinite autobahn want to park his car and come in for the night. That’s why I fucked her in a hotel room less than two days after meeting her and ‘rescuing’ her from her abusive ex-boyfriend.”
That would so not fly. If he’d had a sister he entrusted to a friend, and that guy laid one finger on her, he’d fucking kill that friend.
Rothgar’s ringtone interrupted that pleasant thought. Shane took the call immediately.
“Get on the road. Stat,” said that familiar no-nonsense voice. “There’s a freelancer we can trace to James keeping track of Cecily’s movements. Don’t know if he knows who you are. Distinctive-looking guy, like an old-school thug. Pock marks on his cheeks.”
“White sedan?” Shane asked.
“Not sure what he’s driving. This is coming in from a source outside the Armory. I don’t know if his plan is to make contact or just to watch where she goes. Bring her back to the Armory, and we’ll figure out the next move.”
Shane’s body tensed. He looked down both ends of the corridor. Empty. “I’m still on freelance time. Got a delivery to make en route; been driving hot since before I picked Cecily up. Quick stop here in Chicago.”
Rothgar went quiet; probably because he didn’t have an argument. What Shane picked up must be delivered. It was his word and his honor. “You told Dex?”
“Right when he asked the favor. I assume he remembers.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s going to sit right with him under the circumstances,” Rothgar muttered.
“Not going to let anything touch her,” Shane said. “I’ve gotta close my deal. You know how it works.”
“I know how it works,” Rothgar answered. “I know it’s your personal business, but do us all a favor and send Missy some data about your timing and whereabouts. See you in New York.”
Shane ended the call. He could hear Cecily moving around inside the hotel room. Time to put on the armor. He opened the door, calling out, “Kid, you rested?”
Cecily popped out from the bedroom, fully dressed. She stared at him for a moment. “Yes. Listen, I—”
“Let’s get going,” Shane said, pushing the door open and moving past her, his phone already on and up to his ear. “Hi, yeah, room ten twenty-three. Checking out immediately with a couple of adds on the tab. I’d like to have two breakfast sandwiches, one with egg and sausage, one just egg, two bottled waters, and a pile of napkins brought to the room as soon as possible, but leave the tray outside the door. Thanks.”
He hung up, ignoring the waves of irritation coming off Cecily’s person as she packed her suitcase back up. Yeah, I’m ordering for you, and, no, I don’t care what you want. “When it gets here, pick which one you want, eat it.”
As she finished getting ready, Shane got his gun out and laid it by the sink while he stripped down in the bathroom, noting that she’d taken one bar of unwrapped soap but had left everything else. After a five-minute shower, he put his messenger bag back together, grabbed everything else labeled with an orange that wasn’t opened—soap, lotion, body wash—and dumped it in.
By the time he was done, pulling his last fresh T-shirt over his head, his hair soaking down the back of it, she was packed and sitting on the bed, still working through the second half of what looked to be egg only.
The gold streaks in her hair shone even more now that her hair was down and dry, hanging in soft waves just below the shoulders. A piece in front had fallen in her face; she licked the grease off her fingers and pulled it all into a ponytail. Shane’s gaze shifted to her standard uniform of jeans and clinging T-shirt. He tried to focus on the puffed short sleeves, like maybe he could contain his thoughts relating to shoving his hands in her hair and ripping off her clothes if he imagined her top as the sort of T-shirt virginal English governesses would wear, but his eyes kept moving to the clinging part.
How did a girl like that get into the middle of a mess like this? Man, he didn’t want to see the look on her face when they got to the Armory, and she found out what she was really dealing with.
Cecily carefully poked a bit of cheese back inside her breakfast sandwich. “Can we talk about—”
“Nope,” Shane said, grabbing egg and sausage, ripping off a good third in one bite, and saying through a full mouth, “Not necessary.”
Equal parts disappointment and relief warred on her face. “But we—”
“Listen, kid, there’s no ‘we.’” He ripped off another third, downing it in record time as he looked her square in the eyes. There’s no “we.” “Finish up. Let’s go.” Cramming the last part of the sandwich into his mouth, he uncapped the water and took a swig, chewing the mass in his mouth, swallowed, and then wiped the grease off with a napkin. He washed his hands in the bathroom one last time and lined up next to the luggage by the door to wait, his arms folded over his chest.
Cecily looked at him in total disbelief. “Was chewing even involved in that?”
“Food is fuel, sweetling.”
She rolled her eyes but ate faster. “You’re purposely trying to disgust me. Don’t bother. I’m as disgusted with you as I need to be.” She took a last dainty bite of her own sandwich, washed up in the bathroom, and walked out the door Shane was holding open.
“Me too,” he muttered, and the door slammed shut behind them.