Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(9)

Chapter Three





Something pulled Chessie from a deep sleep, but everything was black when she opened her eyes. She blinked, fighting brain fog and exhaustion and disorientation. And bone-deep contentment.

The hotel. She was in a hotel room with…the best lover she’d ever experienced in her life. The best. Yes, he’d gotten a little weird after she’d told him her last name, confirming her suspicion that he really wanted this to start and end tonight.

That was fine, but tonight wasn’t over yet. Instantly aching for more of him, she turned, but everything was still completely dark. She pressed the empty pillow next to her and slid her leg over the sheets, bumping into no one.

Sitting up, she peered into the utter blackness, listening for a sound and vaguely impressed by just how effective the Marriott’s light-blocking curtains were.

“Are you there?” she whispered, tentative for some reason.

“Uh, yeah.” His voice, as low and sexy as it had been in her ear when they’d…well, you couldn’t exactly call it making love. What they’d done was flat-out fu—

“You can go back to sleep.”

Her heart dropped. Weirdly, quickly, and for no good reason. It wasn’t like she ever expected to see him again after this. It was just that…she didn’t want to go back to sleep. She wanted more. More of those hands and that mouth and, holy, holy hell, that massive hard-on that’d been the best ride of her life. And more of his dry humor and blend of rough and sweet.

She liked him, damn it. Was that against the rules?

“Come back to bed,” she said, only a little surprised by the sultriness in her voice.

“No, I’m leaving.”

What? She tamped down what might have come out as the sound of begging, staying silent while she waited for an explanation or something. Something that didn’t sound so much like ugly rejection. She’d put herself on the line, damn it, and when they’d—

The door clicked open, and finally some light spilled into the room, highlighting the man she’d just given her body to. She could see that, standing in the doorway with the hall light silhouetting him, he wore the same clothes she’d taken off him, and carried his duffel bag.

“You really are leaving.” Like, leaving the building leaving. Wow.

He turned to look back at her, and even though his face was in shadow, something about his demeanor had changed. The challenge was gone from his broad-shouldered stance, along with the sense that he was doing something on a dare.

Guess that was ’cause he’d done something, and now he was out.

Prick.

He cut a glance into the hallway, then back to her. “I left you a T-shirt,” he said, nodding toward something white hanging on the back of a chair.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, not hiding the dry sarcasm. “Should I consider it payment for services rendered?”

Even in the shadows, she could see his eyes close like he’d been hit by her shot. Good. Hope it hurt as much as the punch to her gut.

“More like an explanation for why I’m leaving.” With that, he stepped into the hall and shut the door, leaving her bathed in black again.

And stupidly sad.

Throwing back the covers, she stood and yanked the drapes back to let in the suddenly sordid ambience of an airport hotel in the middle of the night. It was enough light to find the chair, pick up the plain white T-shirt, and turn it over as if expecting some kind of handwritten note.

Nothing, just a tiny imprint over the space that would cover the bastard’s cold heart. She stepped to the nightstand and found the switch, frowning at the brightness and sliding her hand under the T-shirt so she could read what it said.

Allenwood Federal Correctional Institution

Chessie stared at the words, a chill slipping up her spine and blossoming over her whole body.

He was an ex-con?

Oh hell, maybe he was an escapee? No, Chessie might not do the field investigations that her cousins and brothers did, but she’d worked in the security business long enough to know he hadn’t had the aura of a man on the run.

How was this an explanation for why he left?

Something about him had been strange, she thought as their brief exchanges in the last few hours flitted through her memory. Like he’d thought she knew who he was, or should have. Was she supposed to smell prison on him or something?

She sat on the bed, sighing softly. Okay. This was why a person with a brain and self-control didn’t just veer off into spontaneity without a good reason.

He was a good reason, a voice in her head whispered. Good and sexy and sweet and…oh, that thing he did with his tongue?

She shook out the sex-charged memory.

Still not the smartest choice she’d ever made, tongue notwithstanding. And something in the back of her mind told her Allenwood wasn’t exactly hard time. Minimum security? She’d have to do some digging into the prison databases.


No. Not smart. She’d have to forget this. Forget him.

She lifted the shirt and sniffed, hating herself only a little bit for wanting one more scent of the man. Detergent, the strong institutional variety, filled her nose. She fell back on the pillow with a moan of pure agony. She’d just pretend it never happened, her one-night stand with an inmate who tried to escape the hotel without even saying good-bye.