The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #2)(59)

Rio laughed softly. “I can respect that logic. We’re in a dangerous business, aren’t we. Self-protection always has to come first. So, let’s start as we mean to go on, and say three time’s a charm and you won’t have to do the rescue stuff with me again.”

“Deal.”

He extended his hand, and as she clasped his palm, there was a strange look in her eyes. And he felt it, too. That sexual charge.

“So,” she said as she retracted herself from the contact. “Any-who . . .”

“You want a shower while you use the bathroom? It’s safe right now.”

Her stare returned to his. “It is?”

“Well, -er. It’s safe-er.” He nodded to the bathroom. “I wish I could get you some fresh clothes, but all I have to offer is running water.”

“That’s okay.” Her lids closed and her head fell back a little. “A shower would be amazing.”

Lucan got up first, and when he put his hand down to her, he knew he wasn’t being chivalrous. He wanted to know if— Yup, there it was again. As she grabbed on to what he offered, the heat he’d felt on that shake went up his arm, through his chest—and right down into his cock.

Fuck.

Ordinarily, he was not the kind of wolf to turn down any opportunity to mate. With Rio, though, he held back—and told himself it was because she was a complication he didn’t need, a human in the midst of vampires.

Not because he was doing a protection number on himself.

Stepping ahead, he opened the door to the bathroom. “I promise not to look.”

“Like I told you, I’m not shy.”

She said that as she walked by him. All casual. Like what was under her clothes was no big deal—even though he could confidently say it was all he’d been thinking about since he’d sat his ass down on the cold concrete outside of where she’d been sleeping.

Lucan glanced at his watch. It was ten in the morning. One good thing about vampires was they did hibernate in the daytime. No one was going to be around for at least another six hours. Hell, even the guards slept at their stations up above, far from this hidden corner within the rabbit warren of subterranean spaces.

Slipping into the loo, he pushed the door closed and locked it. He had the gun the Executioner didn’t know he’d picked up downtown tucked into the small of his back—he had to check the one he was given in and out each night, so this other nine millimeter was a major find.

But he didn’t like the fact that there was no escape in here.

He glanced up and saw a large grate in the ceiling.

Scratch that.

There was not a great escape. A grate one, though, definitely existed.

“I’ll sit here,” he murmured as he went over, put the seat down, and parked it on the toilet.

He turned and faced the wall, and tried not to picture what she was doing as he heard the water begin to fall. She would start with the shirt, he imagined, the loose one he had found in the back of the car he’d stolen and put on her. He’d had a choice between that and a Domino’s polo that was stained with sauce, like the guy who either had owned the car or stolen it had worked there.

And she was taking it off.

“Am I losing my mind, or is this hot water?” she said.

Lucan smiled to himself. “It’s hot.”

“How?”

“Gas line into hot water heaters.”

“I’m just curious, but what is this place? A school that closed down or something?”

“Something like that.” And then he changed the subject. “I’m not going to do anything inappropriate, you know. Just thought I’d throw that out there.”

“Do you think I’d be locked in here with you if I thought there’d be a problem?”

Her voice was easy and calm, and he wasn’t sure whether she was so confident because she had a better opinion of him than she should or because she was very capable of handling herself. More likely the latter.

Had she taken the cut t-shirt off? That fleece? God . . . if he hadn’t come into that apartment when he had? Well, that just didn’t bear thinking of, did it.

Lucan knew she’d gotten under the water when she sighed and the pattern of rain was interrupted. And he really tried not to imagine what she looked like, naked, glistening . . . soap dripping off her— They didn’t have any soap, he realized. No, wait. They did.

Leaning to the side, he took a bar off a divot in the sink’s shoulder and held it out straight without turning his head. “Couldn’t tell you what kind this is, but it’ll have to do.”

“Thanks. I’m not picky.”

As she took the bar from him, his peripheral vision picked up on all kinds of skin, gorgeous skin. And even still, as he re-angled himself so he was staring at the wall by the toilet at a point-blank range, he had an impression of what her spine looked like as it plugged into her— “This isn’t half bad,” she said with a sigh.

Actually, it was. He shouldn’t be thinking about things involving . . .

“Will you relax,” she said through the spray. “You would have done something already, if you were going to—and besides, I’m not that special.”

“Huh?” He went to look at her and stopped himself. “What did you say, I mean.”