Ansel laughed out loud then bit into his burger, enjoying his meal about as much as he was enjoying Seneca's irritation.
***
Seneca finished her horrible burger, but she was still pissed. She certainly had no claim on Ansel. But surely, the fact that his sister set them up meant she had right of first refusal.
At least until the moment when Ansel dumped her, in favor of a leggy blond with fake tits. Glancing down at her flat chest, Seneca sucked on the straw of her empty soda.
"Do you want a refill?" Ansel asked.
Yes. "No, I'm fine."
She would rather die than ask the slutty waitress for another one.
"Then let's head over to the hotel." Ansel placed forty bucks on the table then stood up, waiting for her to do the same.
Like a good husband, he escorted her out of the diner. And she could not help but smile at their waitress, saying, "Thank you so much," as the girl, and the entire female staff, watched Ansel’s fine ass walk out the door.
It was almost ten o'clock, and the diner parking lot was now completely deserted. She pulled her jacket around her neck, and shoved her hands deep in her pockets. The temperature seemed to have dropped ten degrees in the last hour, and she was looking forward to a hot shower and a warm bed.
But as they walked in silence over to the lobby of the old hotel, she didn't have high expectations for the place. Ansel held the door opened for her and as he registered for their rooms, she glanced around at signs announcing the grand reopening of the newly renovated Billings Roadside Inn.
"Okay, thanks," she heard Ansel say, and then they walked down the hall to the elevator. When they got in, he pushed the button for the second floor. The doors of the elevator scraped closed so, she was trapped when Ansel announced, "They only had one room left."
That hung in the air for an eternity and they both ignored it. Ignored his kissing her a few hours ago. Ignored her wanton response.
"Perfect," she mumbled to herself.
The elevator door hissed open, and Seneca jumped when she felt Ansel's hand at the small of her back. He was gently guiding her in the direction of their room, but the closer they got to it, the slower her steps became.
Trepidation hung around her neck and she could not shake it off. She didn't know if it was fear, lack of sleep, or the idea of being trapped alone with Ansel that made her so anxious.
Seneca watched as he slid the key into the security lock of their hotel room. And as she waited, she could not help compare this stay with last night's. Last night, Dave had been there. Last night, they had only stayed a few hours at the motel. Last night, they had not slept in their beds. The three of them had just sat at the table, discussing their plan for getting Catherine back.
But tonight they had to sleep, together, in the same bed.
The lock gave and Ansel swung the door open, holding it for her. Seneca stepped inside their temporary respite, pleasantly surprised by the modern décor. The Billings Roadside Inn had indeed been renovated. Their room was bright and airy, with a large flat-screen TV sitting opposite the one—and only—bed.
A queen size!
Damn, a queen sized bed was much smaller than she had remembered. And as if he had read her mind, Ansel set his computer bag on the small desk in the corner of the room, apologizing, "Like I said, this was all they had this late at night."
Seneca shrugged. "That's okay." Because what else could she say?
"If you don’t mind, I think I'll hop in the shower." Ansel pointed toward the bathroom door. "Unless you want to go first?"
"That's fine, you go ahead." No way in hell was she getting naked around him. "I'll take one later."
When he was asleep.
Ansel went into the bathroom and turned on the water, but she could hear him getting undressed. Not a problem. She would just sit here and watch television.
Seneca pushed the power button on the TV, and the program guide popped up. She heard the shower curtain slide open, then closed. Water splashed, and she imagined it cascading down his body.
His amazing, nude body.
Okay, a comedy would be good right now. Distracting.
Seneca scrolled down her options, but she wasn't really paying attention. She was so focused on the sound of the shower. She stood up and grabbed the shopping bag from the truck stop in Spokane. They had not been able to get clothes from home when they fled, so they had gotten what they could at a huge truck stop.
Ansel got a T-shirt and pair of basketball shorts, but Seneca's options were much more limited. She finally settled on a small men's Seattle football T-shirt, and a box of winter fresh mints.
She popped a mint in her mouth and sucked on it as she watched TV. The channels scrolled down the screen, and when Seneca heard the water stop, so did she.
Her breathing grew shallow and she stared at the door, wondering how she would possibly make it through the night. The door opened. In an attempt to look bored, Seneca pushed the select button on the remote.
Feminine moans filled the room as a sex scene from a cable movie was just getting started. Ansel's eye went wide, and she crushed the TV guide button. But the sex scene was still playing as loud as ever, in the corner of the screen.
"Sorry," she said, her cheeks on fire.
"No, I'm sorry."
Confused, Seneca looked at him for the first time, and it was a big mistake. He was wearing the basketball shorts, and nothing else.
"If you want some privacy, I'll go back in the bathroom."
His muscular chest and massive arms were not what got her. It was his grin. A lopsided, little grin that made her far from annoyed.
"I didn't mean to…select that channel," she explained. Badly. "It was on…that." Seneca grabbed her football t-shirt, and headed for the bathroom. "I'll just go change my shirt."
Ansel's dark brows furrowed as he stared down at her pants. "You're not going to sleep in your jeans, are you?"
"I don't have much choice." She scuttled past him, but he stopped her.
"Here," he held up his T-shirt. "You can wear mine. It's an extra-large, so it's probably longer than your nightgowns back home."
Tempted, Seneca stared at the T-shirt, thinking he was half right. She had tried all kinds of fancy nightgowns, but always ended up in a long T-shirt and nothing else.
Reaching up, she rubbed the sleeve of his big shirt between her thumb and forefinger. It would be so much more comfortable than sleeping in jeans, and she was so damn tired.
"Thank you." Seneca took the shirt. Needing to be far away from him, for as long as possible, she said, "I think I will take a shower." Before heading into the bathroom to do just that.
***
The door to the bathroom clicked closed, and Ansel hit himself in the forehead with the side of his fist.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he whispered, wondering what the hell he was thinking.
Ansel had just spent an extra ten minutes in the shower, because every time he thought about getting in bed with her, he got hard. And while basketball shorts are super comfortable, they are very unforgiving.
He wanted to call Dave, but it was not a good idea. They needed to be moving away from a dumped burner phone, not sleeping right next to it. So Ansel just sat there, listening to her take a shower in a stall he knew was big enough for two.
"Christ!"
Ansel yanked down the sheets on the side of the bed nearest the door and pulled out his gun. He laid it on the bedside table and got into bed, waiting for Seneca to stop washing that hot little body.
"Damn it." He punched his pillow, fluffing it, then shoved it under his head and closed his eyes.
He heard the bathroom door crack open, and so did his eyelids. Seneca stuck her head out of the bathroom door, saying, "Can you shut your eyes while I get in bed?"
"Sure," he mumbled, but he could not help himself.
She turned off the light in the bathroom then tiptoed toward the bed, and him. She must have been cold, because her nipples wer
e hard and pushing against his T-shirt in an erotic show of force.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
"Where's the light switch?"
"Over here."
"Can you reach it?"
"No." He couldn't.
The light switch was too far away, and in his semi-aroused state, he had no intentions of embarrassing himself.
"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "Okay, I'll get it. I guess."
Ansel closed his eyes as she approached his side of the bed. He could feel her staring down at him. Inches away, in nothing but his T-shirt and, he prayed, a pair of underwear.
He refrained from looking to find out.
Ansel knew he could probably seduce her if he wanted to, but this was not the time. He needed to focus on Catherine's extraction. And Seneca was not the kind of girl you fucked and forgot.
She was a commitment kind of girl, and one of his sister's best friends. There would be repercussions if he slept with her, but it did not stop him from wanting her on top of him.
Resigned to keeping his hands to himself, Ansel tried to think about something else. He felt Seneca slide into bed next to him and his resolve wavered. Then he felt something cool against his back, and then against his legs.
"What are you doing?" he grumbled, curious.
"Sorry," she whispered at his back. "I'm putting pillows between us."
"Why are you doing that?" Ansel laughed, thinking pillows a piss-poor impediment if he was intent on ravaging her.
"I move around a lot when I sleep, and I don't want to hurt you."
Ansel grinned to himself. She could do a lot of things to him, but hurting him was not one of them.
"Good night, Seneca."
"Good night."
Fatigue caused him to fall into a deep sleep, but it didn't last long. Images of his parents, bound and shot, flooded his mind. His mother. The blood.
His fault.
Then his sister holding her hands over her belly, before being dragged into the darkness. By who? Why was this happening? What had he done to deserve this? Was God punishing him for the people he had killed during military action?
More images. Exotic locations. Hot and wet. Dangerous people. Bad people he had killed or they would have killed him.
He took a punch to the kidney. Alert, he grabbed his gun and held one of the guys to the ground, waiting for reinforcement.
Gunner. Gunner would be here soon. The guy tried to move, and Ansel tightened his grip around his throat.
He thrust the gun against the side of the man's head, growling, "Don't move." His finger twitced.
"Ansel." The guy whispered his name.
But how did he know it?
"Ansel."
Not a man. A woman. He blinked, trying to remember where he was. What he was doing? The woman was gasping. With all her remaining strength, she hit the forearm of the hand wrapped around her throat.
And then, he woke up.
Ansel stared down at himself, straddling Seneca with his left hand wrapped around her throat, and his right hand wrapped around the gun he had pressed against her temple.
Horrified, he yanked his hands back, and she gasped, filling her lungs with much needed oxygen.
The sound devastated him.
"Seneca." He clicked the safety on his pistol then laid it back on the side table. "I'm so sorry. I'm…so sorry."
He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her toward his chest, but she fought him. She fought like a wild animal trying to escape a predator.
Gutted, Ansel let her go.
She flew off the bed and he sat up, placing his elbows on his knees with his head in his hands. He sat there for a long time, wondering how much time to give her, and how much time he would need to face her.
He shook his head, still in shock. What the fuck just happened? Had the stress of his sister’s abduction triggered some type of episode?
Fuck. She must be terrified.
Ansel got up, needing to see her, needing to make sure that she was okay. But she had run into the bathroom, and he didn't hear a thing.
"Seneca?" he said, knocking on the door so she would know he was there. "Seneca, I'm coming in."
When she didn't protest, Ansel twisted the silver handle. But he didn't see her. His eyes swept over the toilet and into the shower, but Seneca wasn't there. Where…
When he saw her, it felt like a punch in the gut. Seneca had squeezed herself into the small space between the toilet and the wall of the bathroom. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them against her chest.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, hoping she could hear him. "I was…asleep. I'm so sorry."
Nothing could excuse what he had done, but Ansel needed her to know that he would never hurt her.
Intentionally.
"Come on out." Please. He lifted his hand toward her, but she flinched. Her blank stare drifted to his eyes. "Please," he whispered.
She blinked again, and he could tell that the initial shock had dissipated. Leaving what? Fear? Trauma? Hatred.
Pushing the inevitable aside, Ansel stood up. He held out his hand to her, and this time she reached for him. Relief collapsed his lungs as Seneca pushed herself to her feet. He pulled on her hand, gently coaxing her forward, while making sure never to lose eye contact. Ansel had her sit down on her side of the bed, next to the bright lamp sitting atop the side table.
Tilting the lampshade so he would have more light, Ansel dropped to his knees to view the damage he had done. Seneca already had oval bruises darkening on either side of her neck where his hand had clamped down on her throat in an attempt to crush her windpipe.
His jaw pulsed against his self-recrimination and he instinctively lifted his hand to caress her wounds. But the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her. So instead, he leaned forward, and kissed the bruises on the right side of her neck.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and then he kissed the left side. "I'm so sorry."
Ansel wanted to apologize. Needed to apologize. He kissed her behind the ear, and she leaned away from him. Whether to withdraw from him or give him better access, he did not know. He kissed along her jaw to make sure. Soft at first, apologetic. She turned her head to meet his lips and Ansel closed his eyes, praying that he was absolved.
Her arms slid around his neck, and Seneca tilted her head so she could kiss him more deeply. Ansel leaned in to return her kiss, but her knees were firmly planted in his gut. Until Seneca spread her legs.
Ansel sucked in a breath. His brain considered what she wanted and his body tensed as he fought to control himself, but he couldn't control his wandering eyes. He glanced down to see white lace panties peeking from underneath the blue T-shirt and Ansel knew that he could rip them off. If she let him. He could feel himself getting hard just thinking about it.
Ansel kissed her again, more insistent this time, as his hands began pushing up her shirt. Seneca leaned back, stopping him, and his heart sank. Until she looked him in the eye and began slowly peeling off the shirt herself.
The anticipation was unbearable. The dark shirt lifted away, exposing more and more skin. He swallowed his lust, and he could feel that she was watching him. He groaned as the round bottoms of her breasts peeked from underneath her shirt. And then the shirt was gone, leaving Ansel eye level with the most perfect breasts he had ever seen.
His hand reached up and cupped her left breast, but it wasn't enough. He needed to taste her. He leaned forward and took her nipple in his mouth, sucking rhythmically.
The heat of her shallow breaths rained down his neck and she moaned softly, enjoying his manipulation. The sound sent a flash of possession through him and he picked her up, planting her firmly in the middle of the bed.
He followed, settling himself between her thighs as he looked down at her for encouragement. Permission. She gave it, lifting her knees toward his shoulders, and inviting him in. Ansel ran his hand over her silky hip then grabbed her ass as he pushed himself
against her. He closed his eyes, moaning with pleasure at the feel of her softness.
Hungry to have his fill, he dipped his head and laved her breast, kneading her other nipple between his fingers. Seneca cried out, bucking her hips against him, and he could not wait to taste her. He kissed down the luminous skin of her stomach as she speared her fingers through his hair, grasping the back of his head for purchase.
Until he got to her pretty lace panties. Seneca let her arms fall to either side, her eyes closing as she waited to feel his mouth on her. God, he was hard, and she was so ready. But he needed to know that she wanted him. He used his index finger to tug the white lace down her hip, giving her the opportunity to stop him. But she didn't. She wanted him to taste her, and expectation seared every nerve in his body.
And then the phone rang.
Ansel didn't move. He was so close to fucking her, needed to. His hands shook with desire and his cock ached. The phone rang again.
The phone? His phone. His burner phone. Dave!
His breathing was heavy when he reached across the bed. "Hello."
"They're on the move," Dave said.
"Okay." He couldn't think. "Give us a minute to pack." And to let the blood return to his head.
"Are you okay? You sound—"
"I'm fine. I was just asleep," Ansel lied then gave Dave the number to the new burner phone before hanging up.
"Seneca." He turned toward the bed, but she was already off of it, getting dressed. She slipped on her shoes and walked out the door without looking back.
Used to bugging out, Ansel packed quickly and found Seneca leaning against the passenger side of the pickup when he got outside. He unlocked the driver side door, then leaned across the far seat and unlocked hers. Seneca climbed in, buckling her seatbelt. And then just stared out the passenger side window.
Ansel wanted to talk about what had just happened, about all of it. His nightmare, his pinning her down…the gun. Jesus, he could have killed her. He wanted to talk to her about it but instead he said, "Dave said they're still heading east on—"
"We can't do that again." It felt like she slapped him, and it took a moment for him to recover. "I'm here to find Catherine. Nothing more."
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