Читать книгу Abducted - Samantha Keith - Страница 15

Chapter 8

Someone wanted to kill her.

Badly enough to hire a professional to do it. She cranked the hot water up and inhaled the steam. Last night, she could have been murdered…in cold blood. Her stomach flipped over. A wave of nausea made her clutch the handrail on the wall.

She would not pass out. She was stronger than that. Tears stung her eyes. It had taken all of her control to keep her emotions at bay in front of Cal. Cal… She finally had a name to pair with his chiseled face and strong, capable hands.

Cal had said the man who’d hired him was named Stamos…but she didn’t know anyone by that name. She had never heard it before, either. There was always the possibility that Cal was lying. What grounds did she have to believe him?

She filled her palm with shampoo and scrubbed the salt and sand from her hair. He was dark, dangerous, and mysterious…but the same traits that made him so sexy were also the makeup of a bad guy. A shiver rippled through her. She had to stay on guard. He was a smooth talker, and his wish for her to trust him weighed on her. Why did he care? Was he playing her? Did he have a bigger scheme in mind? She turned the hot water up again and finished washing her hair. She let the hard pressure of the water beat into the tension of her shoulders. Her mind churned. If he was telling the truth, then she was lucky to be alive. She pressed her fingers into the taut muscles in her neck and let out a groan. Dammit, she’d always been such a good judge of character. Why was her brain so muddled about Cal? After her shower, she’d try to feel him out and ask more questions.

She turned the water off, and towel-dried, her skin now pink from the heat. Cal was dangerous. He hadn’t outright threatened her, but the pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit. What did he have to gain by protecting her? If that’s what he was doing. Was she to believe he cared about her safety out of just the goodness of his heart? And the way his eyes raked over her… He looked at her as if he was savoring a rich liquor. God, it was hot.

She stepped out of the shower and onto the woven bath mat on the floor. Shit. She didn’t have any clean clothes. Why hadn’t she thought to ask him for something to wear? Oh yeah, she was too busy thinking about why someone wanted to kill her.

The towel covered more of her body than her thin pajamas had last night. She took a deep, steadying breath and opened the bathroom door. Cal stood in the kitchen, a coffee mug halfway to his lips. His eyes found her and widened. His hand jerked, sending a stream of hot coffee down the front of his shirt.

“Shit.” He slammed the mug down on the counter and brushed at the wet brown stain with a paper towel.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She hid her smirk behind her hand.

“You think getting burnt with hot coffee is funny?” The corner of his mouth lifted and slowly worked to a grin. Her toes curled. She gripped the towel knotted between her breasts tighter and stepped farther into the room.

“You shouldn’t be drinking more coffee. That’s what, thirty-six grams of sugar now?”

“Glad you’re keeping count.”

“My pleasure.” He gave up on the stain and pulled his shirt over his head. Her breath sucked in. Holy hell. His stomach rippled with…what was that, a six-pack? Good Lord, that much muscle looked like it would hurt her if she touched his stomach. She pressed her lips together as her eyes lingered over his wide shoulders and stacked chest. “I, uh…came out because I don’t have any clean clothes.” Don’t look at his abs, don’t look at his abs… “Do you have something I could wear?” The steadiness of her voice should have won her an Academy Award.

“Yeah, why don’t you grab me the clothes you had on this morning and I’ll put some laundry in the washing machine.” He waved the balled-up shirt he’d just removed in his hand. “I need to wash this anyway.”

“Okay.” She backed up and reentered the bathroom. Sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt gathered from the floor, she straightened and turned to the door—and slammed into his chest.

His hands snagged her shoulders, preventing her from reeling backward. The clean clothes he’d brought her scattered to the floor.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was thick and husky. His hands never left her shoulders. His gaze traced her face. Dammit, she wished she had makeup on. This close, she could see the vibrant striations in his eyes, and the stubble on his jaw was thick and darker than the hair on his head. Her palm itched to reach up and feel the scruff of his beard. She could smell a hint of coffee on his breath, and his musky scent.

God, he was so masculine. She couldn’t step out of his hold. Her nose hovered inches from his sternum. He towered over her, dwarfing her. He had to be six-foot-two at least, maybe taller. She let her eyes roam over the wall of muscle in front of her. A silvery scar beneath his collarbone caught her eye.

Gunshot wound?

Her throat tightened. She didn’t want to think about the types of things that would warrant a shot to his chest. His hot breath spiraled in the air between them. She lifted her eyes and met his face. A dark stain tinted his cheekbones, and his gaze lingered on her throat before trailing down. She swallowed. She was in a damn towel, half-naked. Her skin tingled under his stare, and her instincts screamed at her to back up, but her feet remained rooted to the floor.

He was like a solid brick wall blocking her exit. His thumbs smoothed over her shoulders as if reveling in the feel of her skin. Her lungs screamed for air, but for the life of her, she couldn’t take a breath for fear it would break his trance. He’d said he wouldn’t hurt her. But he could if he wanted to. She’d fight to the death, but he was much bigger than her. His eyes finally found hers, and the burning intensity in them slammed into her solar plexus. As much as her body screamed at her to stay still, not to alert the wild beast in front of her, she wet her lips.

Like a spell being broken, his face softened and the heat ebbed out of his eyes, but the embers still burned. He took a step back and dropped his hands. She sucked a shallow breath in through her nose, releasing the tension in her chest.

She inched closer. A small part of her grieved at his distance.

“Get dressed.” His voice was low and gruff. “We need to get a plan together.”