Walking toward me, he doesn’t stop until he’s leaning over me. His hard chest brushes against mine, making my nipples stand at attention even through the layers between us, which are precious few. Three layers. That’s it. My bra, my shirt, and his. It’s three layers too many. Powerful energy swirl between us, sinking right into me in a pressing way that steals my breath away.
“Lesson one. Trust no one.” My chin is tilted to the ceiling as I stare daggers into his face. He looks impressive and statuesque, and I hate that my body is drawn to his. I can even feel the energy that zings between us, the spark of it hardening my nipples even further in a tingle of pleasure and pain.
“Not even your teammates?”
He leans down, the scruff of his beard brushing against my cheek. A powerful shiver runs through my body. I blame it on the remnants of power radiating off of him that seem to absorb into my skin. “I’m not your teammate.” The way the air of his words tickles my ear causes my brain to short out, giving him enough time to back up and head for the stairs before I comprehend what he said.
Jameson’s already heading up the stairs with Rory just behind him. I wish I had something to throw at his head.
Without further provocation, my water bottle from earlier flies into the air and whizzes past me, heading for the staircase. More importantly, it’s aimed for Rory.
My eyes widen as it flies straight into the side of his head with a satisfying crush of plastic.
Power vibrates down my arms, the remainder gathering into my fingertips.
How did I do that?
He throws a deadly look in my direction as he scoops the decimated bottle off the ground.
“Real mature.” He sneers over the railing.
Trying to cover up my shaking hands, I prop them on my hips and arch an eyebrow at him. I don’t give him the pleasure of my response.
“Clean this up.” The command bristles, but I don’t argue. Not that I plan on cleaning anything up, but I desperately need a minute to myself. This day has taken a twist for the unexpected, and I need the testosterone to leave so I can uncloud my thoughts and figure out what the hell just happened.
The second the door shuts to the basement, I quickly turn in a circle to search the area for hidden cameras they may have installed.
Finding nothing, I finally relax and blow out the breath I was holding. There’s one thing that Rory’s right about. I don’t trust anyone.
Sometimes not even myself.
Thirteen
The Cock House
“So this is goingto be headquarters?” I make mindless chit chat as I walk through the house with Mouse. The tour he’s giving me is helping to keep my mind off of the water bottle incident from earlier. Truth is, I’m shaken over it, but I won’t show it. For all they know, I chucked the thing at him. That’s what I want them to think.
“For now.” Mouse shrugs as we head down the curving staircase toward the front door. The house they’ve secured for their home base is beautiful. Large rooms, wooden doors, plush carpeting, fancy rugs. The whole nine yards, but none of them know how long they have until a neighbor or family member show up. This gig is nomadic.
Quiet voices can be heard in the kitchen, the soft, tense lilt of them is my constant soundtrack here. Anytime I leave a room, the conversations start up. Anytime I enter, they cease.
Proof that they don’t trust me with whatever they’re talking about. Or proof thatI’mthe topic of conversation.
Walking into the kitchen, I take note of the way the sun is low in the sky. “So what’s for dinner, boys?” I ask, breaking the awkward tension of their stilted conversation and the way all eyes land on me as I enter the room.
“What are you cooking, babe?” Jameson wiggles his eyebrows at me, a purely sexist grin on his lips.
“I don’t cook.” I rummage through the cabinets and find a bag of white cheddar popcorn and spin, hopping my butt up onto the countertop as I dig in. The salty texture hits my tongue and I hum appreciatively, diving in for another handful.
Looking up, I notice that all the eyes are still on me.
“What?” I question, looking down at myself to see if maybe I have crumbs all over my boobs or something. I mean, those things are like a catch plate. So annoying. Coming up clean, I arch a brow and move my gaze from one man to the next.
Shaking his head, Mouse offers to go pick up some take out and we all place our order. It feels a little awkward, but I give him my order, trying my best to fit in.
“That will be fourteen dollars.” Jameson comes and stands in front of me, holding out his hand.
“Excuse me?”
