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Zy groaned. “Don’t say it.”
“I don’t want to, but I have to, man. They’re using Abuzz.” Unluckily for Zy, his father—who was an absolute dick—owned and helmed the trendy social media app.
“Fuck.”
“You have to call your dad.” And break the news that criminals were using the platform designed for chat and interaction to coordinate illegal behavior…if Phillip Garrett didn’t already know. And what were the odds of that?
But Zy would have to climb that mountain alone. Trees needed to focus on Laila.
The two caught up for a few more minutes, then Zy sighed. “Stay safe, check in, and keep your dick in your pants.”
“The first two? No sweat. The last one? No promises,” Trees joked lamely to lighten the mood.
They rang off, and Trees settled in with the road, determined to put as many miles between Victor Ramos and Laila as possible. He also kept his eyes on the other cars that came up behind him, leading west, because while the guy was an asshole, he wasn’t stupid. By now, he had likely ditched the Mercedes and picked up something new, probably nondescript. And Trees didn’t like the fact there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about changing the RV’s appearance.
Cruising the two-lane roads, he slowed through every pissant town, not wanting to attract attention. But at one in the morning, the road started swimming, and he was seeing double.
He found a little one-gas-station town and pulled behind a church to catnap. Did Laila realize this RV didn’t have another bed that would fit him? Not that he’d let her sleep on the bunk over the front seats alone, given her habit of running…
With a sigh, he cut the engine, then headed to the back to check on her. Moonlight blended with a beam of light from the bathroom, lighting up her pale olive profile. She wore a skimpy pink tank top—no hint of a bra. It did little to contain her breasts. A strip of bare skin below her waist gave way to a pair of innocent white lace panties, which peeked above the sheet she’d thrust off in the Florida humidity. Her dark hair curled behind her, spread across the pillow. She was so still and silent, and Trees couldn’t decide if she was deeply asleep—or faking it.
He wasn’t taking a chance. And since he’d left his police-issue cuffs on Victor, he had to roll with the punches.
Rummaging through his duffel, he pulled out a pair of padded cuffs and headed back to the bedroom. Laila hadn’t moved.
He wedged his way through the narrow walkway around the queen-size bed and knelt beside her. She was even more beautiful up close.
His gaze caressed her. His cock hardened. It would be stupid to linger.
After wrapping one cuff around the built-in nightstand drawer, he secured the other around her wrist, then he fixed the padlocks in the fastenings of each one.
He would answer her inevitable questions later, but for now at least, she wasn’t going anywhere.
With an exhausted sigh, he let himself into the postage-stamp bathroom, hit the head, then did his best to wedge his big body into the shower. After bumping his knees and elbows on the enclosure at every turn, he gave up and toweled off.
As tired as he was, he almost dreaded lying beside Laila. Would he actually sleep or just lie there, hard for her?
His desire was damn inconvenient. Usually, he had no problem resisting. He was the guy everyone trusted with their sisters, girlfriends, and wives. Sure, he played at clubs and private parties now and then. He even dated some. But he rarely indulged in sex. Usually, he had to know someone for a while. Instinct had to tell him it was right. That they’d be good together.
Right now, his intuition must be all kinds of fucked up because it kept urging him to strip Laila down and bury himself as deep inside her as he could.
Not happening. He needed to get supine, close his eyes, and pray sleep came.
He tugged on a pair of clean basketball shorts, made sure the vehicle was locked up, set his SIG on the little nightstand, then got horizontal, putting his back to Laila. The damned light from the bathroom shined in his eyes.
But that wasn’t what kept Trees awake. Now that he was beside her, he smelled her—a hint of the clean bar soap he’d stocked in the shower combined with some female musk that teased the fuck out of his senses. With every inhalation, he breathed her in. With a stretch of his long legs, he brushed her small feet and soft thighs. He could hear her, now whining softly in her sleep as if she was having a nightmare. Her chest rose and fell quicker with every breath she sawed in and out.
Her moans became cries. She thrashed, fighting an invisible enemy in her sleep.
