Читать книгу Navy Seal To Die For - Elle James - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Three hours later, after they’d answered what questions they could for the FAA, DHS, county sheriff, state police and everyone else who could possibly be involved, they were finally allowed to leave the base.

Quentin needed a shower. He smelled like swamp water and, despite his discomfort, he was hungry. He could imagine Becca felt the same. Her anger seemed to have dissipated as the day wore into evening.

“Some of us are headed to the Shoot the Bull Bar for a beer. Are you coming?” Jace asked.

Quentin shook his head. “I need a shower and a gallon of coffee, not booze.”

Becca rose from the conference table and stretched. Even in a swamp-water-dingy white blouse and wrinkled trousers, her dark hair in funky disarray, she was a beauty.

His groin tightened at the thought he would be spending the night in the same building as her, possibly the same room.

Rip entered the war room and handed Quentin a cup of coffee. “I’m headed to the bar, but I can drop you at your apartment on the way.”

“You are a lifesaver.” Quentin wrapped his hand around the cup and inhaled the fragrant scent. “And yes, I’ll take you up on that ride as soon as I convince Becca she’s coming with us.”

Rip grinned. “Did you score in Cancun?”

Quentin winced when Becca joined them at that exact moment. “No, he did not score, nor will he. If you don’t mind, could you drop me at a hotel?”

“Sure,” Rip responded.

“Then you’ll have to drop me there, too.” Quentin turned to Becca. “I’m not leaving you alone. Either you stay at my place where I have two bedrooms, or I stay with you in your room at a hotel.”

“I’m not staying in the same room as you, Loverboy,” she said.

“So you’re telling me you want to stay in my apartment?”

“No. I didn’t say that.”

He leaned close to her. “Just so you know, when I give my word, I keep it.”

“And like I told Royce, I don’t need a bodyguard. We don’t even know why they shot down the plane. It could have been someone after Sawyer, not me.”

“Or it could have been you since you’re on the trail of whoever hired the assassin who killed your father.” Quentin crossed his arms over his chest. “Your choice. Togetherness in one hotel room, or sleeping in separate rooms in my apartment.”

Becca’s lips pressed into a thin line. She waited twenty of Quentin’s heartbeats before she finally said, “Fine. Your place. But I’m not sleeping with you.”

“You hear that, Duff?” Rip grinned. “A female who isn’t falling for Loverboy’s killer charm. This has to be a first.” Rip turned to Quentin, shaking his head. “What happened in Mexico? Are you losing your touch?”

Quentin ignored Rip’s comment and raised his brows at Becca. “I didn’t ask you to sleep with me. Besides, who said I wanted to sleep with you?”

Rip clapped a hand on Quentin’s back. “If you two have things figured out, I’d like to leave while we can.”

“We’re ready.” Becca sailed past Quentin and Rip and marched down the hall.

Quentin stood for a moment, admiring the view of her swaying hips.

Duff clamped a hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “Forget it, she’s not that into you.”

“Oh, she is,” Quentin said. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“That’s right, feed the ego, Loverboy.” Duff walked with him to the exit. “If you want to win her over, my advice to you is to get a shower. The only female you’re going to attract smelling like you do is a female gator.”

Outside, the parking lot was slowly clearing of the emergency and government vehicles. Rip hit the button to remotely unlock his truck. When the taillights blinked, Becca headed in that direction.

Before Quentin could open the door for her, Becca was inside, adjusting her seatbelt in the front passenger seat.

Quentin climbed into the backseat behind her.

Rip slipped behind the wheel. “So, Becca, is it?”

“Don’t feel obligated to engage in small talk,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Gotcha,” Rip said, a smile spreading across his face. He shot a glance at Quentin in the rearview mirror. “She’s a real ball-buster, isn’t she?”

Quentin ignored him. It had been a long day and he was tired of the smell and stickiness of his clothing against his skin. The sooner he got a shower, the more human he’d feel. Then he could continue his campaign to win over the pretty secret agent.

Rip pulled up in front of his apartment building. “Got a key, or did it go down with the plane?”

Quentin nodded. “I have a spare.”

“Under the welcome mat?” Rip asked.

“Something like that,” he replied.

“In this day and age, you’re willing to risk someone finding your spare key?” Becca frowned. “Maybe the hotel is a better idea.”

“We’re here. Give my apartment a chance. If you don’t like it, I’ll drive you to the hotel myself.” Quentin got out, opened Becca’s door and held it while she climbed down. “Thanks, Rip.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Rip said with a grin. Then his face sobered. “Hey, and if you need anything just yell. Hopefully, whoever took a shot at the team won’t try picking you off one at time.” Rip drove off, leaving Quentin with Becca. Alone.

Quentin had been thinking along the same lines. If someone was truly after Becca or the SEAL team, they’d gone to a whole lot of trouble to take them out with a fiery plane wreck and helicopter attack. After the failed attempt, wouldn’t they come after them again in a subtler attack?

Perhaps staying alone in his apartment wasn’t such a good idea after all. Granted, Montana lived in the same apartment building. Though Montana had opted to have a beer with the guys at the Shoot the Bull, he’d be back later. Since he was on the same floor of the apartment complex, he’d be within shouting distance should Quentin and Becca run into trouble.

With a sigh, Becca faced the building “Which one is yours?”

Quentin hooked her elbow. “I’ll show you.” He led her to his door and reached up to the porch light fixture and pulled the spare key from between the base plate and the wall. “See? Not under the mat.”

“I feel so much better,” Becca said, her voice dripping sarcasm.

“Great. We can get this evening off to a good start with the right attitude.”

“The only thing that will improve my attitude is a long soak in a hot shower followed by a glass of wine.”

He opened the door and reached inside to flip the light switch.

Becca entered and stared around at the small but comfortable room. “Are you sure you live here?”

“Yes, of course. Why?” He closed the door behind him and glanced around, trying to see the room through her eyes.

“It’s...too...” she waved a hand at the room “...clean.”

Quentin shrugged and stepped past her. “Not all men are slobs.”

“Yeah, but this is almost sterile. I feel like I have to take off my shoes before I step inside.” She toed the back of her shoe. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea, considering where they’ve been.” Barefoot, she walked through the living room and peered into one of the bedrooms.

“That’s mine. You can sleep there or in the other room. Your choice. There’s only one bathroom, shared between the two bedrooms.” He unbuttoned his shirt as he walked into the small kitchen. “You can have the first shower, while I open a bottle of wine.”

“Thanks. I’ll take you up on both offers.” She headed straight for the spare bedroom, entering the bathroom from there. Before she closed the door, she called out, “I’ll try to save you some hot water.” Without looking back, she closed the door.

A moment later, Quentin heard the snick of the door being closed on the other side of the Jack-and-Jill bathroom—the door leading into his bedroom. Then he heard the sound of the shower spray.

Quentin had the bottle out of the cabinet and two glasses on the counter when he realized Becca didn’t have clothes to change into.

He entered his room and riffled through his dresser for a soft T-shirt for her to sleep in. He’d offer her pajama bottoms to go with it but he didn’t own a pair. Instead, he grabbed a pair of clean running shorts with an adjustable drawstring. With the clothing in hand, he knocked on the bathroom door.

“I’m not done yet,” Becca called out.

Quentin tried the bathroom doorknob in the guest bedroom, surprised to find it unlocked. He twisted the knob and pushed it open a crack.

Becca poked her head around the shower curtain. “What are you doing?”

“I brought clothes for you, unless you prefer to sleep in the buff.”

She frowned at his offering and then nodded. “Thanks. You can leave them on the counter.” The curtain whipped back in place.

Quentin set the shirt and shorts on the counter and turned. Though he couldn’t see through the shower curtain, he could clearly see the outline of Becca’s naked body.

His heart skipped several beats and his blood raced south, tightening his groin. Yeah, she had all the right curves in all the right places.

A sopping wet rag flew over the top of the curtain rod and smacked him in the side of his head.

“Out!” Becca demanded.

“Going.” Quentin left the bathroom and returned to the kitchen where he poured a large glass of wine and called in an order for pizza to be delivered. He had no intention of going back out and he didn’t have much in the way of food in his refrigerator, having emptied it prior to the planned two-week vacation in Mexico, which had been cut short by all that had happened.

As he drank his wine, his gaze fixed on the bathroom door, his mind conjuring the silhouette of Becca standing behind the shower curtain. He had to have her. A thousand seduction scenarios ran through his head, many of which had been successful in the past with other women. But Becca was different.

The woman wanted nothing to do with him.

She’d be a challenge, but one worthy of the effort to win.

* * *

BECCA SCRUBBED THE swamp smell out of her hair and grabbed the soap, working up a good lather. As she smoothed it over her body, she was entirely too aware of the man on the other side of the door. As a physical specimen, he was perfect, and he wasn’t a slob like most men she knew.

If she wasn’t searching for her father’s murderer, she might be open to flirting with Quentin. Maybe even sleeping with him. At the thought of her father, her chest tightened and her hand stilled. He’d been her only family.

Becca prided herself on her independence, but she’d always had the safety net of her father. He’d said if she needed him, he’d be there for her. Well, he wasn’t anymore.

Tears welled in her eyes and she dashed them away. Agents didn’t cry.

She turned the heat down on the shower, and rinsed the soap from her hair and body, reminding herself why she was there and what she had to do.

Becca stepped out of the shower, toweled herself dry and finger-combed her hair into some semblance of order. Then she reached for the clothes Quentin had thoughtfully provided. The soft-white T-shirt smelled clean and freshly laundered, unlike the clothes she’d left piled on the floor, destined for the washer.

She pulled the T-shirt over her head and let it slide down her body, imagining how differently it would fit over Quentin’s broad, muscular chest. On her, it draped loosely over her breasts and down to mid-thigh. She could wear it as a nightgown, all by itself. But Quentin had provided shorts, as well.

She pulled them up over her hips and cinched the drawstring around her waist to keep them from falling off. Completely covered, Becca still felt somewhat exposed. She didn’t have panties or a clean bra beneath the shirt and shorts. The thought of stepping out of the bathroom into the living room where Quentin was made her nipples tighten under the soft cotton fabric.

Great. He’ll think I’m turned on by him. She had to admit she was attracted to the man, but he didn’t need to know that. He’d probably press the advantage and sooner or later, she’d cave to his dogged determination to get her into his bed.

Becca pressed her hands over her breasts, hoping to warm them and make them quit puckering. But the more she touched them, the more she imagined Quentin’s hands there and the tighter her nipples beaded.

Giving up, she plucked the shirt away from her chest and curved her shoulders inward, hoping to hide the telltale sign of her awareness of the man. Twisting the towel around her hair, turban-style, she straightened—clean, refreshed and ready to face the world and Quentin.

She gathered her soiled clothing in one arm, sucked in a breath and opened the door. Despite her determination to face Quentin head-on, she felt more vulnerable than she had in the alligator-infested swamp as she walked barefooted through the bedroom and out into the living room.

Quentin emerged from the small kitchen, carrying two glasses of wine, one of which was halfway gone. He’d shed his shirt, displaying a wide expanse of a tanned muscular chest. “Feel better?”

“Much.” She took the goblet he proffered and focused her attention on the liquid in the glass, trying, but not succeeding in avoiding looking at Quentin’s gorgeous body. The red wine warmed her insides enough she lifted her head. “You don’t happen to have a washer and dryer in your apartment, do you?”

“I do. In the back of the kitchen. There’s detergent and fabric softener in the cabinet over the washer. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. If you throw your clothes out of the bathroom, I’ll put them in with mine.” Becca crossed to the kitchen and set her glass on the counter.

“I’ll only be a minute in the shower,” Quentin said on his way to the bathroom. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I called for pizza, I hope that’s okay with you. Sorry, we don’t have any other food delivery service in the backwaters of Mississippi.”

She smiled. “I love pizza as long as it has pepperoni.”

“Good, because that’s what I got.” He nodded toward the kitchen bar. “There’s money on the counter. I don’t have to tell you to look before you open the door. With all that’s happened, you can’t be too cautious.”

She nodded. “Right. I’ll pay you back when Royce gets here.”

“My treat. It’ll be our first date.”

She frowned, but couldn’t find it in her heart to be mad at him. He’d offered his apartment, his clothes and his protection, and he hadn’t made another pass at her since she’d arrived.

Quentin disappeared into his bedroom, leaving the bedroom door open, but closing the door to the bathroom behind him.

Becca unwound the towel from her head and shook out her damp hair. Come to think of it, he hadn’t even tried to coerce her into kissing him since Royce had asked him to be her bodyguard. Now that Quentin wasn’t pressuring her, Becca had the odd sensation of missing his teasing and coy remarks.

The door opened and a pair of jeans landed on the floor.

Becca hurried forward to gather the clothes.

As Becca entered his bedroom, Quentin stuck half of his body through the opening, stopping short of exposing his private parts.

Becca’s pulse quickened and she drew in a sharp breath, her gaze drifting down his torso to the slice of hip and thigh visible through the crack in the door.

Quentin winked. “Like what you see?”

Caught staring like a teenaged girl in the boys’ locker room, Becca blushed. At a complete loss for words, she threw her towel at him, spun away and closed the bedroom door behind her with a snap.

A bark of laughter erupted behind her through the thick panels of both doors.

“Egotistical jerk,” she shouted.

He laughed again.

Pressing her palms to her cheeks, Becca entered the kitchen in search of the washing machine. She found it behind a louvered door, threw her dirty clothing into the tub and started the water, trying to forget what she’d seen and heard. It was hard. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat on his body and his thighs were just as muscular as his upper body. She could imagine what it would feel like to lie next to him, naked. Her softer body against his chiseled one.

Becca groaned. Thoughts like that would get her nowhere. No, they would get her into trouble, make her lose focus and forget why she was there in the first place.

She marched back across the living room, gathered Quentin’s jeans and returned to the washer. Once she had the load going, she wandered around the kitchen, opening cabinet doors. Every dish, glass, cup and spice was placed neatly on the shelves. The man obviously believed in order and structure.

Becca did, too. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had much of it since her father’s death. Everything about her life was out of kilter. The lead she’d gotten from one of Royce’s informants had led her to Cancun following the trail of a mercenary thought to be the one who’d shot her father in cold blood.

In Cancun, she’d stumbled upon the group of SEALs, one of whom was yet another target of the mercenary. Becca had helped them solve that case, but the killer she’d hoped to question had died in the subsequent firefight. With a trail gone cold, she’d been eager to return to the States and dig for more clues as to who had hired her father’s murderer.

She hadn’t planned on the plane she was in being shot down, nor did she have any contingency in her schedule to fend off a growing desire for the SEAL Royce had tagged with providing her protection.

Other than the neatness and orderly appearance of the apartment, there wasn’t much else in the way of personal items that could give her anymore insight into Quentin Lovett.

While the SEAL was in the shower, Becca wandered into his bedroom. Here, the king-sized bed was neatly made, the pillows stacked by size against the headboard. Becca couldn’t tell by looking at the mattress which side of the bed Quentin preferred to sleep on, or if he slept in the center. Becca preferred the left side. Not that which side Quentin slept on would pose an issue. Becca had no intention of sleeping with the man.

In his closet, all of his uniforms were pressed and hanging neatly, boots and shoes lined up on the floor. His civilian clothing hung by type and color. For what appeared to be a man with OCD tendencies, he was somewhat of an enigma. How had he come to be a navy SEAL, dealing in the chaos and messiness of war?

The water switched off in the bathroom.

Becca hurried guiltily back to the kitchen near the washer. She didn’t want Quentin to know she’d been snooping in his bedroom. He’d be drying off, rubbing the towel over all those lovely muscles across his chest, down his torso and across—

The doorbell rang, interrupting Becca’s lusty thoughts. She jumped. For a moment she’d forgotten about the pizza delivery. Her stomach growled, a reminder that she hadn’t eaten since the muffin she’d had in Cancun early that morning. She grabbed the bills Quentin had left on the counter and hurried toward the door.

A quick peek through the peephole reassured her the young man was indeed from the restaurant, complete with a uniform shirt bearing the name of a pizza establishment written in bold yellow lettering.

Becca slid the chain loose and twisted the deadbolt. When she turned the door handle, the door exploded inward, catching her across the side of her face, knocking her off balance. She squealed, stumbled backward and tipped over the arm of the sofa, landing on her back.

Two men dressed all in black from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes rushed in, both carrying handguns.

With no time to think, Becca rolled off the couch onto the hardwood floor and shoved the couch as hard as she could toward the advancing men as they aimed their guns at her. Becca somersaulted across the floor and ducked behind a lounge chair.

The couch hit the men in the thighs as they fired their weapons, throwing off their aim. But it wouldn’t take them long to regain their balance and fire again. The lounge chair wouldn’t stop bullets, only slow them down. She had to get to a safer place.