That prompted a reaction. His nostrils pulsed. His shoulders tightened, his whole body fighting to rein in his temper.
“That’s right, Cole. I know her name. I know what she means to you, and I know she lives in the penthouse of The Regal Arch Casino and Hotel in St. Louis.”
He squeezed his hands into fists, wringing a torrent of blood onto the floor.
“I’ll give you my panties if you give me something in return.” She winged up a brow.
His eyes fired menacingly, his mouth a slash of unholy objection.
“Calm down.” She softened her accent. “This is easy. Just tell me the last time you had sex.”
He drew in a long breath through his nose, released it, and said nothing.
“Be reasonable,” she said. “You’re so close to eating a decent meal. Just give me an honest answer. Then you can wrap up that hand and finish the last few stones.”
He straightened his spine and took a step forward. She held her ground, gazes locked.
His heat enveloped her, his scent ripe with sweat and dark masculinity as he put his mouth near her cheek.
“Seven years.” His head tipped, his eyes sharp, confident, and oh-so-close. “The panties. Now.”
Seven years.
Holy.
Fuck.
Her heart galloped at his proximity, the authority in his voice, and the implication of his words.
Seven years ago, Cole ended his relationship with the woman he loved. Yet he’d remained faithful to her all this time?
Whatever the reason, his answer filled Lydia’s chest with giddy warmth. Too much. Damn her, but she respected his self-restraint at a depth that had nothing to do with the job.
There was something so very appealing and admirable about a man who didn’t fuck everything in a skirt. And let’s be clear. He absolutely could. With a crook of his finger, he could have any woman—single, married, or cloistered in a convent—on her back and moaning beneath him. The man was virile. Sexually charged. A deadly ladykiller.
And celibate.
How rare was that? It told her that sex meant something to him. It also confessed an inhuman degree of self-control. She couldn’t abstain like that. She’d never even tried.
Christ, what would it be like with him? Seven years of pent-up intensity? The hunger and urgency? The explosiveness? She couldn’t fathom it.
She would soon find out. Except it wouldn’t be real. The only relationship she could entertain with him was a false one, steeped in lies and coercion.
Even so, she never backed out of a promise.
Without breaking eye contact, she reached beneath the dress and dragged down her panties. He didn’t give her space, not an inch, as she carefully worked the silk past her hips without flashing the room.
In the bent position, her gaze went straight to his fly. It was right there, clinging precariously to the bulge beneath and exposing a trim patch of hair. Amid the short brown curls lay the base of his cock, thick and angled down, trapped by the sagging waistband. Even in his flaccid state, the root was substantial, promising the rest of him would be more than satisfying.
She wanted it. The dirtiness. The wrongness of it. She wanted him.
But this wasn’t about her.
“I’m waiting.” He yanked up his jeans, covering himself and breaking the spell.
She swallowed and let the underwear drop to her ankles. Then she straightened and met his eyes.
If he wanted the panties, he would have to get them himself.
He didn’t waver.
Lowering to a crouch, he touched his uninjured hand to the back of her heel. She lifted it just enough to allow the garment to slip free. He moved to her other leg, repeating the action. Only this time, his hand lingered.
She stared straight ahead, trying not to react, even as every molecule in her body homed in on his touch.
Four fingertips, like four low-burning flames, ghosted up her ankle. The pressure was so subtle she wondered if she imagined it. But the goosebumps… Dear lord, she was shivering, burning up, unable to rein in her breathing.
The pads of his fingers traveled up her calf and teased the back of her knee. Her legs liquefied, her thighs aching to part, causing her heels to totter ever-so-slightly. He noticed and closed his hand around her leg, steadying her.
Her cheeks caught fire, her palms hot and clammy. She lifted her foot, stepping out of the panties and away from his torturous touch.
Slowly, he rose to his feet, all six feet and then some soaring over her. Her heart beat uncontrollably. Her lungs panted, her entire body flushed and overheated. And he looked aloof. Unfazed. Disinterested.
Cold as ice.
His indifference didn’t thaw as he lowered his attention to the red silk in his hand. With a clinical efficiency, he wrapped the material around his injury, staring directly at her as he used his teeth to tie it off.
She didn’t move. She couldn’t. The man was fucking potent.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he returned to the pallet and resumed his task.
Really, nothing had happened. Nothing had changed.
Except the entire atmosphere had changed. It felt heavy and loud, buzzing along her skin and choking her lungs. Fucking hell, she needed to get out of here and breathe in some fresh air.
But the masochist in her waited.
She waited until he finished. Then she waited as he sat on the floor and tucked into his hard-earned meal. She couldn’t detach her gaze from his strong throat as he drank deep swigs of beer. The pleasure on his face was glorious, breathtaking, and inconceivably mesmerizing.
He didn’t speak while he ate, but his eyes stayed with her, watching her while he chewed, contemplating her while he finished off the beer with relish.
The muffled conversation between Mike and the guards drifted from across the warehouse. They’d remained within eyeshot, but she barely noticed them.
When Cole swallowed the last bite, he set the empty containers aside and stared at the red silk around his hand. Moments passed before he met her eyes and asked the question she’d been waiting to hear.
“Why am I here?”
“You have something I need.” At his silence, she sighed. “Eleven years ago, information of political value fell into the hands of a bad actor.”
His stare was steady, unflinching. “Was it stolen from the U.S. government?”
“Something like that.”
“Digital property?”
“Yes.”
“Who stole it?”
“Marie Merivale.” She pursed her lips. “You caught her and put her in prison for life, but the digital property is still missing. I need you to tell me who bought it from her.”
He made a low whistling sound and leaned back against the crate behind him. “Who do you think I am?”
Retired military? Undercover operative? Secret agent? The sexiest James Bond in real-life and fantasy? Who the fuck knew?
All she had to go on were rumors. His name was whispered in the shadows of the underground criminal world from Bucharest to Bogota. Too much talk from the women about his sex life—or lack thereof. Not enough talk from the men about his business dealings—no one really knew. But the gossip about his alliance with the Restrepo Cartel had proved true.
As far as she could discern, he once worked for a U.S. agency. But now, he reported to no one and operated outside the boundaries of the law.
“It doesn’t matter who you are, Cole. I’m only interested in what you know. I need the name of the entity who bought that stolen property.”