His lips barely brushed the delicate skin of her lobe. He noticed her hair smelled of car exhaust, sweat, and the unmistakable tang of terror. But beneath those scents was something sweeter…the lingering hint of her shampoo.
“You have to be quiet,” he added. “The feds are right outside the door. Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”
He pulled back slightly so he could see her face. Up close, he noticed the thickness of her long, dark lashes and the little mole beneath the arch of her left eyebrow.
When she nodded, he tentatively lifted his palm. But her lips left behind a ghostly imprint on his skin, a tingling sensation in the exact shape of her mouth. Instinctively, he curled his fingers around it. Then he loosened his hold on her so she could sit up. Unfortunately, the move had her ass brushing against his dick, and the over-eager sonofabitch twitched with interest.
He was about to give it a strict—although silent—talking to that started withnow’s not the timeand ended withseriously, bro, read the room!But before he could begin, she shifted again, and there was no longer any need to criticize his pecker. The thing nearly turned inside out in an attempt to crawl inside his body and escape the pain of his balls being smashed like pancakes between the sharp point of her tailbone and the relentless surface of the polished concrete floor.
The urge to throw back his head and howl was intense. But he managed to bite the inside of his cheek, reduce his howl to a gruff-sounding grunt, and adjust his hips so his poor testicles pulled free and returned to their formerly round shape.
Wincing, she mouthed, “Sorry.”
He nodded and tried to smile but figured his expression was more of a grimace. He was so focused on not throwing up that he didn’t immediately notice she hadn’t climbed off his lap. But hedefinitelynoticed when she placed a slim hand on his shoulder to steady herself so she could look around.
He understood the confusion in her eyes. If he’d come awake to find himself inside a cramped pantry with stacked cans on one side and cases of Goose Island IPAs on the other, he’d be disoriented, too.
When she returned her attention to his face, one sleek brow lifted in question.
All he could do to answer her was shrug. And maybe get a little lost in the depths of her dark eyes.
The chorus to Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl” drifted through his head.
She swallowed convulsively and shuddered when the muffled voices of those in the kitchen drifted through the closed door.
Hew couldn’t make out what was being discussed. The old factory had been constructed with thick brick walls and insulated with horsehair. Sound didn’t travel far. But he got the impression that whatever was being talked about outside had everything to do with Knox Rollins and little to do with Sabrina.
It was clear the poor woman was collateral damage in whatever trouble Knox Rollins had brought to their doorstep. She didn’t have the hardened look of a criminal. Her body was too lithe; her hands were too soft. Her jeans were dirty, but they were designer. Her ballet flats were scuffed and scarred but were genuine leather. And the small hoops in her ears looked to be 18 karat gold.
Before she’d gone on the run, Sabrina had led a relatively comfortable life.
Of course, that certainty made him wonder how she’d gotten herself mixed up in Britt’s brother’s mess. What unfortunate set of circumstances had found her in the company of a convicted felon with the FBI hot on her heels?
All thoughts drained from his head like his skull was a rusty sieve when she leaned forward to press her cheek against his. Her skin was cool and soft. By contrast, her breath was hot and moist in his ear. “Water?”
He nodded. The move rubbed the coarse hairs of his beard against the delicate skin of her face, making him aware of himself in a way he’d never been before. There he was, this lumbering oaf, all huge and hairy and hard. And there she was, so frail and feminine and fragile.
It was like a delicate snowflake had fallen into a polar bear's lap.
Twisting slightly, he found a case of water shoved beneath the shelf to his left. A thin film of plastic held its bottles together. But he could silently slide one from the hole someone had torn into the side.
The cap came off with a twist of his wrist, and he gladly handed her the H2O. Her lips were so dry that when she pulled them into a parody of a smile, her bottom lip split down the center. She winced and flicked out her tongue to lick at the tiny drop of blood beading in the breach.
Poor little lamb.
He wanted to run his hand along her spine but didn’t dare. It was one thing to hold her in his lap. It was another thing entirely to touch her in ways she hadn’t asked for.
He satisfied himself by leaning back on his hands and watching her long, pale throat work as she gulped down the water like she’d been walking through the desert for days. After she tipped the last drop into her mouth, she blew out a shaky breath and handed him the empty.
He was careful not to squeeze it, fearing it’d make that terrible crackling sound. Then he hitched his chin toward the case of water, silently asking if she’d like another.
She shook her head, making her hair swish across the plastic of her bright blue raincoat. Then she got distracted by the furry paw peeking beneath the door, batting at the air.
Hew sat up straight as his breath strangled in his chest.Damnit, Peanut! You’re gonna get us caught!
Thankfully, in the next instant, the paw disappeared. And when he didn’t hear the sound of approaching footsteps, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Sabrina stared at the door like the devil himself was on the other side. He took the opportunity to study her profile.
