Skin Deep (Station Seventeen #1)(53)
Ten more seconds had them to the threshold of the bathroom, two more and Kellan had shut and locked the door, and dammit, she needed to breathe, to form an exit plan, to think. She moved to say just that, but Walker’s fingers pressed hard and quick to the center of her mouth, stopping her words before they could form.
“Wait.” He surveyed the bathroom, his eyes ice-blue and meticulous as they moved over the cream-colored hand-embossed wallpaper, the marble and mahogany vanity topped with copper fixtures and a mirror large enough to span half the wall behind it, and the four corners where the crown molding met the ceiling on perfectly drawn seams. After one quick slide of his fingers around the mirror’s frame, he lifted his chin in a nod.
But just because this tiny, windowless bathroom didn’t seem to be under video surveillance didn’t mean there weren’t listening devices they’d missed. Or that the man who had been following them wasn’t listening in at the door the old fashioned way. She couldn’t be careless now. Not when she was so close.
Isabella pulled the burner cell from her purse, flicking the screen to life. DuPree? she typed into an empty text message field, showing the screen to Walker before deleting the single word.
He took the phone from her with a nod. Best guess. Don’t think he knows what we came for. But he knows we’re here, and that we’re not regulars. We’re probably going to have to talk our way out the door.
Her gut squeezed, but still, she typed, copy that. Making sure to delete their back and forth, she placed her phone back inside her purse, lifting the edge of the satin lining to pull out the business card she’d tucked beneath it. Reaching around to the back of the toilet tank, she slipped the top corner of the card noiselessly under the spot where the smooth porcelain tower met the tank lid, trapping it into place.
“Okay,” Isabella mouthed, squaring her shoulders and standing tall. She took a step toward the door, her intentions set on beating the fastest path to the elevator without being noticed.
But then Walker was close enough for her to breathe in the dark, spicy scent of his skin. With a swift advance, he pressed her back against the vanity, dropping his hands to either side of the edge of the countertop and caging her body with his own.
“Laugh.”
He placed the word just behind her earlobe in the barest of whispers. Isabella pulled back in shock, attempting to gain some space between them to figure out what the hell he was up to.
But again, he leaned in to put his mouth to her ear. “Trust me, just laugh. Out loud. Right now.”
It might’ve been her adrenaline, which had been free-flowing long enough to shred even the calmest composure. Maybe it was the absurdity of the situation—of being stuck in one of the most luxurious bathrooms in all of Remington with a ridiculously hot firefighter and a Hail Mary exit plan. But something prompted Isabella to do what Walker had asked. While her performance wouldn’t win her any Academy Awards, she pushed out a laugh that seemed to do the trick. As good as he smelled all pressed up against her (and damn, he smelled good enough to eat with a spoon), Isabella wasn’t about to just comply without getting a little information.
She slipped her hands into her clutch to produce her phone, pressing both against the front of his crisp black dress shirt as she keyed in, Why laugh?
Walker eased back, but only a fraction as he took the phone to answer. Because there’s no video in this room.
Her brows shot upward in a silent so? and he continued to thumb-type in the tight space between their bodies. So that gives us an advantage.
Isabella paused, rolling through the tactics in her head until…
A bolt of heat arrowed down her spine, landing directly between her hips. You want whoever’s on the other side of that door to think we’re having a bathroom quickie?
The smile hooking over Walker’s mouth was all the confirmation she needed, although he typed in an answer anyway. It’s a solid explanation for me following you in here in case DuPree is watching. Plus, when in Rome…
Ah, hell. Isabella had to admit, he had not just one point, but two.
She shifted, her lower back still pressed against the cool marble of the countertop. So how much longer is our quickie going to take? Because no offense, but I’d really like to get out of here.
Wasn’t it you who said patience is a virtue? Walker typed, but she had his number, big time.
Yes. And you said you weren’t virtuous.
Clearly. Since I’m having sex with you in a bathroom.
Isabella couldn’t help it. A laugh that came suspiciously close to a giggle barged out of her mouth. Touché. What do you say we go at it for five more minutes then get gone?
Walker nodded. His step back allowed her the room to replace her phone in her purse and muss her hair just enough to look appropriately sex-tousled. The five-minute wait-time eased her adrenaline and set her determination in bedrock, and as soon as it was up, she pointed to the heavily paneled mahogany door.
“Shall we?” Isabella purred, throwing her persona back into place.
Faking a sexed-up flush wasn’t tough as Walker fixed her with a slow stare. “After you, sweetheart.”
Unlocking the latch with a flick of his wrist, he pulled the door quietly inward. The hallway beyond was shadowed but empty, and nothing about the party seemed to have changed. Although it took all the effort Isabella could muster, she kept her eyes far from the side of the room where they’d left Angel—God, had it really been less than ten minutes ago? She followed Walker’s lead as he aimed himself toward the exit, but they’d barely made it past the piano in the living room before a man with white-blond hair and the world’s most calculating smile stepped smoothly into their path.