Page 98 of Only the Wicked

Of course. You can have the most secure site in the world, but there’s always the human risk factor.

The bathroom door opens, and I slip my phone into my back pocket.

I’m standing a few feet away from the threshold, probably looking like I’ve been pacing, waiting for her, which I have.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“Yes.”

She’s changed from the outfit I purchased into loose jeans and a green crochet sweater tank. Droplets drip from her hair. Flush from the steaming-hot water, her skin is opulent.

We stand there, staring at each other as if in a standoff. Tension exists, yes, but there’s more going on between us than lust or irritation. Questions lurk.

We’re compatible. There’s no question. But can we trust each other?

She breaks the tension with a miniscule huff, tucks her chin, and steps past me to the sofa.

“Are you having me watched?”

She puts the question out there with the weight of a judge’s gavel. Then she sits—on the same sofa where we just fucked. Her skirt and blouse remain on the floor.

Well, let’s do this.

“I wasn’t,” I answer honestly. “My security team saw you.”

“You have security in the hotel? Now?”

“Prudent.” It’s the word Daniel, my head of security, repeats, so I throw the word back at her.

She didn’t ask me why.

“You Googled me.”

She doesn’t confirm nor deny.

What do I really fear? It’s not a long-term relationship. It’s that I’m being used. Deep down, I always suspected Sara stayed with me for the financial benefits. Why did Sydney come with me to D.C.?

“Did you know who I was when we met on the trail?”

I lift an eyebrow, meant as a warning to her not to lie to me.

She closes her eyes.

Holy shit.

I sink into the cushion near her, shift to pull out my phone, scan my messages, locate the photo security sent, and set it on the sofa between us.

She opens those doe eyes and I point at the evidence between us.

“Agent Gregory,” I say. “What did he want?”

Her gaze falls to her hands cradled in her lap.

“Are you with the FBI?”

That gets her attention.

“No.” She looks directly at me, hands still.