I slept for about four hours, but when my injuries pried me awake, the first thing I remembered was her sucking me off and the sensation of her thighs hugging my face.
After that, sleep proved impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, I could taste her.
I need to stop letting her distract me. Last night was supposed to serve as a lesson. A reassertion of control after all the shit she put me through.
I own you, Trinity Gallagher, and don’t you forget it.
Hell, the woman left me on the side of the road like a coyote or a deer. Then, aided by my own gun, she tried to blackmail me in the hospital room.
Ballsy. Sexy. Infuriating.
Trinity forms a lump beneath the cheap motel sheets, her copper curls hiding her face. Every time she exhales, one strand flits away from her lips, and the longer I stare, the harder it is to remind myself that the mission is my priority.
I shake my head. Last night was nothing more than a transaction. A release of tension and a way to gain her trust. The goal hasn’t changed. Obtain the drive. Deliver the asset.
I can’t allow the complication of this thing we share to sway me.
We need to move. The longer we stay in one place, the bigger the target on our backs.
I sink onto the edge of the bed. For a second, I soften as I brush the reddish strands away from her face. “Hey.”
Trinity stretches, a quiet little mumble slipping past her lips. “Hmm?”
“We have to go.”
Ten minutes later, we’re gulping down the desert’s dry morning air as the sun peeks over the horizon. The silent parking lot contains a decent number of vehicles to choose from.
I stop in front of a clean silver Dodge minivan that looks ancient enough that the locks are simple to jimmy open.
I slide behind the driver’s seat, grimacing when the action pulls at the slice in my leg. Climbing in and out of cars will hurt for a while.
Maybe if I ask nicely later, Trinity will agree to more of her brand of pain relief.
My dick twitches in response, so I force the thought from my head.
Trinity lingers beside the open door, peering around like an anxious chicken. I flick my hand toward the passenger side. “Get in.”
With a little jump, she circles the hood, tossing my duffel bag in the back seat as she clambers in. While I’m busy pulling the wires from under the steering wheel, Trinity opens the glove box and extracts a stack of papers.
I side-eye her. “What are you doing?”
“I just want to make sure these people have up-to-date insurance, so they can get the money for their stolen vehicle.”
I snort. Of course she’s worried about theirinsurance claimwhen we’re literally running for our lives.
Such a noncriminal. I refuse to let her cuteness charm me.
As the engine kicks to life, I pull my sore leg inside with a groan. “If they didn’t, were you planning to force me to steal a different one?” I adjust the mirrors and back out of the parking space.
“Um…” She hesitates. “This Dodge looks well-maintained, which usually means it’s insured.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“I guess not.” She shoves the paperwork back in the glove box and straps on her seat belt.
Am I insane, or is this not the same woman who helped drag me out of the hospital last night? She hasn’t been this stiff with me the entire time. “You good?”
“Fine.” She stares out the windshield into the rising sun. “Let’s just go.”
