Farther into a shadowy hallway, he saw a couple of other unobtrusive doors. Could have been offices. But he knew they weren’t. As if on cue, a couple sidled toward one of those back rooms. A woman in fuck-me heels, a shrink-wrapped miniskirt, and a tired perm led a sunburned tourist by the hand. Liam scrubbed a hand over his head and looked away, frustrated all over again that he had to bring Rachel to a place like this. But then the luxurious safe-house quarters on base ultimately hadn’t been any more secure.
He’d accepted the failures he’d made in his personal life. He refused to accept failure in his ability to do his job. And right now, his job was keeping Rachel alive and finding out why Brandon Harris’s accusations had set off such a hailstorm in the military community.
The crack and snap of a game of pool reverberated from the back corner. A beer rested on the edge of the table, serving as a paperweight for a couple of twenties. Angling over the velvet table, a middle-aged guy in khaki cutoffs and a T-shirt lined up his shot.
A brawl could break out at any second in a place like this.
Liam leaned on the bar to hurry things up just as the bartender passed over a bag of food and jug of tea. He passed the guy the extra twenty and made tracks back out to the parking lot toward their first-floor room. How had the air gotten even muggier in the span of—he checked his watch—seventeen minutes? Could be something to do with the woman tucked against his side, a woman he would be spending the whole night with alone in a motel room.
He rounded the corner and found… oh crap.
A local TV station, with bright lights and a camera rolling, taping footage of God only knew what as they interviewed a cop. Probably a knifing or robbery.
Their room was at least five doors down from the epicenter of the media frenzy, straight through the camera’s line of shooting.
“Rachel,” he hissed, turning her around. “We need to go back into the bar.”
“Kiss me.”
“Huh?”
“Turn away from the camera and kiss me.” She grabbed his face and plastered her lips to his, dragging him until his back was to the crowd.
His brain went on stun for a second at just the feel of her mouth on his, her hands against his cheeks. Reason filtered through. But just barely.
He buried his nose in her neck. “Damn it, Rachel, I said not to draw attention to us.”
“Hate to break it to you.” She nuzzled his ear, circling it with her tongue. “But people are already looking. We’ll definitely blend into this place a lot more by acting like a couple of barflies on our way to a motel hookup.”
She had a point.
Liam nipped her shoulder. “We can’t just hang around here all night making out.”
“Then kiss me the whole way to the room.” She looped her arms around his neck, the half-gallon jug of tea thudding between his shoulder blades. “Do you have a problem with that?”
In theory? No. But the reality of tempting himself that much wreaked serious havoc with the rational part of his brain shouting at him to keep Rachel out of harm’s way. The best way to do that? Stay objective.
And objectively speaking, she was actually right about the best way to blend in around here.
“Okay, I can see your point.” He pressed a finger to her mouth. “Let’s get to work and make the hookup look realistic.”
“We need to do more than look realistic.” She drew his finger into her mouth and circled her tongue around the tip.
The one simple stroke ramped the already steamy temperature close to meltdown.
Another car pulled up, headlights sweeping the lot.
Jug of tea in one hand, she pressed his palm to her breast. Before he could pick his jaw up off the cracked sidewalk, she tucked her fingers down into his jeans back pocket and dug her nails into his ass.
Shock held him still for only a second. She was right about making this look realistic. His hand filled with her sweet softness, he backed her toward their room. He drew her tongue into his mouth, massaging the soft curve of her breast, each step of the way careful to tuck them both behind the wall of onlookers eager to appear on television. He had to think, move, hide her away in their room as fast as possible.
Except how was he supposed to think with the taste of her flowing through his veins?
Her hitchy, surprised gasp of pleasure ignited the fire in his belly. She clawed his butt through his jeans pockets and plastered herself to him so convincingly, his hard-on throbbed against his button fly.
“Are we still acting?” He pressed his mouth to the pulse along her neck. “Because we’re well out of range of the camera’s lens.”
“Hell no, I’m not acting. Get me inside,” she gasped. “Now!”
Her demand unleashed molten lust. His feet tangled with hers as he guided her the final few steps to their room. He could barely process that she’d crossed this line along with him, that their act in the parking lot was as hot for her as it had been for him. He just hoped she didn’t regret it tomorrow. He’d locked down his feelings for her for too long to fight off the hunger even one more time.
“Get the key,” he said, his hands full with the food bag and her breast. He’d be damned if he intended to let go of either. “It’s in my front left pocket.”
She slid her fingers from his pants in a torturously slow glide of her nails that pulled his shirt free. The quick yank sent his wallet tumbling onto the sidewalk. The overstuffed billfold fanned cash along the concrete.
They both bent, heads nearly colliding. He snagged his wallet and she gathered up the bills and—holy crap—three condom packets. He snatched the condoms and she grabbed the cash, folding the money in half and tucking it down the front of her shirt.
“Enough foreplay, Liam.” She plucked the carryout bag from his hands. “Open. The. Door.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He fished in his front pocket until he found the old-fashioned key. Metal. Not plastic. This place was so old and dingy, it didn’t even have key cards. There had to be another way, another place…
“I can see where your mind’s going.” She skimmed her palm up his chest. “Quit thinking, and let’s just get inside.”
He pushed into the room, the need for her ramping up his already adrenaline-saturated body. The two dogs had claimed the double bed farthest from the door. Their ears perked up as he and Rachel stumbled inside, but once the pups seemed to realize they were going to be evicted back to the floor, both closed their eyes again, playing possum.
Good enough for him. He turned back to Rachel.
The door closed. He placed their late-night supper on the table. Food could wait.
Rachel sagged against the closed panel. The room key dropped to the floor. Finesse was gone. He didn’t know the whys of her change of heart, and right now, he frankly didn’t care. He just wanted her. Here. Naked. Then again in the shower. Anywhere he could have her. He hoped like crazy she agreed.
“Now? Really?” he asked.
“Absolutely now.” She grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and tugged upward.
“Let me.”
He swept away her hands and peeled her shirt over her head, easy enough, as she raised her arms to accommodate him. Which happened to put her br**sts within easy reach for touching, licking, sucking until her head writhed against the door. And oh God, she had the all-over honey tone to her skin he’d wondered about. No tan lines. Just pure sweet Rachel, bared for his total and undivided attention.
Her nails scored down his back until her hand came around and grazed the front of his fly. His legs just about buckled underneath him.
Bracing one hand against the door, he stroked her hair away from her face with the other, enjoying the glide of dark strands between his fingers. “When did you decide on taking this step?”
“I thought about it the first time I saw you. And then about a thousand times since then. As for when I decided to act on it? I’m not sure exactly. Maybe somewhere between when you fed the puppy and when you felt me up in the parking lot.” She nibbled along his jaw, her tongue flicking his earlobe. “Some things in life just happen. This was meant to happen.”
“That works for me.”
She stroked the length of him. “Condom? Do you have one?”
“In my wallet, remember? Three of them, I think.” He wished he had more.
“Yes…” She yanked the leather billfold out and open. More cash tumbled to the floor, but thank God, so did three plastic packets.
He grabbed one off the floor and tore it open while she unfastened the button fly of his jeans. The pressure of her hands, her touch even through denim, had him throbbing harder.
The floor vibrated under his feet. Or was it the door? His brain cleared enough to realize someone was pounding from outside.
His reflexes went on alert. He snatched Rachel’s shirt off the back of the chair and passed it to her, pushing her behind him in one fluid movement.
“Police,” a male voice shouted from outside. The fist pounded again. “Open up.”
Biting back a curse, Liam buttoned his pants and reached for his .45 caliber on the table.
“Sir, ma’am?” the voice shouted again. “Open this door now or I’m going to be forced to kick it down.”
Liam tucked his hand behind him, silver handgun in his fist, and opened the door. A burly dude in uniform blocked the doorjamb with his foot and flashed his badge. It looked legit.
Carefully, Liam tucked the gun into his waistband at the small of his back, hidden in the hem of his shirt Rachel had tugged loose seconds earlier. They really didn’t need this kind of attention. But like it or not, this guy wasn’t going to disappear.
The faster they settled this, the better. “Is there a problem, officer?”
Liam heard a clink, sort of like ice cubes, until he realized. Shit. The officer held up handcuffs.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to put your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest for soliciting a prostitute.”
Chapter 12
Rachel held the shirt to her bare chest, twenty-dollar bills on the floor around her feet. In a seedy motel room. This so didn’t look good.
Neither did the gun in the back waistband of Liam’s jeans. The cop really wasn’t going to like that. Or the arsenal stowed away in the duffel bag. And oh God, was the television camera crew still filming? She peeked over the officer’s shoulder and they didn’t seem to be interested in the little drama unfolding in her life. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
Liam nudged his loose T-shirt over the gun and brought his empty hands around for the policeman to view. “What do you mean, under arrest for soliciting a prostitute?”
The cop pushed the door open wider, his backup now visible a few steps behind. The partner—a fresh-faced kid straight out of the academy, most likely—had his hand on his gun and looked entirely too twitchy.
The senior officer hitched a thumb in his belt. “Don’t bother denying it, sir. I saw your whole little exchange of cash outside the room—not wise, by the way. Especially in an establishment well-known for easy hooker traffic.” The police officer shook his head wearily. “I have heard more bullshit stories than you can imagine, trying to crack down on this place. So don’t even attempt to play on my sympathy by bringing in stories about your sick wife or your kids or your mama. Look me in the eyes. I do not care.”
Once the cops found the weapons, they were screwed. Road trip over. Right back in with the OSI and whatever made Liam haul her out of there in the first place.
She had to fix this for him. Now.
Rachel forced a blush up her face. “But Officer”—she glanced at his name tag—“Vogel, I’m not a hooker. I am his wife.”
Liam’s head whipped around.
Officer Vogel didn’t look impressed or convinced. Apparently he had heard it all.
“Hold on there, sister, I’m about to get around to your arrest. You may want to keep your mouth closed in the meantime, because consider this your official notice of you rights being read.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m guessing you’ve had them read to you before.”
