Whew! Is it just me? Or is it getting hot in here?
The line from the song by Nelly ran through her head…so take off all your clothes. And, yeah. That’s just what she wanted to do. Take off all her clothes. Then take off all his clothes. To her utter shame, she had to remind herself yet again that she wasn’t there to jump his johnson, that he was on a mission and didn’t have time for…well…whatever. While doing that, she shrugged out of her parka and tossed it on the bed.
“There’s some history there,” he said, shoving his thumbs through the front two belt loops on his jeans so that his long, tan fingers made a little frame of his man bits. She’d become enamored of that stance in Kuala Lumpur, thinking at the time that he did it intentionally to draw the eye down to his rather…er…impressive package. But now, knowing him, she realized it was inadvertent, although it was no less hot.
Holy shit! What was with her?
“What history?” she managed even though talking was becoming more and more difficult. Her tongue felt heavy, swollen…like other parts of her.
“Hell if I know.”
“I just figured, given the last three months, that you and Zoelner had talked about—”
“Stop right there,” he interrupted, frowning at her. “Men don’t talk. At least not about feelings or relationships or anything that really matters.”
He flipped on one of the devices. A low hiss issued from its speaker, followed by what sounded like scratchy music. When he clicked on the second device, the same low hiss and muted music emerged from it. Lifting a finger for quiet, he cocked his head and listened. Then he nodded as if satisfied and pulled his cell phone from the hip pocket of his jeans. Punching in a number, he held the phone to his ear. After a second, he said so softly she had to strain to hear him, “Chels. It’s me. We’re wired up here.” Penni jumped when she heard his whispered voice coming from the speakers of the digital recorders. “Nope. But there’s music playing. I’m pretty sure he’s in there.”
The music was coming from Kozlov’s room? She stared at one of the devices in wide-eyed wonder.
“Roger that. Okay. Will do,” he finished softly. Stuffing the phone back into his hip pocket, he turned to her. “Where were we?”
“Forget that for a second,” she whispered and pointed to the electrodes and the wires and the recorders. “What are those?”
He glanced over his shoulder, then came to sit beside her on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and she slid toward him. When her hip made contact with his, she caught herself before she let out a relieved sigh. Being next to him, touching him, felt right in way that nothing in her life ever had. Right and wonderful and…exciting. It’s like he was both a comfort and the cause of her internal chaos at the same time.
He leaned in and his voice was a bare whisper. “The stickers that look like electrodes are actually high-powered contact microphones.” His breath fanned her cheek. It smelled like spearmint gum, cool and fresh and completely delicious. “They detect vibrations through the walls. Attaching them to digital recorders allows us to record the sound next door. And because they don’t have transmitters or send out signals, they can’t be picked up by traditional bug-detection devices.”
Both of her eyebrows were sitting near her hairline when she pulled back to search his face. In all her years as a Secret Service agent, she’d never heard of such a thing. “Handy,” she mouthed.
He shrugged. But despite his nonchalance, she had to agree with Chelsea’s insistence that he was a good man to have around.
“Now,” he whispered, “I think we were talking about Chels and Zoelner.”
“We were? I don’t remember.” In fact, she didn’t remember much of anything except his nearness. Where was she again? What was her name? All she could focus on was stopping herself from running her finger over the little crescent-moon-shaped scar on the side of his jaw.
One sandy blond eyebrow inched its way up his forehead. His mouth twitched.
She leaned in, inhaling his electric scent. “And besides, I don’t think we should be talking.” She hooked a thumb toward the devices.
“It’s fine.” His voice was deliciously low and growly and just loud enough to be broadcast through the speakers. Then he lowered it further still, until only her ears picked up the sound. “They’re not recording right now. Once he starts talking I’ll hit the record button and we’ll have to zip it. Until then, we just need to keep our voices down so they don’t carry.”
“You are MacGyver,” she mouthed. Then she batted her lashes. “Build me a rocket ship to the moon. Pretty please?”
“And there’s the new, sassy Penni DePaul I’ve been missing,” he whispered.