Hell on Wheels (Black Knights Inc. #1)(11)
Unaware of her observation, he continued to methodically go through her clothes, stopping only occasionally to play some air guitar or air drums.
The whole scene was insane, surreal, she felt sure Ashton Kutcher was going to pop out from behind that sweeping bank of computers and yell, “You’ve been punk’d!”
And that was another thing…those computers. The place looked like it was retrofitted to operate as a tertiary NORAD base if Cheyenne Mountain and Peterson Air Force Base ever simultaneously disappeared from the map.
Totally surreal.
But then Ethan prepared to open the separate little case she kept her delicates in, and the reality of the situation suddenly clicked into Technicolor focus. Oh, yes. She figured now would be the perfect time to excuse herself from this little exercise.
“Cripes,” she muttered.
“What?” Nate asked. He was watching the entire process, strong arms crossed, big-booted feet planted shoulder width apart, taking in every minute detail and cataloging it away in that inscrutable brain of his.
“Nothing,” she said, forcing what she hoped was a nonchalant smile. She was already nervous enough after the way she apparently set off some alarm when she first entered the building, which resulted in Nate turning and scowling at her. Of course that had made her start to blabber uncontrollably about the lack of governmental restrictions on off-shore drilling.
Yeah, what?
Off-shore drilling? Had she really gone there?
She nearly groaned while recollecting the inane, one-sided conversation—not that that was atypical when it came to the two of them. One-sided conversations, that is. What was typical was the way her ability to instantly contract the linguistic version of the trots made his face blank, his eyes glaze over, and that little tick start to work in his jaw.
Of course in about two seconds, when Ozzie/Ethan dumped out her panty case, she figured Nate’s eyes would be anything but glazed.
Crapola.
If she hadn’t already begun to regret her decision to make this trip, the forthcoming episode of abject mortification would no doubt do the trick. To use one of Grigg’s favorite sayings, it’s either shit or go blind.
Since neither of those was a particularly pleasant sounding option, it was best just to turn her back on the entire scene, walk a few yards down the way, and try her best to disappear into the floor.
“You’re an adult. They’re both adults. It’s certainly not the first time they’ve come into contact with women’s underwear. Just act like it’s no big deal,” she coached herself as she started to inch along the railing.
“What didja say?” Nate asked, and she spun around to find him eyeing her like maybe she was growing a second head.
She really needed to get the talking to herself thing under control.
“Nothing,” she assured him again and realized from the hard look he sent her that response wasn’t going fly a second time. “Okay, you’re about to dig into my panty case and, sheesh, having a stranger paw through my underwear is a bit disconcerting. So I’m just gonna take myself over there.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the far corner where the second story railing connected with the wall.
Nate’s expression got even harder—if that was possible—as he asked Ethan/Ozzie, “Is this really necessary?”
The guy waved the black wand-thing over her panty case and it buzzed, sounding like a giant, angry bee.
Nate sighed resignedly and swung back to her. “Sorry. It’s gotta be done.”
“Yeah,” she said, trying a smile that must’ve looked kinda sick because Nate’s hard expression morphed into one of apprehension. “I mean it. It’s fine. I’m just going to stand over there and check on the goings-on down below.”
Before he could say anything else—because, really, what more could he say about rooting around in her delicates?—she made good on her decision to excuse herself from their company.
***
“Jesus, the woman’s got quite a collection,” the kid murmured while using his knife to snip the tiniest stitch in order to pull out the filament-thin tracking device secured in the hem of yet another pair of Ali’s panties.
Correction. Another one of Ali’s thongs.
“Mmph,” Nate grunted, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. It appeared the woman was the proud owner of the entire Victoria’s Secret catalog.
Plus, he detected the slightest aroma of honeysuckle emanating from the pile.
Sure, it was probably just fabric softener or lotion or something, but his wayward dick started to stiffen in response to the smell combined with the feel of the satin and silk he clutched in his fist. It brought back memories of that day on the beach. A deep, visceral recollection of soft panties brushing against his searching fingers and the even softer sensation of the warm, wet flesh beneath—
No, goddamnit! He wouldn’t think of that now. Couldn’t think of that now. Not with her standing so close. He didn’t trust himself not to go all caveman and—
No!
Somehow he managed to wrangle some superhuman effort to pry open his reluctant fingers and throw the entire mess back down on the table.
“Did you know Grigg’s sister was so hot?” Ozzie pressed.
Uh, yeah.
Ali’d been the feature starlet in his personal spanktrovision for the last dozen years, and after that day on the beach? After first-hand knowledge of what it was like to have her lithe arms tight around his neck, her soft breasts pressed firm and snug against his chest, her agile tongue personally introducing itself to his tonsils?