Page 47

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The hotel suite was all pristine elegance. White gossamer curtains drifted in the breeze, the walls washed in the palest pink like dawn breaking. The type of refined luxury that made Finn acutely aware of the gun calluses on his palms.

He crossed to the open window, letting the cool evening air wash over his hot skin. The sling had been irritating him all day. He removed it, testing his injured arm with careful flexes. Still tender, but healing.

His thoughts drifted inevitably back to Rose.

His hands bunched into fists. What kind of man was he, feverish with desire when she’d barely escaped with her life? She needed rest and recovery, not his desperate wanting. But the thought of her sleeping in the next room made his skin raw with awareness.

Get it together, Jones.

He shook his head and, needing distraction, strode through the pale stone archway into the ensuite bathroom. A domed ceiling arched overhead while aquamarine tiles gleamed against rough sandstone walls. No utilitarian fixtures here. An enormous circular bath dominated the space, more like a Roman plunge pool than standard hotel fare.

A world away from the spartan existence of his special ops days and hasty washes in rivers and arctic streams. He turned the taps and steam rose as water thundered against stone.

He uncapped a bottle of bath oil, letting the golden liquid stream into the water. The scent bloomed in the humid air, citrus mingling with mint and cedar, promising relief for his weary muscles if not his racing thoughts. The temperature climbed as steam wound around him.

Finn toed off his boots and peeled away his shirt, his skin damp in the gathering heat.

His mind flicked back to Rose’s note.

The Widow would arrive tomorrow, no doubt with a briefcase full of carefully packaged lies.

He fished his phone from his pocket.

Nik answered on the first ring. “Finn. You good?”

“Yeah. Rose is checked into her room. Luca?”

“Same. Clean bill of health. By the time I got there, he had three nurses’ numbers and was angling for a fourth. Had to drag the bastard out. He’s disgustingly fine.”

Finn let out a dry chuckle. “Figures.”

“We’re heading back to camp now. Duke’s still with the crew. They’ve all been admitted into hospital until Triton pulls them out tomorrow.”

Finn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Rose had a note waiting for her in reception. The Widow is arriving tomorrow.”

“Fuck.” Nik made a whistling noise. “What does that bitch want now?”

“To clean up their mess. Probably has a case full of nanobots locked and loaded.” Finn exhaled sharply, his mind shifting to their other pressing concern. “Any news on Thea?”

“No. Nothing.”

Triton’s shadow never lifted. It just kept stretching, becoming longer and darker. The uncertainty about Thea gnawed at him. Logic said she was either dead in a ditch somewhere or out there plotting her revenge. His instincts screamed the latter. He’d seen the obsessive drive in her eyes, felt it radiating off her like heat. A woman like that didn’t just disappear quietly into the night. She was out there, probably already sharpening her next knife.

“Copy. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Copy that, Finn.”

The line went dead with a click.

He’d barely set the phone down when a knock sounded at the door.He didn’t need to check. Every nerve in his body screamed who it was.

Rose.

In the days since he’d met her, his awareness of her had shifted into something primal—like he could track her through walls and distance.

His heart pounded as he stared at the door, suddenly all too aware of the steam clinging to his bare skin.

He opened the door.

Rose stood in the gently lit hallway. She didn’t speak, but her gaze dropped, trailing over his bare torso with an intensity that made his muscles tense involuntarily.

Finn stepped back, his invitation wordless.

She moved past him into the room, her scent trailing behind her—something faintly floral. The door clicked shut, sealing them in, the soft finality of it making his pulse slam harder.

She turned to face him. Blood seared his veins, hot and urgent. His cock hardened instantly. He’d imagined this moment a hundred times. Wanted it. Craved it.

Now she was here. With him. Alone.

His restraint hung by a thread as he reached for her, fingertips skimming down the length of her arms, featherlight.

“You should rest,” he murmured, his voice rough.

She held his gaze, dark eyes dilated. “I don’t want to rest.” Her lips parted slightly, her breath shallow. “I want you.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. He needed to be sure.

“Rose—”

“I’m sure, Finn.”

She turned, following the lazy drift of steam curling from the bathroom. He trailed after her, every step wired with need.

She paused at the threshold, taking in the space, the large tub steaming with scented water. Then she turned, one dark brow arched in silent challenge.

His chest constricted. God, she was exquisite.

Her hands went to the hem of her shirt. In one smooth motion, she pulled it over her head, the fabric whispering against her skin. Then her cargo pants, unfastened and pushed past her hips.

She stood before him in pale gray lace—barely anything at all.

Evening light slanted through the narrow window, gilding her skin in liquid gold. Shadows and highlights played over her curves, over the smooth stretch of her stomach, the delicate slope of her collarbone.

Finn fought for breath. For control.

He moved toward her, the space between them vanishing, his fingers finding the warmth of her skin. She turned slightly as he slid his hands over her upper arms, then lower, mapping muscle and softness. He bent his head, pressing his lips to the curve of her shoulder, her neck—careful of the wound at the back of her head.

For a moment, rage coiled inside him. She’d been hurt.

The memory of it ripped through him like fire, a bolt of fury and helplessness. He wanted to protect her. Keep her safe. Keep her close to him.

His fingers traced the length of her spine, and she inhaled sharply. A tremor rolling through her.

Strong. Delicate. Warrior and softness wrapped into one. His beauty. His survivor. The woman who had risked her life to trap the damn nanobots.

He reached for the clasp of her bra, unhooked it, let it slide down her arms, and dropped it to the floor.

He ran his nose down the slope of her neck, across her shoulder, dragging in the scent of her. She exhaled a breathy gasp, her body arching toward him, then stepped away.

His hands made fists.

She dropped her panties. A slow, torturous slide of lace.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

She stepped into the bath, the water lapping at her calves, her thighs. She waded deeper, then submerged completely, disappearing beneath the surface, her dark hair fanning out like ink.

Finn swallowed hard, his pulse an unrelenting drum against his ribs.

He was drowning and not even in the water yet.