Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(12)

Trust him? Was he kidding?

She stared at him. He looked back at her, his expression one of seeming patience.

She exhaled. “You just dabble in kidnapping, then?”

“I wasn’t in on this.”

“But your friends took me,” she shot back. “I’m here because of them. And you’re telling me to get naked. That kinda makes you complicit.”

He chuckled. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the back of his collar and pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. “Complicit.” He shook his head. “College girls.”

She could hardly process his words because his chest was all she could see. Broad, tan, and muscled, with ink crawling over one shoulder and bicep. It was an athlete’s body. Or the kind of body you’d see in a Calvin Klein ad. She had never seen a man’s body like this up close and personal before.

His hands landed at the waistband of his jeans and her gaze flew away, determined not to watch. Heat crept up her neck to her face, burning her cheeks. She heard his jeans drop.

The bed dipped under his weight, and she sucked in a sharp breath and scrambled to the edge of the mattress, still refusing to look at the body radiating heat toward her. She felt like she was flying out of her skin.

“Easy there, princess. We just gotta make it look real.”

Her eyes widened. Make it look real? “Wh-What does that mean?”

“Get under the covers. I would suggest you scream to make it sound legit to the guys in the next room, except you’re so nervous I’m not counting on you being very convincing.”

She wasn’t so sure about that. She was freaked out enough that she could probably provide the soundtrack for a good old-fashioned slasher film.

He tugged at the comforter to get her to lift up. She readily obliged, hopping off the bed and backing away. His voice stopped her cold. “Nu-huh. Clothes off.”

She touched the front of her badly wrinkled silk blouse, hesitating. It had been six months since a man saw her naked. And that had been a quick breast exam followed by a perfunctory pelvic exam. It hardly counted.

Charles might be her boyfriend as far as the world knew, but they had never slept together. Of course they had kissed for the benefit of the cameras. Nothing her mother would deem vulgar. Only chaste pecks. In private, however, they’d experimented, willing to give it a go since her father was so determined for them to be a couple. For all they had tried, the spark wasn’t there. Making out with him was awkward. Two fourteen-year-olds fumbling together in a closet had more chemistry. Grace had put an end to it, sensing he would have gone all the way even as lackluster as they were together. And how humiliating was that? Charles would suffer sex with her.

No, Nathan from college had been the last real boyfriend to see her naked. They’d dated before her father took office. They broke up when he started grad school and she moved to DC at her parents’ behest. Three years since Nathan. Since sex. And that had only ever been in the dark of her dorm room. Whenever Nathan attempted to turn on the lights she’d flipped them back off, too self-conscious.

She toyed with a button on her blouse. Just pretend he’s old Dr. Mattheson, she told herself.

“C’mon.” He sounded impatient. “It’s the only way.”

She looked at him then. Yeah, he so wasn’t Dr. Mattheson. She carefully trained her gaze waist up. Not going to look down there. God, he might read that as interest. “You won’t hurt me.” Even though she phrased it as a statement, a question hung in her voice . . . a plea, and she hated that. Hated that begging for her safety was something necessary. How had this become her life? “What’s your name?” she asked, hoping to reach him, to connect in some way.

He held her gaze, a muscle feathering across his clenched jaw. She refused to break eye contact and look away this time. Grace waited for him to say it. Needed to hear him say it.

“Doesn’t matter.”

She wet her lips. “I’m Grace Reeves.”

A corner of his mouth kicked up as he slid between the covers. “Yeah. I know.” Thankfully, the covers were now draped over him from the waist down.

“Of course.” She shifted uneasily on her feet. The rough voices of the men carried from the other room. As he said, it was either trust him or put herself at their mercy. She felt her lip curl at that prospect. She already knew what they were like.

The naked man in the bed she had occupied only moments before nodded toward the door. “Why don’t you turn off the light and get into bed?” A question and not a question. A well-toned arm patted the space beside him like he wasn’t asking anything out of the ordinary. “It’s a big bed. We won’t even touch.”

She didn’t budge. She doubted a bolt of thunder at her feet could get her to move.

He sighed. “My name is Reid.”

It was something at least. A name. “Reid . . .” She said his name carefully, moistening her lips. “. . . promise me you won’t—”

“I’ll keep you safe, Grace Reeves.” The swiftly uttered words crossed the space between them and wrapped around her like a double-lined fleece blanket. The words did their part and provided solace, but it was also his eyes. Steady and true. The guy could be in politics. If he wasn’t a dangerous criminal. If he wasn’t built like an MMA fighter and sporting tattoos and scarred knuckles. He had that mesmerizing quality that compelled trust. And he was hot. Magic Mike hot.