29
Ridge
I lie still on my back, one hand behind my head.
Robyn’s breathing changed a while back. It’s grown slow and even. I’m sure she’s fast asleep.
I wait a little while longer, looking up at the ceiling. I would love to roll over and fall asleep, too, but I can’t.
I don’t do sleepovers.
Her heart has slowed, too. A sure sign if there ever was one.
She’s exhausted. I wore her out. I couldn’t get my beast to settle. He wants me to wake her up, so that he can have at her again.
I really do need to get out more. Do this more.
She makes a small sound and shifts. I freeze.
She huffs out a small breath and then settles.
I wait another minute. Then I slide one leg out from under the sheets, and then the other. I sit up by inches, careful not to jostle her.
Finally, I stand, holding my breath, and look down at her.
She’s on her stomach, one knee drawn up, the sheet bunched around her hips. Her hair is a dark tangle on the pillow. Her mouth is slightly open. There’s a small frown line between her brows that smooths out as I watch.
She makes this little snoring noise.
I smile and catch myself.
My dragon shifts under my skin, unhappy. He doesn’t like me leaving her bed. Tough shit! The bastard is going to have to deal.
He doesn’t get a vote on this one.
I move to the doorway and check her one more time, and she’s still out.
I head into the living room.
My suit pants are on the floor near the table, together with my shirt. My jacket is on the sofa where I tossed it. I quickly dress, then pick up the jacket and slide my hand into the breast pocket. The two small black cases are right where I put them.
I sit on the edge of the sofa and listen for her again.
I take out a case and open it. The covert microphone transmitter inside is the size of a shirt button. It’s matte black, with an adhesive backing. The device runs off a battery cell that will last for months.
I hate doing this, but I have to.
I get up and carefully walk back into the bedroom, noting that Robyn hasn’t moved. I cross to the bookshelf against the far wall. It’s stacked with paperbacks. They’re all romance novels; most of them, anyway. The kind with a naked guy or a couple on the front.
There’s an inch of dead space behind the upper rim where the bracket is recessed. I peel the backing off the device and press it up into that hollow.
Even if she runs her hand along the underside, she’ll feel a smooth strip of bracket. The mic will pick up every word said in this room.
I gave her just enough info on Magma that she’ll want to replay it to her handlers. Not that I think she’s dirty, but this way I can start to prove it.
I take one more look at her. She turns her face into the pillow. Her hair falls across her cheek.
I feel guilt well up, but tamp it down.
