Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(31)

Exiting the bathroom, I walk to the desk in my room and sit down, keying up the security feed, and then shifting to my instant message function to look for updates, finding none. Knowing Royce was catching some shut eye like me, I key in: Asher?

The reply: I’m here.

Short and to the point, about summarizes everything Asher does by choice, but unlike any one else I’ve ever known, the man is a chameleon who can don leather and boots as easily as he does a suit. Which makes him one hell of an asset.

Me: Anything I need to know before Myla and I leave?

Asher: Royce and Jacob are already monitoring Alvarez Clothing, and waiting on you. We have four of our best contractors on a plane here now. And I’m caffeine and bacon deprived, which is f*cking hell. Oh and SFB is parked across the street, and dumb enough to think he’s discreet.

Asher gives people nicknames, and “SFB” stands for Shit for Brains, the nickname he gave Juan after watching him for a few hours last night.

Me: We’ll be down in half an hour

Asher: Bring coffee. Or bacon. Bring both.

Standing, I rest my hands on the desk, considering any stone unturned, and while I’d hacked the security to get our team into Alvarez Clothing unnoticed last night, I consider running over there myself for a quick preview before I taking Myla there, but quickly rule that out. I can’t leave Myla alone, with Juan, who clearly needs to die for touching her, hanging around, ready to demand entry into her room.

Pushing off the desk, I exit and make my way toward the living area, finding Myla’s door open. Sounds coming from what I know to be a mini kitchen area off the dining room, lead me in that direction, and I find Myla in the small, rectangular space, staring at a Keurig cup dripping, her long dark hair a sleek shiny wave down her back.

Seeming to sense my presence, she whirls around, the pale pink dress she’s wearing hugging every slender curve, which I’d rather be hugging myself, the hem falling just past her knees. “Hi,” she says, pointing at the machine, and looking incredibly nervous. “They have a Keurig, but the coffee is just Plain Jane. You might like that, but I like my chocolate coffee. I need to see if I can get it ordered.” She grabs some sort of box I think has condiments, and manages to drop it.

I am there immediately, picking it up to hand it to her, the sweet scent of her floral perfume mixing with fresh brewed coffee with surprisingly sexy results. She reaches for it, and I close my hand over hers. “Easy, sweetheart. We’re okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Last night-”

“Was me speaking the truth and after I kissed you-”

“You didn’t -“

“Yes,” I say, “I did, and not only do I own that action, it was too damn short, and too damn good for us to deny it happened. Or that it won’t happen again.”

“It can’t happen again.”

“It will, but not now. Not when you doubt me.”

“It’s not about doubt. It’s about Michael.”

That name is the one and only reply she could give me that makes me release her and step backwards. “Right. Michael.”

Her lashes lower and she turns to face the counter, pressing her hands to the marble. “I’m his. That’s just how it is.”

“And yet, you want me.”

“I’m his.”

I shackle her arm and turn her to face me. “You don’t belong to him. No one owns you.”

“Let go, Kyle. You’re my bodyguard, but that doesn’t require touching.”

I narrow my eyes on her and find what I’m looking for. Fear. Anger. Confusion. “This won’t work.”

“What won’t work?”

“You can’t push me away. There is no door that will shut me out.”

“I already did. Door shut.” She turns and sets the condiments on the counter, grabbing her cup and trying to get the cream out of the container, and I don’t miss how her hand shakes a moment before she drops her sugar packets on the floor.

She squats at the same time I do, and we end up eye-to-eye, the charge between us electric; a punch of pure lust and attraction that sucks up all the air around us, then seems to sway us toward each other. “You’re making me crazy,” she hisses. “This isn’t helping me. It’s made me a wreck.”

I reach for her elbow and help her to her feet. “Making me the enemy isn’t the answer,” I say, forcing myself to let her go. “And you have no reason to feel awkward with me. None.”

“Last night-”

“I was honest. I’ve done undercover work for a lot of years, sweetheart. What we hide from instead of control, is what becomes the poison that can destroy us.” I scoop up her sugars and tear them open. “How do you like your coffee?”

“You don’t have to make my coffee.”

“Myla,” I say softly. “How do you like your coffee?”

“From Starbucks, but I’ll settle for two creams and two Splendas.”

I empty the contents of all of the packets and fill her cup, using a stir stick to blend it before tasting it. “Just the way I like it,” I say, handing it to her, a challenge in my action. Will she drink from the cup I drank from? “Try it.”

She takes the cup from me and considers me a moment, then takes a drink.