Page 63 of The Last True Hero

Seventeen

THEY SPOKE NOTa word on the swift return to their rooms. Jake's snores echoed in the narrow hallway, and Mia slipped through the door, into the heat of the room.

Outside it was growing cold, the desert night laced with chill. In here, the shutters contained the heat, and thin bands of light were all that crept through. They slashed across the bed, drawing her attention to it.

As if she wasn't still alight from that moment in the alley.

Behind her, McClain closed the door quietly. She felt like that moment stole all of the oxygen in the room. Every movement he made was small and concise. Thoughtful. Careful. He couldn't have dragged out the moment any longer if he'd tried.

Well. There was more than one way to skin a cat. Mia dragged the bandolier from her shoulder, discarding it on the floor.

McClain's shoulders stiffened. Warily, he turned, his gaze lighting on the discarded leather. Then he looked up.

And suddenly the room was far too small.

"We're not doing that again," he told her.

"Doing what?" she taunted, tugging at the snap on her belt. It rustled as she dragged it through the belt loops on her jeans. McClain's hungry eyes watched every movement. "I wasn't planning anything." Mia tossed the belt aside. "I was just intending to get into bed."

Reaching up, she pulled the tie free from her hair. Silky black curls tumbled over her shoulders, and she brushed her hands beneath them, trying to cool the back of her neck.

"Yeah, right. You've got that look in your eye."

"What look is that?" She took a step back toward the bed and eased onto it. Her fingers went to her boots, but she watched him the entire time.

McClain bared his teeth at her. He paced. "The look that says 'trouble.' I know what you're thinking is going to happen. It's not."

Who was he trying to fool? Mia tossed one boot aside, then the next. Groaning at the feel of freedom from her narrow boots, she lay back on the bed with her arms spread behind her. "For a man who protests so much, you didn't seem to be averse to kissing me."

Mia rolled her head to watch him.

"We didn't have a choice. And that was your idea, not mine." Fanning himself, he headed for the corner and the small electric fan there—more for something to do, she thought, than for any desire for a breeze. It buzzed to life with a groan, streamers of paper fluttering off it.

The sluggish breeze cooled her damp skin, but not by much.

"I can still taste you, did you know?"

"Mia." A warning growl.

"What changed?" she asked.

He started unbuttoning his shirt, then clearly thought better of it. "What do you mean?"

"You made me a lot of dirty promises when you were drinking in my bar."

"I was drunk, Mia." McClain tossed his belt aside. The single bars of light through the shutters highlighted the erection straining his jeans. "I said a lot of things I didn't mean."

She rolled onto her hip. "I call bullshit." Draping a hand down over her breasts, she caressed herself through her tank. And he watched every movement. "Every word you've uttered since you walked through that door is a lie.

"Something changed," she said, reading his reaction. "You wanted it then. And you want it now. Every time you touch me, or look at me like that, I can see how much you want it. But then you get this constipated look on your face, like you're trying to tell yourself you don't." Mia slid her hand up under her tank, tracing circles across her hip. "Something happened that night that Jake wanted a quiet word with you. What did he say?"

Those hungry eyes narrowed. "The truth. That you and I have no future together. I like you a lot, Mia. I genuinely like you. And I don't want to break your heart when I leave. Please stop doing that. I'm just a man, one trying to do the right thing. And you're destroying me right now."

Mia's hand stilled. Guilt descended. Guilt and frustration, and a bittersweet loneliness that ached in her chest. She'd wanted more but instead she was pushing him, shredding his willpower. And that wasn't fair.

Even if her body—her heart and soul—ached with denial.

Something haunted him.