Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(88)
“We shall see,” Spider said offhandedly. Adding, “Good luck, George. Don’t let me down.”
And with that Spider was gone, cutting the connection without signing off. George blinked down at his mobile, trying to sort out once again how he’d gone so far off the rails on this assignment. But hindsight was 20/20, and there was no use haranguing himself for things he couldn’t go back and undo.
At least, no matter what, my Bella is safe. It was well known to everyone who’d ever come into contact with Spider that the man never lied and he never broke his word. George could take some comfort in that.
Shoving his mobile into his trouser pocket, he was glancing through the bagel shop’s window when the massive gates of Black Knights Inc. swung open. A blond man on crutches escorted a curvy chestnut-haired woman outside the wall. The couple hobbled over to the guardhouse and knocked on the door.
George saw his chance. Now, now, now! It would be so much easier not to kill the guard at the onset. That way he wouldn’t have to take the chance that someone would discover the man’s body and sound an alarm.
Quickly shouldering the hold-all, George pushed away from the table and exited the bagel shop. Cool wind whipped off the nearby river and wicked the sweat from his upper lip. Keeping his head down, making sure the brim of his ivy cap obscured his face from any street cameras, he crossed the road. While the wounded man and the pretty woman distracted the guard, he slipped through the quickly closing gates. And then there he was, inside Black Knights Inc. He couldn’t quite believe it.
The old saying he and his friends used to chant in the schoolyard came to mind: Easy peasy, fricaseesey. Wash your bum in lemon squeezy! He hoped it was a sign that the rest of his mission would go as smoothly.
*
Black Knights Inc., Third Floor
Saturday 3:39 p.m.
“Where else does it hurt?” Penni asked after she’d kissed the bruise beside the crescent-moon scar on Dan’s stubbled jaw.
He pushed the covers down to his waist and pointed to the discolored skin on his left pectoral muscle. The Russian’s fists had done a number on him. Dan was black and blue. Of course, being black and blue was better than being dead like Kozlov. But no. No! She wasn’t going to think about that. Not now. Not when she was safe and warm inside the circle of Dan’s strong arms.
Coward.
I know! Damnit! I know! she admitted at the same time she pressed her mouth over Dan’s heart. She could feel the organ beating steadily, heavily against her lips. Then she caught the little bud of his nipple between her teeth and laved it with her tongue. She just couldn’t help herself. It was so flat and brown and tiny. She loved the way it instantly beaded. Loved the low, growly sound of approval at the back of Dan’s throat. Okay, so who was she kidding? She just loved…him.
And there it was. The truth in all its discombobulating glory. But it’s not like it was a grand epiphany or anything. She’d known she loved him since she hopped off the plane in DC three months ago. She’d known she loved him because a hole had opened up in her chest when she watched the jet taxiing toward the runway, ready to take him to Chicago and far, far away from her.
Oh, sure. She’d tried to convince herself that what she felt for him wasn’t real. She’d tried to tell herself that it was some sort of hero worship or deep-seated infatuation brought on by the hell they’d been through together, by the way he’d helped her soldier on during one of the most difficult times of her life. But she’d eventually had to admit that it was neither of those things.
Getting to know Dan, seeing his grit and determination and true character shine through in Kuala Lumpur, had been like months of a relationship condensed into just a few days. They’d bypassed all the small talk and bullshit, skipped the part where they each put their best foot forward, and gotten right down to nitty-gritty. Right down to the core of each of them. And what she’d found at Dan’s core was something good and steady. Something to revere and admire. Something to…yes, love. But now the questions were: Does he see the same things in me? Does he feel the same things for me?
“Does it hurt any place else?” she asked him, determined to shove aside her tumultuous thoughts. She wasn’t ready to contemplate them. She wanted just a little more time. A little more happiness. You know, before she dropped her whopping, mega, ginormous bomb on him.
“You’re fine just where you are,” he assured her.
“Are you sure?” she teased, bouncing her eyebrows. “There’s no other place on you that hurts? Even a little?”
They’d started this game because they’d fallen into the bed after she finished him off with her mouth—and talk about h-h-holy shit; that had been hot. And as soon as their heads hit the pillows, they’d both gone out like lights. Just blink! Snoozeville.
Multiple, body-shaking orgasms will do that to a person.
At some point though, she’d rolled over, her arm flying wide because she wasn’t used to sharing a bed with anyone, and her hand had smacked him on the forehead, directly over his butterfly bandaged wound. He’d yowled and sat up, blinking in confusion. She’d shot out of bed like the mattress had turned into a snarling, toothy beast. But when they realized what had happened, they dissolved into laughter, crumbling back against the pillows.
In contrition, she’d leaned over and kissed his boo-boo. And one kissed owie had led to another kissed owie. So on and so forth, until they were here now. On their way to another round of getting hot and sweaty. Which you bet your ass was absolutely fine by her.