Rome gave Archer a look, but the flat line of his mouth drew Stina’s attention.
Archer, however, was looking between her and Rome. “Is that your shirt, Rome?”
He issued a growl that sent goose bumps skittering up Stina’s spine.
She jerked her stare down to the T-shirt she’d left the safehouse in that morning. The slow grin spreading over Archer’s face seemed to transfer to Jolie’s.
Archer looked at Rome. Then at her shirt. Why were they all acting so weird? She wore it because she didn’t want to put on her work shirt that still smelled like oregano.
She cocked her head. “You want it back?”
Rome’s eyes widened. “Not right—”
Stina whipped it over her head and tossed it at him.
The shirt smacked Rome in the chest, and he caught it on reflex. His gaze dropped for half a second, taking in Stina’s black bra and bare stomach before his jaw hardened.
Archer was laughing so hard he had to brace a hand against the wall. Jolie slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with amusement.
Stina would rather be chased through city traffic again than spend another second standing in this hallway.
She spun toward her room. Before she slammed the door, she pointed at Rome.
“Everything about this is your fault.”
FIVE
Rome had spent the last hour trying to sweat Stina out of his system.
It hadn’t worked.
Every mile on the treadmill, every pull-up, every rep of the barbell had only sharpened the memory of her standing in his shirt, swallowing half her body and all his common sense.
He needed an ice-cold shower but that meant walking past her door. Instead he settled for scrubbing a towel over his chest and arms before he yanked on a clean T-shirt and headed for the kitchen.
Most of Sierra team operated on coffee and rogue decisions that Blackout command hadn’t caught up with yet. This morning Rome was greeted by the scent of coffee and his teammates scavenging breakfast after PT.
Townie stood at the counter piling fried ham and bacon on an English muffin, layering it so high he’d have to unhinge his jaw to take a bite. Monk leaned against the island with a mug in hand, while O and Younger sat at opposite ends of the table, scrolling on their tablets while they shoveled food in their mouths.
With only a nod of greeting, Rome poured some coffee and leaned on the counter. Even before he took his first sip, he knew caffeine wouldn’t help him focus. His problem wasn’t exhaustion.
His problem was sleeping across the hall.
His thoughts drifted to the tattoo he’d spotted on Stina’s back. After she ripped off his shirt and launched it at him likea weapon, she’d whirled to stomp inside her room, revealing a dark line along her spine.
She disappeared into her room so fast he didn’t get a good enough look to make out what it was. Could be a flower or a quote. Could be a dragon.
Or another man’s name.
Not knowing what ink marked her tan skin had driven him insane half the night and drove him to meet a new personal record on weights that morning.
He’d seen more of her than he could handle and remain sane. Her ass, her black satin bra with lace trim around the swell of each breast.
Fuck.
He swallowed his coffee wrong and bottled down the coughing fit that came after, ignoring the glances his teammates shot his way.
Feeling Monk’s stare on him, he looked over the rim of his mug. “Problem?” he choked out.
