She shook her head, her chin brushing his while she stood on her tiptoes. The steam and warmth created a sense of privacy that was somehow sexy when combined with the danger they were in. “I hacked into his computer, and he has a business outside of Boston with more records. It’s a secure server, and I’ll have to actually be in that room to get into them. I think the shipping manifests and plans are on there.” And who knew what else.
He leaned back slightly. “Your lips really are blue. Get under the spray, Brigid. I’ll turn my back.” He turned around.
Her gaze slid to his butt again, and she mentally smacked herself, stepping to the side and into the warm spray. A soft moan escaped her, and darn if his body didn’t jerk. She angled her view to see a tattoo of a four-point Celtic knot that swirled over his left shoulder and bicep. “I like your ink,” she whispered.
He turned then, his broad chest now covered in water from the other nozzle. “My foster brothers and sister have the same one. There were four of us during that time, hence the four points.”
“Why the Celtic knot?” she asked, her heritage kicking into gear. She absolutely would not look lower.
He smiled. “Faye thought it had protective properties and we all needed that.” His eyes darkened.
The mood changed, and her body flared alive. The steam and intimacy and naked hard body hit her all at once, and her knees wobbled. Yeah, the urgency of their situation and the inherent danger of being kept prisoner in a mob house also contributed to her heightened emotions.
Or maybe it was just the sensual man facing her in a steamy shower, his gaze still remaining on her face in a disciplined show of self-control that was just plain and simply sexy. “How close are we to death?” she whispered.
Amusement filtered across the hard planes of his face. “So long as Force gets the journal, we’ll be okay. Leverage is how you survive this type of situation.”
Oh. So there wasn’t a last-ditch chance to touch his body. She had to appreciate that he didn’t lie to her.
He lifted one smoothly muscled shoulder. The guy was built like a runner who could fight. “But we’re undercover with a mob boss who seems to enjoy the killing part of his job. He may take us out just for fun. Who knows.” Raider reached over and tapped her nose. “Wash your hair, warm up, and then we’ll try and make weapons from items in the room.” He ducked out of the shower, leaving her wet and alone and slightly turned on.
Okay. More than slightly.
* * *
Raider dried and dressed quickly, checking his clothes for bugs, when every impulse he had wanted to leap back into the shower and touch all of that smooth, pale skin. He’d been the gentleman Miss A had taught him to be, but he wanted to forget the gentle part and be all man. So he strode out of the bathroom and shut the door, surprised to see women’s clothing on the bed.
A flashy dress had been laid next to yoga pants and a T-shirt that had the word “Shopping” across it in red sequins. More importantly, unopened packs containing a G-string and thick socks were there, too. Brigid needed the socks. He would not give another thought to the G-string. He took the casual clothes, socks, and underwear and left them on a bench in the huge bathroom after conducting a cursory check for any bugs.
Then, he turned and surveyed the bedroom, heading for the first painting of sailboats. By the time Brigid emerged, dressed, her hair in wild and wet curls over her shoulders, he’d already torn apart two frames and twisted them into sharper objects. The wicker furniture was useless, and no tools surrounded the fireplace, so no poker or lighter; the glass from a lightbulb would cut his hands to bits before he could do anything good with it. He eyed the mattress.
“What can I do?” Brigid asked.
He turned. The color was back in her face, and with her skin so freshly scrubbed, she looked young and innocent. Her eyes had lightened to the color of a meadow in a Kentucky spring, beautiful and clear. “Get in the bed,” he said, his voice rougher then he’d intended. Then he pressed a finger to his lips. There was no way to tell if the room was still bugged or not.
“Backup?” she mouthed.
He nodded. “Wolfe,” he mouthed back. Unfortunately, Wolfe was at least a mile or two away and couldn’t reach them quickly. “I told you to get into bed.”
Her eyebrows rose, but she did as he said, crossing the room and sliding beneath the covers. He turned off the bedroom light and moved silently to the reading nook, taking a seat where he could watch the backyard area. The moon was high and dim, but he could make out figures below. He looked back toward the bed for a brief moment. The light slid inside the room enough to make her visible. “’Night, Brigid.”
“’Night,” she said softly, watching him.
He watched the outside for about an hour, memorizing the movements of the guards. Their pattern was well thought out and even better organized, but he still calculated the best route to the dock on the ocean below. As far as he could see, there was only one boat. The open garage revealed several vehicles. If they had to make a run for it, a car would be faster than a boat and get them where they needed to go.
Why the heck hadn’t Force called yet?
Raider’s body ached and his head felt sluggish. The concussion from Sean’s punch would’ve been enough pain without the impact of a fight with Eddie’s guards earlier. But at least he’d knocked two of them out.
Shaking off the pain, he moved for the bed, leaving his T-shirt and jeans on the floor, taking out his phone. If he didn’t get some decent sleep, he’d be useless the next day. He slid under the covers and quickly texted Force. Where the heck are you? Have the journal?
A text came back immediately from Force: Here with West and Sean. Journal not in our possession yet. Will contact you immediately when it is. No worries.
No worries? That wasn’t good. They should definitely have the journal by now if it had been where Sean claimed. Had the old farmer lied? Bastard. Force had only added the “no worries” in case anybody else read the text. There was something wrong.
“Everything okay?” Brigid asked sleepily, rolling toward him.
His chest heated. “Yes.” His body vibrated with need. When was the last time he’d had sex, anyway? Way too long ago, and anyway, it was the woman next to him he wanted. None other right now. What was it about her?
