We both halt, the silence filling the space between us.
“You’re bleeding.” I look down at her hand, the blood forming a small pool of red on the floor.
“Oh!” She gasps, eyes finally jerking away from me as she sprints through my open bedroom door behind her.
Where the hell is she going?
She runs right back out, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry! I’m looking for the guest bathroom! The one you have for guests!” she shouts, and I have no clue why.
What kind of agent is squeamish around blood?
Her acting ability is out of this world. I’ve got to get more evidence to either clear her name or turn her over to the FBI.
“It’s this way.” I grip her elbow, guiding her toward the half-bath near the elevator.
I go in with her, but the space is only meant for one. The air suddenly feels thick. Her citrus and mint scent wafts toward me as she spins around, dragging me back to the night she was in bed writhing from her orgasm.
I grab the wrist of her bleeding hand, and she inhales sharply.
“I’m just going to rinse it, okay?” I say gently.
She nods, not looking up at me. I turn on the faucet, moving her hand underneath the stream. She’s still breathing rather heavily, but I can’t determine why. The act is a little bit of an overkill. My eyes roam over the rest of her to see if she got cut anywhere that I didn’t notice at first.
I look up in the mirror to see her pale blue eyes lasered in on my sweaty chest and stomach. Her chest is rising and falling a little too quickly. She looks away as her cheeks redden.
My skin heats up at the realization of what she’s thinking.
This is not good.
We’re alone in my penthouse again, and now that I know where her head is, mine goes straight into the gutter with it.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, my voice unintentionally deepening.
She shakes her head.
She’s a spy. She’s here to exploit you for information. Her mission is to literally get you to trust and confide in her by whatever means necessary. She was probably planning to snoop through your house while you were gone.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, turning the water off and using the hand towel to wrap around the slow, continual trickle of red.
“I was bringing your shirts over from the dry cleaner,” she says defensively.
My eyes move on their own to stare at her sensual rosy lips that I never got to taste. A few tense moments pass with our breaths mingling between us.
On pure instinct, my head starts to slowly descend toward her, but she pulls back from me.
She juts her chin out, spinning around to leave me alone in the cramped space.
You’re a weak-minded idiot.
I need to shower anyway...alone. I follow her out into the foyer.
She starts to pick up the shards of broken pottery.
“Let me take care of that.”
I would get a broom, but I have no idea where my housekeeper stores it. I grab a trash bag from under the sink and bring it over.
“I, uh, I can pay for it. Could you just have them take it out of my check?” She stands up after reaching for the shirts.
