Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(45)

So as much as he started to relax, eating green bananas and listening to the rain on the roof, he paced himself carefully on the Cuban firewater, barely taking the occasional sip.

But Chessie was enjoying the booze, and he was enjoying watching her drink it. She held the bottle high, which, with adjusted night vision, he could see was respectfully, but not shockingly, dented.

“This could make a rum drinker out of me,” she said. Looking past the bottle, he could make out her features in the dark car. She’d abandoned her glasses, and he could see her eyes were brighter than they’d been, her smile looser, her hair tousled from the long day.

Goddamn beautiful is what she was.

“Why do you have that look on your face?” she asked.

“What look?” Longing? Lust? Or just garden-variety admiration? He was too tired to hide any of it.

Plus, they had that deal…though he’d prefer a proper bed and a totally sober lover.

“That look,” she said. “Like you really don’t want to tell me what you’re thinking, but you’re going to have to tell me, and I’m not going to like it.” She took a quick breath and leaned forward to see through the rain-washed windows. “Did you see someone? A light? Do we have to run?” She nodded, as though trying to psych herself up. “It’s okay. I’m ready. I’ve been planning this. First, I’ll take my stuff from the back. One bag because I already put my purse into the suitcase. I’ll swing that over my back—so glad Gabe told me not to bring a roller—and then I’ll—”

“Stop.” He put his fingers over her lips. “Stop planning.”

“That’s like asking me to stop breathing.”

“Then stop doing it out loud.” He brushed her lower lip with his finger, lingering there a second longer than necessary. “I think we’re safe enough to try and get some sleep. You can, anyway.” He finally let his hand fall in the large open space between them on the ancient Ford’s bench seat.

“You sleep,” she said. “I had a nap, so I’ll be on guard.”

“I think you’ve had too much rum to be on guard.”

“I have not!” she denied hotly, holding the bottle up to eyeball the contents. “We’re splitting this. You’ve had just as much.”

“I outweigh you by sixty pounds at least.” He took the rum from her hand and tipped his head toward the backseat. “Go get some rest. You’ll need it tomorrow.”


She didn’t move. “You want me back there, don’t you?”

“There’s space to stretch a little, and you can use your bag for a pillow.” He thumbed in the direction of the back. “Go.”

With a sigh that held a mix of frustration and resignation, and proof she really couldn’t say no to him, Chessie knelt on the bench seat. She lifted her leg over the seat back and hoisted herself the rest of the way. Automatically, he reached to give her a boost, his hand closing over her buttocks. He almost sucked in a breath at how firm and sweet her curves felt to grip.

He could have sworn she lingered just a moment too long before pushing herself to the backseat. She landed softly and stretched out, resting her head on their two soft-sided bags behind the passenger seat. She’d had plenty of rum. She’d sleep and that was good.

Because ten more minutes in the front seat of this Ford and—

She suddenly popped up, inches from his face. “I’m not going to be able to sleep.”

“Just try.”

“I cannot possibly sleep without first going to the bathroom. I don’t think I ever have in my whole life.”

“Not in the plan, huh?”

She flicked her finger at the arm he’d draped over the top of the seat as he leaned into the door. “Don’t knock plans. If we’d had better ones, we might not be sitting in a downpour with no headlights, no windshield wipers, no food, no bathroom, and no hope.”

“We have hope. And a flashlight if you want to use the ladies’ tree.”

She squished up her nose, as if considering the pros and cons of the rainy, dark non-facilities. “I’ll wait until the rain slows down, but I honestly can’t sleep. I’d rather talk.”

“I talked you right to sleep on the way down here. Anyway, don’t you have rules about that?”

Even in the dark, he could see a flicker in her blue eyes. “We’ve already butchered the ‘no intimate conversation rule,’ and since you just copped a feel of my ass, there goes the ‘no unnecessary contact rule’ down the drain. And you insist on calling me Francesca, despite the fact that I specifically asked you not to.”

“You like it when I call you Francesca. You told me so.”

“It puts me off-balance.”

He smiled at her. “That’s the rum.”

“Yeah?” She took the bottle and helped herself to one more swallow, as if to say she wanted to be off-balance. “So…” She pushed a lock of dark hair out of her eyes, but it fell right back and partially covered her brow. “Talk to me, Malcolm Harris.”

“You may have underestimated the potency of the local rum.”

“Pah.” She blew the hair, but it fluttered over her eye again. “Maybe. I am starting to like you, and I told you not to make me do that.”