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His eyes met Raketa’s and he no longer saw pain in them. Instead, he saw heat.
—:—
There were many forms of torture; she herself had an arsenal she’d used to get…information. However, the form Gunner was using wasn’t intentional. Or was it?
There he stood, sweat glistening from a body almost too perfect to be anything but sculpted from stone, wearing nothing but workout shorts and shoes. It was all she could do not to run at him, knock him on the ground, and trail her tongue over the hard outline of his every muscle.
Instead, she turned, went back into the house, and stomped in the direction of the bedroom he’d deposited her in the night before.
She could hear his footfalls and prayed he wouldn’t open the door she’d slammed shut.
When he didn’t, Raketa’s disappointment far outweighed her relief.
She looked in the closet, shocked to find clothes that weren’t her own, but close enough to what she usually traveled with that they could’ve been. She found the same when she opened the drawers to the dresser.
“Who do these belong to?” she demanded when she stalked out to the kitchen with
a few pieces of clothing in her hand.
“You,” he answered without looking up at her.
“Why?”
This time he looked, raised an eyebrow, but didn’t answer.
“I need a shower.”
Gunner pointed toward the hallway. “Second door on the right.”
She stalked back into the bedroom, rummaged through the clothes he’d provided, and then opened the door he’d indicated.
“This isn’t a lavatory,” she said, coming back into the hallway.
“Keep going,” he said, again not looking up at her.
She turned to go farther down the hallway.
“Into the room,” she heard him say.
“What?”
Gunner came toward her and opened the door she’d initially gone through. He stepped aside and motioned for her to go around him.
“This is your bedroom,” she said when she stepped inside.
“And if you go through that doorway, you’ll be in my bathroom.”
Raketa turned around and looked at him. “Don’t you have another?”
Gunner shook his head and closed the door behind him, leaving her standing alone in a room that was vastly different than the rest of what she’d seen of the house.
Instead of the cool and neutral tones that had been used in the bedroom she’d slept in, this one was done in rich dark brown and black. She never would’ve predicted it of him, but now that she was seeing it, the decor suited Gunner perfectly.
The wall the headboard of the bed rested against was covered with rough wood, with an outlined map of the globe etched into it. A ledge ran the entire distance of the wall where photos and other trinkets of memorabilia sat. Another of the walls was covered with rough and old-looking brick. There was a fireplace holding several wood logs built into the center of it.
It was the stuff sitting on the ledge that threw Raketa the most. She never would’ve expected Gunner to be at all sentimental. The fact that he was, was almost shocking and, for some reason, made her sad.
Photos, trinkets, even memories, had never been a part of her life. Raketa was essentially an orphan, or had always believed herself to be.
