Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(23)

“There’s nothing spontaneous about six months of wanting to f*ck, Polly.”

God, he was right. All roads had been leading to here; she just had to decide whether a U-turn was in order. “Show me what’s in the room.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I’d rather not.”

“There can’t be secret rooms or parallel universes.” She swallowed hard, a little shocked that she was toeing the line that had always been so defined between them. “Not if you want the trust required to work together.”

Austin’s expression didn’t waver, but the air changed around them. “You’re actually thinking about it.” He breathed a curse and dug a key from his pocket, tightening the jeans over his full erection with a wince. “We’ll see if that’s still the case in a few minutes.”

His dire tone bred discomfort, but didn’t detract from her curiosity. When Austin turned on a heel and strode to the locked room, Polly followed, meeting his eyes briefly when the lock clicked open. With a stiff nod, he pushed open the door and stepped back to allow her entry. Polly bit back her nerves and passed over the threshold…and stopped, allowing her surroundings to register.

Racks of clothes lined all four walls of the room, some of them in plastic, all of them spaced the precise amount of distance apart. Polly floated toward them in a trance, not sure if she should be relieved or twice as alarmed by what the room contained. Feeling intrusive, despite Austin’s permission, she went through the hanging garments. A police officer’s formal dress attire, a pilot’s uniform, complete with wing pin, a business suit that looked as though it cost a fortune. She stopped at the familiar black T-shirt and designer jeans, the outfit worn by her Russian from the previous evening. Recalling how the shirt had molded to Austin’s chest, biceps, and stomach, lust spiked in her belly.

Feeling Austin’s attention resting on her back, she quickly moved on, turning in a slow circle. A large table in the center of the floor, stacked with containers that looked to be fishing tackle boxes. Polly moved forward, running a finger over the nearest container and lifting an eyebrow at Austin, who stood like a statue just outside the room.

“Go on, then.” His voice was stiff. “You’ve come this far. Might as well open it.”

Just then, she wanted to turn back. Leave the room, the apartment. Forget the whole morning had ever happened. She could figure out a way to shake Austin and go back to flying solo, just like she’d always done. This…this felt too personal. Like rummaging through the contents of someone’s porn stash. It would be a sign of weakness, however, if she didn’t open the box now, and she’d already been called a coward once today. Putting some steel in her spine, Polly unhooked the plastic latch and flipped open the lid.

Tattoos—fake ones—of all sizes, colors, and description. Various country flags, Chinese symbols, barbed wire, representations of each American military branch. Naked women, sports team logos, and individual letters in a multitude of fonts.

Polly closed the box and moved on to the next one. Facial hair. Goatees, mustaches, sideburns, laid neatly in thin plastic wrapping. There was a tiny glue kit nestled alongside the packages, with a comb and mirror.

She’d seen Austin in various disguises—they worked undercover so his talent had come in handy several times. He’d posed as a loud, outspoken Texas millionaire. An IT worker with thick-rimmed glasses and a slight Slavic accent. Once he’d shown up to a squad meeting dressed as Derek, proceeding to mimic his voice and movements with eerie perfection until the real captain arrived and put the kibosh on the sideshow. Yes, she’d been well aware of Austin’s best asset—becoming someone else—but she’d never pictured the process. Never thought of him, all alone in his apartment, transforming himself in silence. The moving image rolled now, flashing like an old-time projector, until it started to bother her.

Polly shut the movie off with a quick headshake. “Who is your favorite person to be?” She gestured to the walls of identities. “Out of all these.”

His rigid demeanor remained, but she could see he’d been thrown by the question. “That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child,” he said, his humor sounding forced. “I don’t have a preference. My favorite is whoever’s currently getting the job done. Although the Russian clubber may hold a slight advantage as of last night.”

“You should probably stop bringing up last night.”

A wolfish smile spread across his too-handsome face. “You can’t prevent me from thinking about it. The way your leg felt gripping my hip, the way you tipped your ass up as I squeezed it.” He growled low in his throat. “How you kiss like you’re about to come in your panties.” His smile dropped like a shattered vase. “I’m bored with this room, sweet. The bedroom is far more exciting, I promise you. Shall we? If you get on your back for me, I’ll be whomever you wish.”

“S-stop.” Polly lassoed her runaway libido and dragged it back, kicking and screaming. God, her resolve was growing shakier by the moment. She needed to get out of there before he obliterated it. Standing in the doorway, Austin was larger than life. A sexually charged man in peak physical condition, confident in his ability to please scores of women. A man who’d asked her to control him, be the one who made the rules. What would it be like, having a man like Austin conceding to her demands?