His dick could not swell anymore.
“It is bulletproof,” Harry assured her from the front. “But I just saw no point in taking chances. Got four blokes in two cars, heading fast for the little cottage.”
“Be cool, Harry,” Ryan ordered him. “Don’t speed. Stay nice and slow.”
“They’re looking hard at us. Oh, shit. I think I see a gun.”
Ryan felt Simone stiffen against him. “Nice and slow,” Ryan repeated. He began to carefully shift them so that he was on top of Simone, his body protectively curling against her. “Just keep driving. Hell, give them a friendly wave if you want. Really fuck with them.”
“What?” Harry seemed to choke.
For hell’s sake. What was this? Harry’s first mission? “Wave. And drive. Slowly. Normally.”
He didn’t know if Harry waved, but the man kept driving. Slowly. Good. No sense accelerating and looking suspicious.
The moments ticked past. Beat by beat.
Simone poked at him. “I think you can get up now.”
His head lifted, but he didn’t take his body off hers. “Better safe than sorry.”
“You are crushing me.”
He shifted his weight and rose a little. “Sorry.”
“No, I don’t think you are. Not even a small bit.” An angry retort. “But you will be. You will be very, very sorry if you don’t drop this nonsense about me being some kind of—of a thief and you arresting me. As soon as we get to a safe place, you need to let me go.”
He brought his mouth next to her ear. “That’s just not going to happen.”
She shivered beneath him. “Then it will be your funeral.”
Oh, he highly doubted that. “Did you just threaten me?”
“No. I’m warning you.” A swift inhale from Simone. “I am not a safe woman.”
Ryan couldn’t help it. He laughed because…he still had blood on him. They’d been kidnapped. He’d had to kill for her. “Sweetheart, tell me something I don’t already know.”
Chapter Nine
So Ryan wanted to know something he didn’t already know? Fine. She was friends with criminals. Lots and lots of criminals. She knew killers. She knew scammers. She knew the worst of the worst. Now, granted, the worst of the worst were not what she’d call her closest friends…
But her list of associates was incredibly damning. Especially when viewed through the lens of the CIA.
He’d gotten them back to London. Taken them to a hotel that was beyond swanky just along the edge of Hyde Park. The place screamed money in the loudest possible voice, but hotels like this one—if they were screaming money, then they were also screaming security. The elegant building was truly like Fort Knox. Guards positioned at all exterior doors. Cameras throughout. And in order to get up to the exclusive floor where she was currently residing, you had to have a very special key card that would give you access to a private elevator. An elevator that was, of course, guarded.
They were in a corner suite. One where the decorator had chosen to go hard with a dark blue and lots and lots of shimmering chandeliers. Personally, Simone didn’t love the décor, but she was obsessed with the safety so…it works. It all works.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door. Because, well, she’d been soaking in the giant claw-foot tub in the suite’s bathroom for at least the last half hour. Soaking. Hiding. Plotting. The usual.
“Simone?” The doorknob rattled.
Good luck with the rattling. She’d locked the door.
“Simone, are you alive?”
Her eyes narrowed on the door. “Yes.” She sank more comfortably into the tub. Her bubbles were dispersing. Probably a sign that she should get out.
“Fabulous. So glad you’re still in the land of the living.” And the door flew open.
