Yesterday he was all Rambo badass, looking like he could take down a freaking country if I were threatened. Today he looks no less badass, just a little smoother, like James Bond. Both are a great look on him, though no clothes at all is my ultimate favorite. His rippled abs and cut chest, those muscular thighs that flex as he pounds between mine….
I squeeze my eyes shut and tap the back of my head against the hard headboard. Fuck, why does my mind always go there? Every day at some point I picture the man butt naked. Sometimes on top of me, sometimes just watching from afar while he strokes himself.
Heat builds beneath my skin, warming my cheeks.
“I'd love to know what you're thinking about,” Trouble says, his voice a deep rumble.
Peeling my eyes open, I flutter my lashes to clear my vision. Across the room, he leans a shoulder against a wall, brows furrowed, all focus on me.
“Go on, then,” I say after clearing my throat.
“Keep that fucker’s hands off you or I will.”
“What?” I gasp.
His features harden as he takes a calculated step closer. “I can't take it, Randi. I can't sit back and watch him touch what's mine and do nothing about it. That idiot almost died yesterday.”
“Todd?” I squeak. “Seriously, you're jealous of Todd?”
“Protective of my girl is not jealousy.” Aw, his girl. I like the sound of that, even if we are a secret affair. “And next time, tell him to stay in his own damn seat.”
I smirk behind the highball glass. He's not fooling me. He’s jealous.
“And, pray tell, how did that weak man almost die yesterday?”
“Did you see my big gun?”
“I love your big gun,” I say, waggling my eyebrows.
He shoots a cocky smirk. “Not that one, the one I almost aimed between his brows and pulled the trigger on.”
“You being this obsessive and violent shouldn't turn me on, but fuck, does it.” I swipe my tongue along my lower lip. “There is something seriously wrong with me.”
“I'm—”
A high-pitched screech pierces through the room, overtaking his words. Drink forgotten, I let the glass fall to the bed, dark liquid spilling onto my clothes and bedding, in order to suction both palms over my ears to save them from bursting.
The door bursts open. A serious-faced T barrels through, shouting things I can't make out over the constant blaring noise. Both he and Trey lunge for me, gripping tight under my armpits and hauling me off the bed. My heels kick in the air, unable to touch the hotel room carpet as they carry me into the living room.
A nude heel slides off my foot and dangles from my toes before falling to the floor. I crane my neck backward, trying to see where it landed in order to grab it when we get back. Odd that the lone shoe is what I'm focused on in this moment, not the horde of men shouting and running frantically around the room.
I flinch, their tight grips finally registering, as we advance through the door and down the hall.
“What's going on?” I ask, my head on a swivel, but neither of them pays me any attention. Hell, they might not have even heard my shaky voice over the noise. The two shout, barking some kind of commands. T slams into the stairwell door, shoving it open. Gun drawn, he clears the space before nodding to Grem, who's positioned on the opposite wall, automatic rifle poised ready to fire.
My teeth rattle as we take the stairs, my toes barely scraping the cold concrete. We stop suddenly, my neck snapping forward as I'm jerked backward and shoved into a corner. T and Trey press their backs against the front of my body, officially boxing me in and cutting off my line of sight. The awkward stance of one heel on and one heel off throws off my balance. Leaning my weight against the wall, I trail a hand down my right leg, skimming my calf before flicking off the remaining shoe and allowing it to drop to the floor.
Pressing up to my tiptoes, I attempt to find an angle to see over the two men's shoulders.
“Get the hell down,” T says, not taking his eyes off the stairs leading up, whereas Trey's focus is on the stairs going down.
Red lights flash, giving the whole stairwell an eerie feel. A slight tremor shakes my fingers as realization of the situation settles into place. Careful to not startle him, I dip a hand beneath Trey's suit jacket and grab a fistful of dress shirt. More men pour into the stairwell, all wearing huge guns strapped across their chests. Their voices mingle, not making sense as their yelling echoes in the concrete stairwell.
“Move,” T shouts before reaching back and wrapping an arm around my waist. Hauling me close, he lifts me off the ground, practically carrying me like a football. Eyes wide, I try to take in the blips I get of the chaotic scene. Four men run ahead of us, guns at the ready, while T takes the stairs two at a time, flying down each floor faster than I ever could. Trey stays beside us, handgun drawn, face fierce.
My body bounces with every step T hops, my neck snapping up and down at the strange angle. When we finally reach the bottom, after what felt like a billion floors, everyone pulls to a stop. Arms swing in every direction, guns raised with their fingers close to the trigger.
I swallow against a dry throat, my breaths more wheezes due to my rapid pulse and T's tight grip. I open my mouth to ask what now when everything stops. The red flashing lights cease, leaving behind the normal glow of artificial light. The blaring alarm cuts off with one last low squawk. Yet everyone stays tense, their shoulders brushing their ears as they remain positioned for an attack.
“T,” I whisper while trying to angle my neck up to look at him. “T.” My voice trembles. Dark brown eyes pause their back-and-forth scan of the stairwell to lock with mine. “I. Can't. Breathe.” In fact, talking just made it a hundred times worse. Black spots dance in the corners of my vision as the panic and lack of oxygen catch up to me.
A flick of a wince mars his face before he schools his features and slowly lowers me to the ground. The moment my bare toes press onto the cold concrete, a strong arm wraps around my waist, tugging me backward to lean against a broad chest. Trey's signature scent of citrus and spices fills my nose, calming me enough to catch a full breath. Seconds tick by turning into minutes, turning into hours. Okay, maybe not hours, but by the time T gives the all clear and everyone relaxes, my toes are frozen solid and shock has set in, making my entire body tremble.
“What… what happened?” I say between chattering teeth. Fuck, it's cold down here.
“Fire on one of the lower floors triggered the fire alarm.” I raise both brows at T in a silent question. “It could've been a ploy to get you outside, exposed. We weren't taking any chances. We’ll never take chances on something not being a threat when it comes to you.”
Aw, T likes me and doesn’t want me to die.
“You're my favorite agent,” I say with a smile, knowing full well what will come next.
“Hey,” all the other guys chirp in near unison.
“Yeah, Mess,” Trey says at my back, his warm breath pushing through my loose hair. “Careful or you'll start an all-out war between us to try and win that favorite role.”
I roll my eyes and wrap both arms around my waist. “Whatever, you all know you're all my favorites. Trying to pick my ultimate favorite would be like picking your favorite kid.” I smirk, lips trembling and no doubt a blueish tint at this point. “It's Taeler. She's my favorite kid.”
“Isn't she your only kid?” Grem pipes up.
“Yeah, that’s why it's an easy choice.” A full-body shiver racks my body. “Can we go upstairs now? It's fucking cold down here, and I can't feel my nose.” To prove my point, I tap a finger to the rounded tip. “I hate being cold.”
“Oh we know, Mess. We know. We sweat through our suits daily making sure you stay comfortable.”
My mouth pops open in surprise. “Guys,” I admonish. “You don't have to do that. I'm thankful that you do and would really like for it to continue being toasty in the house and hotel rooms, but we can turn it down… like half a degree or something.”
The guys snicker, a few rumbling chuckles echoing through the concrete stairwell.
“Grem, Champ, you move ahead and clear the stairwell. Play, you get up to the room and clear it while the rest of us make our way up with Randi here,” T orders.
“I still need to hear that story,” I say, turning to look up at Trey. “Playboy, seriously?”
His arm slides from around my waist, leaving a patch of cold in its wake. “One day, Mess. One day.”
With that, he whirls around and bolts up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Within seconds he's so far up his once thundering footsteps have turned to faint taps.
“Come on, Randi.”
I follow as T leads everyone up to the stairs.
“Where's Todd?” I ask, suddenly remembering I'm not the only US representative here in the building. “Shouldn't he be down here with us?”
“Mr. Secretary was down at the lobby bar when the alarm went off. The agents assigned to him got him to a different secure location.” Ah. “I wouldn't forget about him,” T says with a smile. “I am good at my job.”
“Yeah you are. Nice moves, by the way. Never been carried like a football down several flights of stairs before. Kind of fun even though I'll be sore tomorrow.”
His deep chuckle vibrates along the bland cinder block walls. “It was easy, since you weigh nothing. Speaking of that, remember how you said you wanted to learn some defensive moves, know how to fight back?”
“Yeah,” I say, eyes on the stairs. With my toes so cold, I've already stubbed the left big one twice not judging the steps height correctly.
“My wife, Sarah, she agreed to help—to coach you, I guess.” My focus shifts from the stairs to T only to immediately whack the top of my right foot against the step’s edge. I stumble forward, my fingers grazing the gray concrete before T hauls me back upright. Without asking for permission, he swings me around, draping my legs over one arm and tucking the other under my back.
“Thanks. I think I have frostbite on my toes. We might need to see a doctor to get them removed before gangrene sets in.”
My lips tug upward at the way his whole body shakes with his laugh.
“I'll make a note to check your toes for any decay tomorrow, sound good?”
My chin dips in a nod. “So your wife, she's some kind of self-defense instructor?”
Pure pride radiates off T, his chest puffing out. “She's a marine, and a damn good one at that. All the men respect her, fear her a bit too.” Watching the softness creep into his normally hard eyes, hearing the reverent tone he's using when talking about his wife, makes me love him even more.
“Could she kick your ass?” I question.
His head cocks to the side like he's thinking the question over. “Maybe, but just because I'd be too busy staring at her fine ass to notice anything else.”
Men.
“So you're an ass guy.”
T's full lips press together to keep from smiling. “That's a personal question, don't you think?”
Heat flames beneath my cheeks. “I wasn't asking if you… if y’all… hell, you know what I meant.”
But he doesn’t respond. The typical all-business mask slides into place as we approach the door to our floor. Gremlin and Champ are there, guns out but not raised.
“Benson needs help securing the room. Go,” he orders. The two men immediately file out the door, leaving us and the other few agents waiting. Time slows as we stand outside the steel metal door.
“What the hell?” T mutters. His dark eyes flick down to me. “Seems you had a visitor.”
“What the hell?”
“That's what I said.” He nods to the door, and one of the other agents shoves it open. T marches us through and straight to Grem, who’s holding the door to our suite open. “What's going on?”
“We took the flowers out, left the card for her to read. Sealed it in a baggie to get fingerprints and contain any contaminants that could be on the paper.
T lowers me to the ground. I sway on my numb feet for a second before finding my equilibrium.
“Let me see it,” I demand, hand outstretched, palm up.
Motion from the other side of the room draws my attention. Trey stalks forward, forehead furrowed with a small plastic baggie dangling from his left fingers. “Don't have to guess who sent it. It's in Russian.”
“Or someone could've used Russian to throw us off,” T mutters, snatching the baggie from Trey before I can.
I frown up at him, but he ignores my death glare as he scans the note.
“Interesting. What does it say?”
My paper-thin patience snaps. Reaching out, I yank the baggie out of T's hand and flip it over to read the inscription. I scan over the words twice before peering up through my lashes at Trey.
He smirks, knowing full well I can't read Russian. “It says, ‘watch your back.’”
Trey’s features harden as he turns to T.
The two men step close, their words shifting to a low mumble. Exhaustion slams into me, nearly causing me to slump to the floor. My muscles ache, feet still freezing, and now I'm cut out of the discussion. Fine.
The soft carpet twists beneath my heel as I turn toward my bedroom.
“Mess?”
I don't stop or turn. “I need a bath,” I mutter over my shoulder as I step over the threshold and close the door behind me with a quiet click.
I inhale deep and slump against the door.
The message should scare me, but right now I'm just too tired to care.
Chapter Seven
Randi
The near scalding water stings my numb feet and toes as I slowly lower into the full bathtub. Only after lifting both feet out for a few seconds and dipping them back in several times does the pain subside, allowing me to settle back and enjoy the warmth and hot, humid air. If only I hadn't spilled the Jack earlier. Jutting my lower lip, I fake a pout with an exaggerated whimper. It was so tasty too. I'd kill to have its deep warmth swirling in my belly. One can never be too warm.
My pout fades into a frown. Except the guys don’t have the same thoughts. Because of me, they’re always hot, if I take Trey at his word from earlier. And that sucks for a lot of reasons. For the first time in my life, I'm not thinking about the cost of heating or cooling a house, but instead of enjoying it, I'm concerned about the needs of the other people living in the house with me. Well, kind of living in it. Hell, the boys should move in considering they spend most of their time at the house anyway.
So, what’s the right call here? Be comfortable because I finally can, or think about the guys and their pit stains? You'd think it’s an easy answer, but it's not. Everything in life has been an uphill battle with lots of falling down, and now that I have it 'easy,' I want to do what I want, no holding back. Does that mean poverty Randi was a selfish bitch but too poor to show it, or have the past two years in DC changed the real me into this inconsiderate person?
That’s a terrifying thought.
I don't want to change. Don't want the power and money and 'easy life' to alter the core of who I am. But is there really a way to stop it from twisting my perspective?
Lost in thought, I raise one hand out of the tub, the steamy drips of water capturing my unfocused gaze. Just a year ago, I thanked every god I could imagine when I lowered into a hot bath, grateful for the luxury I'd never been afforded before. And now, here I am pouting because of the lack of a Jack Daniel’s-filled highball glass in my hand too.
Fuck, I suck.
With an annoyed groan at my selfish ass, I drop my head back, resting it on the hard ceramic ledge, and shut my eyes. Not a second later, a faint knock sounds from the other side of the bathroom door. At the slight whoosh of it swinging open, I peek with one eye and roll my head toward the sound to see who’s now in the bathroom with me.
“Just me, Mess.”
Shutting my eye once again, I sigh and slink lower into the warm bath. His soft footsteps barely sound over the faint sloshin
g of water along the edges of the tub. “What are you doing in here?” I ask. “You’ll get us in trouble, Trouble.” The right corner of my lips twitches up. Not my best line, but hey, I'm funny.
“Nope. Tank's the one who sent me in here, actually.”
My lids flick open at the closeness of his deep voice. He’s standing just beside the tub, eyes roaming along my naked body beneath the crystal clear water, his eyes growing hooded with each inch.
“Oh?” I say, my voice tight with anticipation.
Attention on my bare breasts, he reveals the hand that was tucked behind his back. A new, very full crystal highball glass dangles above me. With a slight jostle, the ice clinks against the sides like a welcoming bell. Like Pavlov’s dog, my mouth waters at the sound. Eager for a sip, I ease up to a sitting position and reach for it.
My fingertips barely brush the glass when Trey inches it higher, just out of my reach. I narrow my eyes at the mischievous glint in his. His free hand rubs along the dark scruff covering his strong jaw. “Again,” he commands, lowering the glass.
The tips of my fingers barely swipe the bottom of the glass before he lifts it higher again. Confused, I follow his gaze to where my breasts now lie on top of the bathwater.
“Seriously?”
Still not looking away, he shrugs. “I’m a man. What can I say? Naked boobs absorb all my attention.”
“Why are you here, Trouble?” I demand, covering my breasts so he’ll focus on the conversation at hand.
Trey lets out a disappointed huff. “Tank wanted someone to check on you, make sure you're okay after everything that happened tonight.” His gaze lowers to the apex of my thighs. The tip of his tongue swipes along his full lower lip. With a simple heated look from him, the water turns too hot, the earlier relaxing humidity clogging my throat. “And since you mentioned a bath, which meant you’d be naked and I'm the only one who's seen you naked, we assumed you wouldn’t be opposed to me being the one to make sure you’re okay. I told Tank I'd be in and out, hands off,” he says more to himself then me, raking a hand through his dark hair and disrupting the gelled style. The disheveled look makes me smile. This is the Trey I like best: casual, funny, mischievous. “But with you like this, beautifully naked, how can I make myself leave?” He bites his lower lip.
Power Twist: Power Play Series Book 2 Page 7