He pulled on his jacket, a leather one this time, and wrapped his hand over the opened door. “You too.” Then he looked at her, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
She should step back. Definitely. Yet her breath sped up and her body flushed. She swallowed. “Jethro.”
“Yeah.” He leaned in, brushing her mouth with his.
Warmth exploded down her. Her eyelashes fluttered shut and she leaned up, kissing him.
He took over, his mouth strong, his lips firm. Only his mouth touched her, and when he swept his tongue past her lips she moaned. Her body sprang alive, as if she’d been sleeping for years.
All too soon he leaned back, his eyes darker than any blue. “Goodbye, Gemma.” He shut the door and was gone.
She touched her mouth, leaning against the wall, her mind blank and her body on fire. “Goodbye,”she whispered.
Chapter Seventeen
Jethro drove past the many warehouses in his neighborhood, parking in his spacious garage and jogging his way up the interior stairs to his apartment. The only one in the steel structure. He’d left a couple of nasty surprises on the exterior steps should Angus try to break in again. Oh, they weren’t deadly, but his friend would find himself covered in glitter glue andthen feathers.
It was nice to rely on old training once in a while.
Plus, he liked to check on his other two vehicles, one a rugged old truck in case he needed to go undercover and the other a Bentley Continental Flying Spur. A gorgeous car. His baby really.
He reached the top of the stairs and paused, his senses going on full alert. A bloody handprint, big and fresh, marred the wall by the metal door, which was open. He dropped his pack and nudged the door all the way open.
“Jethro? Need some assistance here,” called a male voice.
Jethro jerked and then grabbed his pack, striding through the entryway to his kitchen. “What the bloody hell are you two doing here?”
His old friends Ian and Oliver Villan had taken over the kitchen, with Oliver on his back on the counter and Ian bending over him, sewing up a gash in the man’s arm. Oliver’s shirt lay in tatters on the floor, and more bruises and stitches bloomed across hismassive chest.
“We heard you were in trouble and headed over here the second we finished a mission,” Ian said, leaning closer to inspect the wound. “To be more exact, we heard that fucking Fletcher had escaped and figured he was coming for you.”
They were both beat to hell. Leaving blood drops all over Jethro’s floor. Damn, it was good to see them alive and fairly well. He’d missed them. “You should’ve soughtmedical help.”
“We did,” Oliver groaned, his muscled body sprawled over the hard cement block. “Both got stitched up on the transport here, but my stitches popped open. We jumped on board with some old pals after finishing our mission, and they were kind enough to drop us off in DC on their way home.”
Ian tied off the sutures, obviously having found one of Jethro’s surgical kits. Then he tugged his twin into a sitting position, finally turning and leaning against the counter. His face was battered and stitches punctuated the side of his neck.
“I thought you two went into private security,” Jethro said, his body settling as he realized they were both all right. Bruised and cut, butnothing worse.
“Yeah.” Oliver picked at a scab on his wrist. “We did, and that includes extraction. Went into Afghanistan to get out folks who’d been deserted there and came across some American vets doing the same thing. We combined forces and were on the way home when we caught wind of your problem. So here we are.”
Jethro exhaled. Then he leaned in and hugged first Ian and then Oliver. “Glad you’re still breathing.”
“Ditto,” Oliver said, his face ashen beneath the bruises.
Jethro shook his head. “You’re out of the agency, I’m out, and yet somebody gave you a heads up about an ongoing mission? That doesn’t make sense.”
Ian grinned. “We still have friends at MI6, Brother. We helped you take Fletcher down once and we’ll do it again.”
Jethro looked at the two men who had become closer to him than his own blood brother. They looked good beneath the injuries. Black hair, hazel eyes, strong-as-hell bodies. Ian had more blue in his eyes and Oliver more green; otherwise they looked nearly identical. Their different scars helped him to tell them apart, though. “Have you eaten?”
“No,” Ian said. “I’m starving. First, how about you tell us why your front entrance is half-assedbooby trapped?”
Figured they’d seen the signs. Jethro shrugged. “Apparently I have busybody friends on both sides of the pond.” It was good to see them, but anybody near him was just another target for Fletcher. They didn’t have the agency backing them now, so they were swinging out there on their own. He couldn’t let Fletcher hurt anybody else. The man had killed his own mother, forgoodness’ sake.
“No,” Oliver touched the stitches across his bare chest and gritted his teeth. “We’re inthis with you.”
Why did everyone suddenly want to work with him? Jethroshook his head.
