Page 37 of Lethal Illusion (Six Points Security #8)

Words could not begin to describe how good it felt to peel off her grungy clothes. The hot water in the shower felt even better.

Sloane scrubbed every square inch of her body and washed her hair twice. It was tempting to stay under the spray until the water turned cold, but that wouldn’t be fair to Navarre. He’d kept her safe all this time; the least she could do was make sure he had a little hot water.

Reluctantly, she shut off the shower, dried her body with a midnight-blue towel, and put on one of the matching robes hanging from hooks on the back of the door.

It was nice of the motel to provide them for guests, especially considering she’d hated the thought of putting filthy garments back on her clean body.

She cast a glance to the wall-mounted rack where her once-stylish outfit was hanging to dry.

The torn-out knee in the black jeans would be all but impossible to fix, but the pink jacket and matching blouse were salvageable.

Before stepping into the shower, she’d washed them all in the sink.

Not the best way to clean them, but the cabin didn’t have a washing machine.

It also didn’t have a dryer, which meant it would likely take all night for them to dry. For now, the robe would have to do.

She wiped the fog from the mirror above the sink and leaned forward to check her reflection. The hot shower had brought some color back to her face, making the dark circles under her eyes slightly less noticeable. A good night’s rest would likely take care of that.

The blisters on her feet still hurt, but those would heal in a matter of days.

Looking back at everything that happened, it could have been so much worse.

She didn’t have any bullet wounds, or broken bones, or deep psychological trauma that would require years of therapy.

All in all, she considered herself lucky.

Straightening, she finger-combed her hair, tightened the sash on her robe, and left the bathroom.

True to his word, Navarre had wedged one of the chairs under the doorknob, which would make it more difficult for anyone to force the door open.

He’d also closed the curtains as an added measure of privacy.

His boots were on the floor by the dresser, his leather jacket hanging from one of the bedposts.

He sat on the other chair at the table, still wearing his shoulder rig over his black shirt, munching on a Clif Bar they’d bought from the vending machine while flipping channels on the television.

At the sound of the door opening, he glanced her way and did a double take.

“Now that I’m clean, I didn’t want to put my dirty clothes back on,” she explained before he could ask. “I washed everything in the sink. Hopefully, they’ll be dry by morning.”

His gaze roamed the length of her body, from head to toes and back up again, and she felt it like a caress. “Where’d you get the robe?”

She pointed to the bathroom. “It was on a hook behind the door. There’s another one in there if you want to wash your things as well.”

His lips twitched. “Good to know. How are your feet?”

It was nice of him to ask. “They’re still a little sore, but better.”

An awkward silence stretched between them.

She tugged the sash a little tighter. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, because she couldn’t stop thinking about how naked she was under the robe.

How much she wanted him to peel it off her body and satisfy every decadent fantasy that had taken up shop in her head.

And there were a lot. She’d come up with some more while she was in the shower.

One night wouldn’t be enough to burn through them all.

Too bad that wasn’t an option. The proverbial line had been drawn in the sand, and she wasn’t going to be the one who crossed it.

Navarre stood, crumpled the Clif Bar wrapper, and tossed it into the little trash can by the dresser.

He closed the distance between them but stopped less than a foot away.

He stared down at her, and it was hard to think straight when he looked at her like that.

Like he knew exactly what she was thinking and was tempted to scratch a few of those fantasies off her list.

But instead, he said, “I’ll be out in a few.

There are bandages and ointment in my ruck if you want to use them on your feet.

” He gestured toward the camo jacket, where the pistol he’d given her was still tucked in one of the pockets.

“Keep your gun within reach. We should be safe for the night, but it never hurts to be careful.”

Her feet stayed firmly rooted in place as she heard the bathroom door close behind her.

It was only when she heard the sound of running water that she followed Navarre’s advice and retrieved the gun from her jacket pocket.

She set it on the nightstand of what she’d decided was her side of the bed, and then dug through his ruck for the first-aid kit.

Once the blisters were treated and wrapped, she made herself comfortable with a can of soda and a Kit Kat bar.

She could have chosen something with a shred of nutritional value, like a granola bar or beef jerky, but screw it, she wanted candy.

She’d polished off the Kit Kat and moved on to a pack of Nutter Butters when she heard the water in the shower turn off. Minutes later, Navarre emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his trim hips, and her mouth went completely dry.

So that was what he’d been hiding underneath all that black.

He had the sleek, powerful build of a gymnast, a tapestry of sharp lines and taut muscles, with a ripped eight-pack and a dusting of chest hair that tapered down into a V until it disappeared behind the towel.

A motley assortment of scars, pale against his tanned skin, marred the perfection of his physique, but it only added to the rugged quality that she found so damn alluring.

Even as a curl of heat unfurled within her, she couldn’t help but wonder how he’d gotten them all.

“Sorry, I forgot—” He paused mid-stride, concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Heat flushed her face. She hoped it wasn’t noticeable. “Nothing. Why?”

“You made a weird noise.”

That was probably her trying not to swallow her tongue. “I think some Nutter Butter went down the wrong way. I’m okay now.”

Her answer seemed to satisfy his curiosity. He grabbed his ruck and went back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Leaving her mind to wander.

Needing a distraction, she grabbed the remote and flipped through channels until she settled on a nature show about cuttlefish. When that didn’t do the trick, she switched to one of those news programs where the guests yelled at each other.

Hair still damp from the shower, Navarre came out of the bathroom a short time later, this time wearing the robe identical to hers, which was good, because it covered a lot more skin. She was fairly confident she could resist the allure of his well-defined calves.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He dropped the bag on the floor along his side of the bed. He sat next to her, back propped against the headboard, and reached for the pack of trail mix.

“I knew you were going to pick that.” She grinned. “It’s the most adult choice left in the pile.”

He gave her a look. “Keep it up, and I’ll eat the Skittles.”

Her eyes narrowed, because she’d told him how much she liked them. She was saving them for last. “You wouldn’t.”

A devilish grin formed on his face as his fingers inched toward the bag. She smacked his hand, and he laughed.

To their credit, it took them the better part of an hour to consume their bounty of vending machine food.

Outside, the storm raged on, with howling winds and torrential rain that pounded against the window.

Claps of thunder shook the cabin, but thankfully the power stayed on.

Strange as it sounded, the storm made her feel safer, because no one in their right mind would be out there looking for them.

Navarre gathered the wrappers and dumped them into the trash. “I can’t remember the last time I ate that much junk food.”

“Lightweight.” Sloane drank the last of her Coke and set the empty can on the nightstand. “If it wasn’t for Mountain Dew and Peanut M&Ms, I wouldn’t have made it through my last semester of college.”

The mattress dipped under Navarre’s weight when he sat back down. He crossed his legs at the ankles. “It’s a shame those vending machines don’t sell beer.”

“That’s what the minibar’s for.” She gestured to the small refrigerator beside the dresser.

He shook his head. “I’m not paying eight bucks for a bottle of Budweiser.”

“Come on, live a little. After what we went through, you deserve an eight-dollar beer.”

Sloane got up and went to the fridge. She opened the door and rooted through its contents.

No snacks, which she supposed made sense, considering the overpriced vending machines outside, but there was a variety of spirits in tiny bottles, red and white wine, energy drinks, juice, and two bottles of beer.

“They don’t have Budweiser, but they do have something called Imperial Hop Drop.” She turned toward him and held up the bottle like one of those women on the game shows who showcased prizes. “I think this beer is meant for you to drink. It’s got an old muscle car on the label and everything.”

His eyes went to the bottle, and then back to her. “Temptress.”

She laughed. “You know you want it.”

“Technically, I’m still on duty.”

“Oh, give it a rest. One beer isn’t going to impair you. Besides, everything’s locked up tight, the curtains are closed, and I seriously doubt those guys are braving the storm looking for us. As far as anybody else is concerned, we’re just two hikers taking a break from nature.”

For a moment, he looked as if he was going to argue, but then he sighed and extended his hand. “Give me the damn bottle.”