Page 38 of Breaking Danger (Ghost Ops #3)
Jon held Sophie back with an arm and entered silently, stunner up, eye on his scanner.
There was the faintest possibility that the armored glass doors had a shield coating that provided a barrier so he couldn’t read the presence of infected.
But even past the glass doors, inside the huge foyer, the scanner was blank.
He holstered the stunner and held his hand out to Sophie, who crossed the threshold wide-eyed.
There was another screen to the side of the door. He disengaged the alarm and relocked the door, punching in mylove with a secret smile.
He looked at Sophie.
She’d slept some in the boat, sitting up.
She was far from rested. Her body had pumped itself full of norepinephrine—adrenaline—to use her body’s resources to the fullest. She’d run as fast as she could, suppressed fear reactions as much as she could and the trembling afterward had been the price.
He was surprised at how well she was doing.
Most civilians would be a wreck for days afterward as the chemicals of terror washed out of their systems.
He himself, like his teammates, had been inoculated against that during training and they had a different biochemical reaction to stress, anyway.
They’d been tested for it. His brain, like that of Mac and Nick and the Captain, like that of all Special Forces soldiers, released a chemical called neuropeptide Y that automatically counteracted stress hormones and kept the frontal lobe ticking while that of other people subjected to the same stress simply shut down.
In other words, he was wired to keep calm under intense pressure.
It was a trick of his body and he’d been born that way, just like every other special forces soldier.
He wished he could give Sophie the gift of time to come down from the stress of their flight out of San Francisco, but he couldn’t. So maybe he could pamper her instead.
“It’s beautiful.” Sophie smiled, tilted her head back to look at the ceiling of the atrium, two stories high. A huge chandelier, big flowering plants…even empty it had a feeling of warm welcome.
Jon nodded. “It is. What do you want first—shower or food? The way Robb described it there should be running hot water.”
“Shower, definitely.”
“Okay.” Jon tugged at her hand. “Master bedroom and bath on the first floor, that’s what Robb said. Let’s explore.”
They walked through a tall arch right into the Robb living area.
Man, it was nice. Jon had never had a home of his own, military all the way since he was 17.
His quarters at Haven were the closest thing to a personal space he’d ever had.
But if he were ever to have a home of his own—and he couldn’t imagine how—this would be what he’d want.
They walked through large rooms that somehow were both beautiful and cosy. Man, Robb had more rooms than Jon had guns.
Finally, they opened a door onto a huge bedroom that had two sitting areas and a door on the other side of the room. Far, far away.
“Looks like we’re here.” Jon checked the scanner once more, then started dumping their gear onto a sofa, the case on the hardwood floor next to the sofa. It felt good to shed the weight. Sophie dropped her backpack and stretched her shoulders.
The windows faced east and the room was suddenly flooded with light as the sun rose up over the walls.
Everything in the room gleamed. The light picked out the bright colors of the sofas and the multicolored bedspread.
Small pots of still-fresh flowers were everywhere, thriving plants everywhere, making the air smell fresh.
Sophie roamed around the room, touching the furniture lightly. She stopped at a chair and picked something up.
“Look, Jon.” It was a large pale pink shawl, scarf…thing. She held it up, stroked it, then carefully folded it and tucked it into her backpack. “It’s so beautiful. Pure cashmere. No wonder Robb’s wife wants it. It’s a wonderful gift.”
It was. Jon stood in the middle of the luxurious beautiful room, filled with light in all senses of the term.
No one had ever accused Jon of being a sensitive man.
As far as he knew, he didn’t have a sensitive bone in his body.
And yet—he was picking up on the vibes of this room.
A room that had been carefully decorated to please all the senses, a room that somehow still held the echoes of a man who loved his wife.
He stopped at an oil portrait of Robb hanging over a simple yet elegant cabinet.
The man was bending slightly forward, as if ready to come right out of the painting.
He was dressed casually in a sweatshirt, solid, middle-aged.
A little more handsome than in real life.
Jon peered at the signature in the lower right hand corner.
Anna Robb. So the wife was an artist, and loved her husband right back.
Jon rubbed absently at a place on his chest, then shepherded Sophie to the far wall.
He’d been right. The door opened onto an opulent bathroom with more showerheads than he’d had hot meals.
Acres of tile and light green marble, accessories catering to every single bodily function, including…
Jon looked at that shower with the built-in bench, his body automatically responding to the idea of him there with Sophie on his lap, hot water streaming down over them…
Then he looked at Sophie’s bruised eyes.
No, he thought with a sigh. No way.
“We’re free to use anything in the house, I’m sure you can find something clean to wear.
You’ll feel better after a shower and a change.
I’ll check for another shower. I think I saw the kitchen and dining room on the way here so we can meet there in, say, ten minutes.
” Sophie’s eyebrows rose. “Okay, fifteen.” They rose even higher and he sighed and said, “Meet you in the kitchen whenever you’re ready. ”
Jon had time to shower, shave, find the kitchen, set the table and start studying the fully stocked fridge, freezer and pantry before Sophie showed up.
He smelled her before he saw her. It was Anna Robb’s perfume—or shampoo or shower junk or whatever—but it suited Sophie.
Fresh and spring-like and it mixed well with the smell of her own skin which was imprinted deeply into Jon’s lizard brain.
His dick sprang to attention.
Fuck.
He’d put his lightweight cotton sweat pants on and his woodie would be visible from the moon. Certainly from the drone overhead if it hadn’t already left.
What was this? His dick did what it was told, always.
In the Cortez stronghold he’d had Joaquin’s sister constantly rubbing against him like a cat in heat.
And since fucking Cortez’s sister while fucking with their business was a guaranteed one way ticket to a grave, he’d kept it in his pants. Even hinted he might be gay.
He didn’t care, because Carmela hadn’t turned him on in any way. He’d watched as, stoned out of her mind, she’d fucked her way through the entire security team in the compound and there’d been practically an army there.
So, no, Carmela wasn’t a temptation, but Sophie sure as hell was.
“Jon?” God, even her voice nearly brought him to his knees. It certainly brought him fully, painfully erect. “What are you cooking?”
Luckily, Jon was a highly trained warrior with lightning-fast reflexes which had got him out of many a tight spot.
He grabbed an apron that was hanging next to the stove.
It was one of those fancy full frontal heavy cotton things, deep burgundy with the name of some winery stitched on it in gold letters.
Right across the chest. Perfect. Kept the eye on chest level and not lower.
He was tying it around his waist when he turned and was able to keep his voice light.
“I don’t need to cook anything. Look.” With a dramatic flourish he opened the huge stainless steel refrigerator door open, covering himself. Not for nothing had they been taught to multi-task. Shoot and roll. Run and reconnoiter. Talk and hide a woodie.
Man, he was good.
Sophie buried her pretty head in the freezer compartment and while she was running through the ample selection, Jon thought truly terrible thoughts, like they could be dead this time tomorrow. Brought his boner right down, it did.
Sophie stood up with her arms full. “Ok, I’ve made my choices, do you want to go through them?”
“Nah, I’m happy to eat whatever you choose.”
She smiled. “Well then take that apron off and join me at the table.”
Oh, shit. “No, I uh—” It was really hard to think when the blood that was supposed to be in your head was lower down. “I’m going to nuke the nukeable ones and so that officially makes me cook, right? Chef, I mean.”
She tilted her head and examined him. The god of horny soldiers was with him because her eyes never went below his neck. “Okay. I saw a salad in the fridge, too. Do you want me to dress it?”
“Ah—” For just a second Jon pulled a blank, imagining a salad in a frilly dress. His hands were full so he couldn’t thunk himself in the forehead. “Yeah. Sure. I like balsamic.”
There was an MP6 player in a docking station and he switched it on.
The room instantly filled with music. It was like being in the middle of a jazz ensemble.
Right smack in the middle, next to the bass.
The Robbs sure had top-notch stuff. Jon had priced a system like that and it cost upward of $20,000.
Sophie was boogeying to the table with a big salad bowl, barefoot, humming the tune she apparently knew. Some jazzed-up rock ballad.
Jon stared at her back as she fiddled with various condiments, pretty feet moving in some kind of complicated dance moves.
“Geeks dance?” he called as the microwave dinged and he took something out and put something else in. He couldn’t be bothered to look at what he was doing because Sophie dancing was just…magic.