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CHAPTER 4
Samantha
I stoodunder a torrent of warm water in Evan’s shower and tried to stop thinking about the man I barely knew. The futile task of pretending Evan Prescott wasn’t different from the other men in my life was all the more difficult because I was surrounded by the scent of his soap and shampoo, which my addled brain had obviously tied to the pheromones he gave off every time he bent close to me. I understood the biology of instant attraction and I had no shame regarding my libidinous response his healthy body and virile behavior. And I couldn’t fault my subconscious for betraying me by sharing too much with him when I’d been impaired by my concussion.
I was concerned, though, about my reaction to his protectiveness. Again, biological imperative was at work here. The man had saved my life. But now he was questioning my team, their competence, and by extension, my chosen work. And on some level, I was grateful for his skepticism. Turned on by it, even. That, combined with the fact that in twelve hours he’d learned more about certain aspects of my life than I had ever shared with men like Chad, whom I’d known and dated and slept with for years, overrode the logical side of my brain demanding that I keep my distance from this stranger.
I wasn’t so sure my hormones or my heart were listening to reason.
The dopamine receptors in my brain responded to more than his scent. The feel of his hard body when I’d fallen into him and the vague memory of him carrying me effortlessly last night, the gentle touch of his hands and the kindness in voice while he cared for me today. It was all I could do to keep from ripping off the man’s clothes or begging him to join me in his bed. Or doing both at the same time. But despite his physical interest in me, as evidenced by the slight dilation of his pupils and flare of his nostrils when I flirted with him, Evan Prescott seemed determined to keep things strictly professional between us. I should thank him for that. But as I stood alone in his shower, all I could do was contemplate nefarious ways to lure him into it with me.
I forced myself to make the shower quick, but when I was done, the act of pulling on his tee shirt, sweat pants, and sweatshirt felt so intimate, my heart went tachycardic. The temporary, arousing, enjoyable kind, not the life-threatening kind. Although, given my circumstances, maybe I shouldn’t be so sure of that.
Clean and refreshed but drained, I left his bathroom and crawled back into his bed. Convinced my shower hadn’t caused a grave relapse, Evan handed me my medical bag and went to the kitchen to prepare the breakfast he’d promised me. I dragged my mind out of the gutter and focused on sorting through my bag and focusing on my mission, which was to reunite with my HEAT team. My drive to return to the fold should have been instinctual, not an afterthought that required mental energy. Perhaps my skewed priorities were a result of my concussion, but I was certain it was something else as well. It was one more indication that I wasn’t like the rest of my team. I didn’t think like an operative.
Evan knocked on the partially open bedroom door, then entered carrying a tray of tea, toast, and fruit. “You look good.”
I glanced down at the sweatshirt I wore. “Did you intentionally color coordinate me with your room?”
He grinned. “You do look like you belong here.”
My heart jumped into my throat. Maybe he didn’t have his own desire as tightly under control as I’d thought.
He set the tray across my lap and backed away from me. “I didn’t mean...It’s... Your skin color is better than it was earlier. Bandage okay? Still dry?”
I smiled. “Yes, doctor. No need to hover.” I nodded toward the bedside chair. “If you’re going to watch me eat, at least sit down.” Why in the hell had I suggested that? I wanted...okay, I didn’t want, but I needed Evan to keep much, much more distance between us.
He dropped into the chair, crossed one ankle over his opposite knee, and tented his hands in front of him.
“You’re really going to watch me eat? Do you not trust me to take sustenance?” I asked, hoping to drive him away.
“Trust but verify.”
I felt the same way about him, although I didn’t mention it. And that reminder to my amygdala allowed me to return to logical thought. If Evan Prescott wouldn’t send me back to my team, I would bring my team to me, and I knew just how to do it.
I ate quickly and silently. The simple, buttered toast tasted amazing and the strawberries were deliciously sweet, an indication of how hungry I was. I ate every bite and swallowed every drop of tea.
“Thank you. That really helped.” I sighed. “Now I think I need some rest.”
He rose, then stooped over me to pick up the tray, giving me a nose-full of clean, intoxicating man. I closed my eyes to enjoy it, which had the added benefit of bolstering my exhaustion claim. Then I mentally recited the names of the 27 phalanges and metacarpals in the human hand to bring my mind back to reason.
“I’ll check on you in a bit,” he said. The door clicked closed behind him.
I opened my eyes. I glanced at the glowing red numbers on the bedside clock, which read 8:47. I stared out the window, watching the morning sun burn through the gray clouds, then glanced back at the clock to see that only one minute had passed. I mentally inventoried the human foot’s phalanges and metatarsals, and added the names of the tendons and muscles for good measure to help me pass the time. I’d planned to wait until I’d been alone five minutes before leaving the bed, but only made it to minute three.
I picked up my medical bag/purse, which Evan had left beside me, and using a pair of small surgical scissors, I cut through the white silk liner. I slipped my finger into the hole in the fabric and felt around until I touched a thin metal disc. I pulled it out and laid it in my palm. It was approximately the size of a dime in both thickness and circumference.
I slid out of bed and listened at the door for another minute. Distantly, I heard movement and what could have been dishes being moved or stacked. I cracked open the door and peered into a wide hallway lined with dark hardwood flooring.
I took a few cautious steps, then a few bold ones, visually memorizing my surroundings. The beige hallway walls were lined with black and white photographs. I recognized Evan at various ages in some of them, along with people who I assumed were his parents and sister. As much as I wanted to linger over the portraits to decipher whatever details I could from his past, I had to find an electronic device behind one of the three closed doors. I tried the one directly across the hall from his bedroom. It was a guest bedroom, smaller than the master but similar to it. A quick perusal turned up nothing. The doorway beside his bedroom was actually open a few inches, and a glance told me it was a bathroom. An unlikely place to store electronics, so I’d keep it as a last resort.
The room beside the guest room seemed to be my best bet. I crept over to it and silently opened the door. Jackpot. A home office. To the left, the wall was lined with bookcases. To the right, there was a large, white computer desk with neatly stacked files, metal trays, and white metal cans full of pens and pencils on each side of it. In the center sat my salvation. A laptop computer.
I pulled the door closed behind me and rushed to the desk. I slipped the micro-disc under the bottom of the computer and opened the laptop. I tapped a key to wake it up and was confronted with a secure screen that required a password and a fingerprint. Not that I’d expected anything less. Unfortunately for Evan and very fortunately for me, Jensen’s little miracle device would take over the processor and unlock the security system any second now.
While I waited to make contact with HEAT, I peeked in desk drawers and poked through files on Evan’s desk. Not one slip of paper had his address on it. Even the bills I rifled through were addressed to a PO box. Either he was outrageously cautious or I wasn’t the first “guest” from whom he’d had to hide his location. Once again, uneasiness twisted in my gut. Maybe the blow to my head had knocked my instincts askew. Maybe I shouldn’t have trusted this stranger for one second.
To my left, the computer screen popped to life. A large window opened, and gazing at me were the anxious but smiling faces of my HEAT team.
