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There’s no way to tell if he’s actually inside, but a quick press of my ear against the door greets me with nothing but silence.
Here’s hoping.
I pull one of the specialty pins out of my hair, the one I’d stuck in this morning after my shower, and carefully picked the lock. A gun is a really fucking nice idea, and I draw it now, keeping it trained in front of me while I sweep the tidy apartment.
The shower is running. Marco is definitely home.
I creep further into the apartment when the shower suddenly cuts off. My heartbeat jerks, resumes an erratic rhythm.
When I turn the corner, he’s there, standing in a towel and dripping wet,hisgun trained directly at me.
CHAPTER8
Marco
Shit, this woman is going to give me a heart attack.
I keep the gun trained on her a second longer out of instinct, both of us aiming for the head.
My finger hovers on the trigger, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. Does she have her safety on? I sure as fuck don’t. She’s lucky I didn’t act on impulse and drive a bullet between her eyes like my brother would have.
I should have known she wouldn’t be content to stay at the hotel and wait. Lacey doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who is content to let any man tell her what to do, which is only part of her allure.
Having her point a gun at me shouldn’t make me hard, but it does.
“Maybe you should have a talk with your driver if you don’t want to be found.” She tilts her head to the side, and an amused smile dances across her lips.
No one knows about this apartment, not even Stefan. It the only safe place I’ve somehow managed to carve out, away from crime and death and that part of my life. It’s a place no one would ever think to look, because it’s so middle americana.
I had thought I needed a night away from her, to lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling, to clear my head and focus on the reason I need her help, but I was unable to get her scent out of my nose, the feel of her body pressed against mine, her taste…
Fuck me, her taste. Her pussy is sublime.
I finally put the gun down and look her over.
She’s right—my driver made a critical mistake last night in saying our next stop out loud, one I missed because I let my desire to fuck her obscure everything else.
Now she’s here, in my apartment, looking just as gorgeous as she looked last night, even without all the makeup and glam. Today, her face is scrubbed lean, and she’s wearing a thick jacket, worn jeans, and a scuffed pair of boots.
“You come into my apartment and pull a gun on me?” I ask.
“I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“You don’t trust me.” I tuck my own piece into the knotted front of the towel and hold both hands up to show her empty palms.
“No.” She still hasn't lowered her gun, but the blank look in her eyes gives me an indication that she’s not planning to use it, even if the trust isn’t exactly there. No, she’s too focused on my chest. On my abs. On the water still trailing down my front from my wet hair.
She’s absolutely fresh faced in the light of pre-dawn. Losing the makeup has her looking rounded, dewy, and way too young for my peace of mind. What is she even doing taking on an assignment like this one, trying to bring down my brother?
The Bureau must be out of their minds to put her in danger this way. Or maybe Lacey is the type of person who jumps feet first into danger, confident in her abilities. Damn me, but I’m smitten with her. I know it. She probably knows it. Getting involved like I am is too dangerous for both of us.
“How did you find the right apartment?”
“The nice lady downstairs,” she answers, finally lowering her arm to her side.
“Damn. Mrs. Folders sold me out?”
“And I didn’t even have to bribe her with anything, other than helping her up the front stairs.” Lacey tucks the gun away and unzips her jacket, the apartment toasty warm. She finally shrugs out of it and drapes it over the back of the couch.
