Chapter 14
Ian stared at the door while Maria showered, trying to keep his thoughts pure.
It wasn’t that difficult. There was nothing remotely sexy about their stark surroundings, or the tense situation they were in. Last night’s incident weighed heavily on him, and the terrified look on her face was like a splash of cold water. She was a rape victim who’d suffered another close call. Fear had never been one of his turn-ons.
He was ashamed of the way he’d manhandled her at the cargo station. She wasn’t the kind of woman he could lift against a wall, or paw in a public restroom.
Instead of listening to the trickling water and imagining her soap-slick skin, he considered what she’d said about leaving a message for Sarai. Maybe that could work, if they didn’t use any names. The more urgent problem was getting through to LaGuardia. Ian had told the SAC’s secretary he’d call back in an hour. But what to say?
Funny story. I got robbed last night and sort of killed the guy. Also, I need an escort for the woman I’ve been traveling with against your direct orders. Please send someone to see her home safely. Thanks.
Yeah, right.
He definitely had to notify his boss about the train bandits. Failing to report the crime would only make him look guilty. LaGuardia might pull him off the assignment immediately. That was a common response to officer-involved deaths.
But Ian had a hunch that LaGuardia wouldn’t give a flying fuck about a dead gang member. The SAC didn’t seem to care that much about rules and procedures, except when he was trying to shame Ian for having an affair with Maria.
No matter what happened, Ian wasn’t going to leave Maria in this camp. He wasn’t going to get on the train again until he’d slept a few hours, either. He was so tired, he couldn’t think straight. His eyelids kept drooping. Sitting down in this steamy room was a mistake. He massaged the nape of his neck, drowsy.
Then the faucet turned off, and he snapped to attention. “You finished?”
“Don’t look.”
“Okay,” he said, agreeable. He didn’t want to look, anyway. Looking would give him a hard-on, and he needed that like a hole in the head.
She fussed around in the stall, doing who knows what. It sounded like she was wringing water from a washcloth. Maybe he drifted off for a minute, because she put her hand on his shoulder and he almost jumped out of the chair.
“What?”
“It’s your turn,” she said.
He rose to his feet and turned around. She wasn’t dressed, as he’d expected. She had a sorry excuse for a towel wrapped around her lithe body. Although it covered her from chest to upper thigh, the lower edges didn’t quite meet. It gaped at one hip, exposing a smooth expanse of honey-colored skin. He wanted to sink to his knees and press his lips to that spot.
She took a step backward, frowning.
Don’t look, he reminded himself. He was supposed to be not looking. With some difficulty, he redirected his gaze. There wasn’t a safe place to put his eyes, though. Her shoulders were bare and sexy. Her face had inspired more fantasies than her body.
“I need to put my clothes on,” she said.
Yes, she did. After an awkward pause, he realized that she wanted him to move aside. If they switched places, he could shower while she got dressed. That was a more efficient use of their time. “I have to leave my gun out here.”
She nodded, clutching the towel to her chest.
He took off his shirt and shoulder holster, setting it down on the dry concrete. Then he went ahead and shed the rest of his clothes. He wasn’t modest, and it was easier to strip outside the stall. He unwrapped the ACE bandage and tossed it aside. He left his boxers on, for her sake.
She didn’t peek.
He stepped inside and pulled the curtain closed, disappointed. He knew she wasn’t interested in him right now, for understandable reasons, but he longed for her attention. He wanted her eyes on his body. Women usually liked him, even though he wasn’t super buff. They gave him admiring glances. Maria had, the night he’d taken her to bed. She’d bitten her lip, smiling.
So much for avoiding dirty thoughts. Jesus. One minute, he was focused on work. The next, he was picturing her pleased expression as she’d stroked him. His dick strained forward as if she’d reached for it with her slender hand.
He turned on the water and tried to ignore the dull throb of desire. Taking care of business in the shower was part of his usual routine. Maybe not daily, but often enough. After a long week of travel, and yesterday’s petting session, he was aching for release. There was no way he could get it, however. He wasn’t going to jerk off while she stood two feet away.
The water temperature dropped from lukewarm to cool, so that helped. He washed quickly. When he was finished, he pushed down his wet boxers and removed the soggy bandage on his thigh. The skin around the wound appeared discolored, like a bruise. He wondered how the guy from the train looked today, lying dead by the tracks. Compared to that, Ian’s injury was nothing. Some pain and swelling was to be expected.
He soaped the area and rinsed it off, shrugging. It felt damned good to be clean. He wrung out his wet boxers before he stepped out. Maria passed him a towel, which he wrapped around his waist. She was dressed in a white T-shirt and the same pants she’d been wearing.
“I have a fresh shirt for you too.”
