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She grabbed the duffle off the top of his dresser, ignoring the tug of the extra twenty pounds on one side, and hustled toward the bathroom and the door she could lock shut between them.
"Not to mention half a million dollars and a bunch of fake IDs."
She jerked to a stop and whirled around to face him. The smug satisfied look on his face just torqued up her annoyance. "You went through my bag?"
"Three in the morning and I are old friends."
"What, is that when you think about how awesome you are?" she put just enough disgust in her voice to make each word transform into a slap across his square jaw.
His eyes darkened to almost ebony, but he wasn't looking at her. He was gazing at something in the distance with a weary, mile-long stare that said too much without saying anything at all. Whatever haunted Isaac at 3 in the morning, it was eating away at him one chunk at a time—and she'd rubbed his face in it because he'd done the thing he was trained to do and left no stone unturned and no duffle unopened when it came to keeping her safe.
Tamara Post, you are a royal bitch.
Admitting this wouldn't help. No one knew better than she did that some wounds were best left unexplored. So instead of apologizing, she did what she always hoped others would do when her facade cracked. She pretended it hadn't happened.
"What, am I a prisoner?" Her tone didn't have the bitter heat the question required. "Do you want to watch me shower next?"
His attention snapped back to her and, in a heartbeat, the torment was gone from his eyes. "No, and yes, but for totally different reasons than you're insinuating." He drew out the Texas drawl, no doubt because
he knew exactly what it did to her equilibrium.
Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was because of the way he looked at her. Maybe it was because it was hard to stay annoyed with a man who hid his hurt behind enough charm to catch all the girls in the state. Whatever it was, the giggles escaped before she had a chance to squash them. For his part, Isaac put his hands behind his head and leaned back against the pillows, a sexy grin playing at the corners of his mouth.
Her shoulders relaxed as the tension ebbed from the room. "Look, I'm not doing an Irish goodbye, but I do need to get some things in place just in case."
"Always a plan B, huh?"
"C, D, and E too." And wasn't that the truth.
"And you don't care to enlighten me as to what those plans are?"
"Essie is safer if fewer people know."
"Keeping you safe would be a lot easier if you trusted me."
"It's not you."
"You don't trust anyone."
"I trust my gut." And it was telling her to get her ass in the bathroom and start setting everything in motion, because the more time she spent with Isaac, the softer her edges got. She needed those sharp lines. Fuck the world before it fucked you first. The mantra was tattooed on her soul.
He narrowed his eyes, way more observant than a person would assume considering the pretty packaging. "What's your gut saying?"
The truth slipped out before she could stop it. "That you're too tempting by half."
He laughed, the big booming sound echoing in the room. "Go take your shower. I'll get breakfast started."
She strolled into the attached bathroom. "Black coffee is good enough for me."
"I don't think so." He shook his head. "My mom would skin me alive for having guests over and not feeding them properly."
"You really know how to cook?" she asked as she laid the duffel on the floor in the bathroom.
"Trust me," he said, his voice dropping a few octaves to the low rumble that made her thighs clench. "I could teach you a thing or two."
That her hand only trembled the slightest bit as she closed the bathroom door would have to go down as a top ten moment of triumph. The man was sex personified, and after last night, she had no doubt that he could definitely teach her a thing or two—and she'd more than enjoy returning the favor.
Chapter 13
