Chapter 7
“So, Addison, any plans for dinner?” Jeremy asked as they waited for the elevator.
Devon glared at him over the top of her head. The asshole grinned in response.
“Yes, actually,” she said.
His gaze snapped to her. What? How the hell could she have dinner plans?
“Only in town for a day and you’ve already got a date. Nice,” Jeremy said.
Fucker.
“It’s not a date,” she said. “Just dinner with friends.”
The door opened with a ding, and she stepped into the car. Devon took the brief opportunity to punch Jeremy in the arm. Hard.
“Ow.”
Addison turned in the elevator and faced them, brows raised. “Am I going by myself?”
“No.” Devon stepped in and stood close on her right side, edging her toward the wall so Jeremy was forced to stand next to him. He leaned over and muttered, “Keep it up and I’ll tell Angie you switched out her coffee for generic.”
“Asshole,” Jeremy said out of the side of his mouth.
Devon smirked and pushed the button for the basement. “Just get the range ready.”
Addison leaned forward at the waist and took them both in. Her brows pinched, and she got a look on her face like she was trapped in an elevator with a couple of crazy people then she leaned back slowly, watching them out of the corner of her eye.
The doors opened, and Devon shoved Jeremy ahead of him before gesturing for Addison to precede him. “We’re going left.”
She stepped to the left and waited for him. He led her down the short hallway to the equipment room.
“What all’s down here?” she asked.
“Underground garage, a gym, a couple of sleeping pods, the equipment room, and at the other end of the hall is a five-lane indoor range and armory.”
“Wow. I never would have suspected all that was in here from the outside.”
He held the door for her as she entered. “When Graham bought the building, the only thing down here was the parking garage—he added the rest.”
“His dad said there was a delay in the renovation,” she said.
“Yeah. The range took longer to get certified than expected.” He led her through the locker room, where everyone stored their personal gear, to the storeroom where they kept replacements. “What size vest do you wear?”
“Small,” she said.
He took a vest from the shelf and handed it to her before grabbing the ballistic plates and inserts. Turning back around, he froze, gaping at the scene before him.
Addison, in the process of removing her blouse over her head, bared the smallest sliver of skin above the waistband of her slacks, revealing the soft curve of her stomach and the small jewel nestled in her belly button.
His mouth went dry as the July wind in Kuwait, and he brushed a hand over his mouth. Fuck. He wanted to flick that tiny rhinestone with his tongue and find where that tattoo on her shoulder disappeared to under her tank top.
“What?” she asked, catching him staring.
“I wasn’t expecting to find you half-naked.” Thankfully, his cargo pants were relaxed so his raging hard-on wasn’t glaringly obvious.
She pulled down the hem of the tight undershirt, adjusting it over the waist of her pants. “I’m not naked—it’s a camisole. I didn’t want to wrinkle my blouse when I put the vest on.”
