All the man ever did was spout worst-case scenarios. If Izad had cowered in the face of what could happen every time he came up against adversity, he would never had risen to the rank of commodore. Bravery, quick decisions, and the fortitude to see a thing through, that was what made a man.
The American closed his mouth, but refused to sit.
Izad was tempted to give Navid a nod. His head of security wouldn’t hesitate to swiftly kick the backs of the American’s knees and force him to sit, which Izad would find immensely satisfying. However, another thing that made a man was the ability to focus on the important things. And right now, what was important was Mason McCarthy and the fact that he still drew breath.
“Thoughts on how we should do it?” he asked the men gathered around him.
“Hell, no.” The American made for the door. “It’s too risky. I didn’t sign up for this.”
This time, Izad did nod at Navid, who stepped in front of the American, a staying hand pressed firmly against the man’s chest.
The American glanced down at Navid’s hand, and then up at Izad. There was anger in his eyes. But also fear.
“We cannot let you leave,” Izad told him, his tone sinister. “You know too much for us to trust you not to go to the authorities.”
The American’s jaw unhinged. “And tell them what? Anything I have on you would implicate me.”
Izad shrugged. “Surely you have heard of an anonymous tip.”
“I w-wouldn’t do that,” the American sputtered. “I want him dead as much as you do for what he and his friends did to my men.”
“Ah.” Izad nodded. “So it is personal with you. I had wondered if you were motivated by more than greed. Now,” he turned to his security team, “let us discuss our plan to end Mason McCarthy this very night.”
Chapter 16
11:58 p.m.
Chrissy seemed to have two emotional settings when it came to Wolf. The first was annoyance. The second was extreme hyperawareness.
As she watched him build the agreed-upon pillow fort in the center of the king-size bed, she was sorry to say she was currently stuck on the second setting.
He wore the same cargo shorts and tank top from that morning—when the Coast Guard arrived at the catamaran, the last thing any of them had thought about was going belowdecks to grab their overnight bags. But he’d taken a shower. That much was obvious. She could smell the hotel soap on his skin as he moved around.
His skin…
Her eyes hungrily drank in inch upon inch of deeply tanned flesh. Flesh that was so smooth she had to shove her fists into the pockets of the hotel robe to keep from reaching out to run a finger down his arm to see if it was as firm and warm as it looked.
He wasn’t packed with muscle like Mason. Or as heavily built as Romeo. No, his body was made for stamina, big-boned but leanly muscled. She thought for sure he must be able to go for days, be that swimming or running or—gulp—other activities.
His dark eyes always flashed with intelligence and humor. And his hair was thick and jet black. He kept it short, but she wondered what it would look like if he let it grow long. No doubt it would be stick-straight and so shiny it would hurt to look at it.
But of all the parts that made up his delicious whole, it was his mouth she found the most distracting. His lips were classically beautiful, full and well-defined around the edges. It didn’t help matters that she remembered the feel of them moving over her own.
So hot. So hungry. So…damn…talented.
Because he’s had a lot of practice, she reminded herself. Because he’s got that natural charm and charisma that means he’s never had to work for a woman. Because he’s one of those guys.
A man like him should come with a warning label. It should say Stop! Don’t fall for that smile and that charm and that quick wit! He’ll use it to win your heart, and then he won’t know how to treat it once he has it. He’ll hurt you so badly you’ll wish you’d never met him!
Maybe that was a little long-winded for a warning label. Perhaps all he needed was a forehead tattoo that read Stop! He’ll hurt your heart!
“Uh-oh.” He finished building the pillow barrier and caught her frowning fiercely at his back. “The look on your face is about as invitin’ as a rabid porcupine. Are you havin’ second thoughts?”
“Gee.” She flattened her mouth into a straight line. “Careful with all that flowery talk. I just might swoon.”
“Chrissy, if you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll leave. Just say the word and I’ll—”
“No,” she interrupted. She was suffering the aftereffects of all the violence. Being tormented by a hangover from all the adrenaline.
Sleep was the ticket. A few blessed hours where she wouldn’t have to relive this awful, terrible, horrible day. A few blessed hours where her mind could relax and restore itself to its factory setting—which she liked to think was pretty even-keeled.
“Like I said, I’ll be better tomorrow.” Lord, she hoped that was true. “But for tonight, I just… I just need someone to stay with me.”
“I could take you to Alex’s room. She’s got Meat with her. I’m sure the three of you could—”
“No.” Again she cut him off and had to force herself to spit out the truth, because it wanted to stay stuck in her throat. “I want it to be you.”
He tried not to smile. And failed.
“I wouldn’t look so happy about it.” She crawled into bed in her robe. She’d washed her clothes in the sink, and they were drying in the bathroom. “It’s not because I like you better than Alex. It’s because you’re more likely to engage in hand-to-hand combat should a bad guy come bursting through the door. Which will give me enough time to escape. I plan to sacrifice you to save myself.”
His tone was dry. “I appreciate the vote of confidence in my fightin’ prowess, but I can assure you, the chances of a bad guy burstin’ through that door are pretty slim.”
His weight depressed the mattress when he climbed into bed. It caused her to slide toward the line of pillows. She’d purposefully turned her back to him. But she would swear, even with the barrier between them, she could feel his heat.
Her blood rose and she pushed a bare leg out from beneath the comforter, hoping the hotel room’s air would also cool the heated images that ran through her mind because…you know…Ray “Wolf” Roanhorse was next to her. In bed.
“I bet this morning you would’ve said the chances of running into three men on a speedboat who were armed to the teeth were pretty slim too,” she told him, turning her pillow over to the cool side and punching a divot in the center to make room for her head. “And look how that turned out.”