The corner of his mouth quirked. Long legs in jeans didn’t come close to long legs in a swimsuit.
Beneath him, she began to move. Slow at first, evidently trying to raise her shoulders. First one, then the other. He didn’t budge. She wiggled her hips. Wiggled her butt. Little moves at first. Then, she all out shoved into his groin. And wiggled from side to side.
Mitch’s body slowly betrayed him. First, the adrenaline rush of a heart pounding shootout. Now, for the first time in his entire career, the realization he was attracted to his client, which hit with the intensity of his first HALO night jump during SEAL training. Scary as hell. Painful was more the word for this predicament.
His dick had decided to play the game. Hard-on and Neoprene did not make for comfort.
In the future, he’d need to watch himself around her. Attraction was unprofessional—could damn well get you killed, too. For now, he focused on cold, the Artic, snowpack, avalanche, ice, icicles, icebergs, ice caps—falling head first into ice cold freezing water.
“Stop moving.” He gritted his teeth as he spoke the barely there words.
She instantly stopped. “You’re alive.”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“Not yet.”
She tried to turn over. “I was trying to get out from under you.”
“Shhhhh. Quiet.”Ice water. Ice water. Ice water.
“I was just trying to explain.” She wiggled back to her original spot then gave another tiny, breathy grunt.
Or was that a moan? He lost all concept of the ice-water scenario. “Liz. Please be still.”
“Why are you so—” She froze. Shifted her backside up slightly. Raised her head. Bumped his chest. Then, hugged the floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Shhhhh.”
Footsteps started down the hallway behind them.
“All clear,” OPAQUE agent Josh Slater shouted.
Mitch scrambled to his feet and stepped behind the closest chair. All he’d need for a lifetime of embarrassment would be one of the team members figuring out his quandary.
Liz pushed herself up. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“I told you to stop wiggling.” He slashed his forearm out in front of him. “You didn’t.”
The disgusted expression on her face as she walked in his direction said he must have insulted her prim and proper decorum.
“So, you plan to blame…that”—she braced her hands on her hips as she scanned her eyes to his groin—”on me? Not hardly.”
He pointed his finger at her. “Give it a rest. Can you honestly say it was all my fault?”
“I. Thought. You. Were. Dead.”
He deliberately quirked the side of his mouth as he leaned into her personal space. “Not. Hardly.”
Her eyes rounded as she folded her fingers into a soft fist and screeched, then turned to walk away. Instead, she bumped into Josh. Screamed. And, like a windup toy being released from its hold, bolted to Mitch.
“Shoot him. Shoot him.” She placed her hand against his shoulder.
He rolled his shoulder backward, nudging her away. “I gotta admit there are days I’d like to, but he’s one of the good guys.”
“I’m Josh Slater, ma’am. I work for Drake.” Josh nodded then chuckled deep in his throat as he glanced at Mitch. “Wiggling?”
