Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(32)
“Sorry,” she mouthed, pushing to sit crisscross-applesauce style in the middle of the mattress. With hungry eyes, Dan watched her pull her sweater down over her stomach. Then she tried to smooth the hair his fingers had done a number on during their all-too-brief bout of…whatever it was. Heavy petting and dry humping, he supposed, although he couldn’t remember the last time he’d indulged in either. Suzie Sheffield in the back of his Camaro after the state championships his senior year in high school came to mind.
Trying to shake off the lust that was riding him hard—Ha! As if!—he bent to grab his discarded sweater. Ow! Sonofa—If Penni was going to be around for a while, he should definitely invest in some jeans that were a bit looser in the crotchal region. Refusing to think about the look on her face after she’d taken the sweater off him, he tugged the garment over his head. Of course, not thinking about that look was hard to do while he threaded his arms into the sleeves and glanced at her only to discover it was plastered all over her face. Again.
He swallowed the groan perched at the back of his throat and cursed Fate or Destiny or Father Time or whoever the hell else was responsible for f*ck-all bad timing as he pulled the sweater’s hem down over his chest and stomach.
*
Well now, that’s a crying shame…
The thought drifted like fall leaves on a cool breeze through Penni’s overheated brain as she watched Dan pull down his sweater. When he’d tugged it over his head, it’d caused his sandy hair to riot boyishly. And then it had slid over his shoulders, covering the traditional heart-and-arrow tattoo that was inked over his bulging right deltoid muscle. But neither of those things were as heartbreaking as watching the wool cover six-pack abs and the intricately scrolled letters of the tattoo just below his belly button. No Guts, No Glory the bold, black design read.
And that’s the flat-out truth.
If there was one thing Dan “The Man” Currington had in spades, it was guts. Though, as far as she could tell, he didn’t do the things he did—putting himself in danger, taking on the treacherous jobs—because he was chasing glory. Quite the contrary. During The Assignment, she’d overheard a phone conversation he’d had with someone. “When Uncle Sam comes calling, it’s our job to answer. And when the work is done, we don’t take a bow.”
Those words, his words, had struck her, reminding her of the time she asked her father why anyone would decide to become a police officer, decide to walk that thin blue line day after day for crappy hours and even crappier pay. Her dad had explained it simply—as had been his way. “Some men crave the adrenaline. Others get off on the power.” And then he’d said, “But sometimes, Penni-pie, once in a blue moon, a man is simply born a gladiator. A defender. It’s in his blood. Stamped on his DNA. And when you find yourself in the presence of a man like that, you know it. You can feel it.”
Her father had been one of those men. And for a long time, she wasn’t sure she’d ever meet another. But then she’d met Dan. When she’d heard him say those words, she’d known that besides being big and beautiful, he was also a battle-hardened gladiator, a defender, a hero in every sense of the word. And she’d been trying to have her way with that big, beautiful, battle-hardened hero ever since.
“Winterfield…”
Penni’s heart jumped like a startled rabbit as that one word stood out among all the Russian quietly rolling through the speakers. The familiar zing of adrenaline spiked through her system and was the equivalent of a bucket of ice over the inferno of her libido. All the lingering ache, all the liquid longing was gone. Just like that.
Her wide eyes swung to Dan. She saw his jaw harden. Nope. Scratch that. His entire body hardened. He marched stiffly over to the dresser to stare so forcefully at the digital recorder that she was surprised he didn’t melt it with his gaze alone. After Kozlov signed off with a gravelly-sounding do svidan’ya, the tinny music clicked back on, followed by the quiet but unmistakable crack-snick of a break-action weapon being loaded.
The hairs on Penni’s arms started crawling around like they were alive, and she sat in stunned silence as Dan quickly switched off the digital recorders before reaching into his hip pocket to extract his phone. As he punched in a number, a muscle twitched in his cheek.
“He was just on the phone,” Dan growled softly after his call was connected. He unhooked the recorder that was on the dresser and started for the bathroom, motioning for her to follow at the same time he snagged his jacket from the end of the bed. “I’m gonna put in a call to Vanessa back at BKI and have her translate his conversation.” Penni knew from her time in Malaysia that Vanessa was BKI’s onsite language expert.
“I’ll get her on speakerphone,” he continued. “You and Zoelner mic up so you can listen in. Call and tell him the plan. Oh, also…I’ve turned off the digital recorders so we no longer have ears inside Kozlov’s room. Make sure Zoelner keeps his eyeballs peeled in case the Russian jets.”
Penni grabbed a seat on the toilet lid and watched Dan lay the phone on the white marble bathroom vanity before reaching into his hip pocket and extracting the tiny flesh-colored earpiece. After inserting it, he shrugged back into his jacket and, with the edge of his thumb, flipped a switch no bigger than the head of a ballpoint pen behind the microphone made to look like the top button on his coat. Checking the time on his big, black diver’s watch, he closed the bathroom door to ensure as much privacy as possible and said, “Check, check. Either of you copy me yet?”