Page 12 of Saint
From his earlier sweep, he knew there was a small window above the toilet, but he was going to have to trust her.Shit.How could he, though? There was no way she wouldn’t try to escape, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. Turning, he reluctantly followed her, and when she started to shut the door, he shoved his boot forward, stopping it from closing all the way.
“Move your foot. I don’t need an audience.”
“Just go do your thing. I won’t pay any attention.”
Mia crossed her arms and huffed out a breath. “Are you kidding me?”
“I don’t trust you.”
“This is humiliating. I won’t be able to pee if you’re listening.”
“We all know what it sounds like when someone takes a piss. Your piss isn’t any different than anyone else’s. Now go.”
“You’re an asshole,” she seethed.
“So you keep telling me.”
She made a face and crossed her legs. “Dammit! Fine!” Spinning away from him, she stalked across the tiny bathroom, flipping the tap water on as she passed the sink in order to drown out any sound she would make.
Smirking, he turned around, crossed his arms and waited.Oh, the humiliation!Stifling a snort, he rolled his eyes. At one point when he’d been locked up in the prison’s solitary confinement, he’d been reduced to pissing and shitting in the same bucket for a week. He had limited sympathy for her.
A minute later the toilet flushed. “All set?” he asked. When he heard her washing her hands, he turned back around. “You survived and, rest assured, I barely heard you tinkle.”
She met his gaze in the smudged mirror and narrowed her eyes. Not dignifying him with a response, she splashed some water on her face then dried it off with a towel and sighed wearily.
“How long are you going to hold me prisoner?” she asked, smoothing her hands down the wrinkled dress.
“As long as it takes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged a shoulder then jerked his chin toward the living room. “Just be a good girl and get back on the bed.” The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. They sounded far too sexual and he couldn’t go there. When she didn’t move, he barked, “Bed! Now!”
Mia scampered back over and jumped on the daybed. He followed her then crooked his finger, motioning for her wrist. She made a fierce face then reluctantly lifted it. He leaned over her and snapped the bracelet shut, cuffing her to the bedpost again.
“You smell like an ashtray,” she commented, wrinkling her nose.
Even though her pain-in-the-ass remark should’ve rolled right off him, it didn’t. Annoyed, he hissed, “And you—” He abruptly stopped speaking.
And you smell like a vanilla cream puff.
“What?” she pressed.
Instead of responding, Saint straightened up and shrugged his leather jacket off. Damn, was the heat on? The room suddenly felt too hot and he tossed the jacket over the chair before stalking to the fridge, grabbing a water and downing the entire bottle. Crumpling the plastic bottle in his fist, he tossed it into the nearby trash.
“You have a gun,” she murmured, so softly he almost didn’t hear.
Saint always had a gun, but his jacket had been covering the holster at his side. Despite having a Glock like the rest of his team, he normally preferred to carry his Udav pistol. The Udav, an old friend from Mother Russia, fit him best. It fired a powerful cartridge and had a significantly greater impact force than other weapons. With that kind of power, the Udav’s kick back was no joke. It also had a large trigger and could easily accommodate Saint’s big hands, even when wearing gloves. Since he usually preferred doing things left-handed, he liked that the controls were double-sided. Of course, thanks to the bastards at the orphanage, that didn’t matter as much because he was ambidextrous.
“Are you surprised?” he asked.
“I guess not.” She leaned back, resting her elbows on the pillow, and Saint’s gaze dropped, soaking in the way her dress pulled tightly across her tits. He’d always been a breasts man, and Mia’s rack was calling him home like the mothership.
Clearing his throat, he forced his attention back up to her face.There’s nothing special about her boobs,he told himself. Sure, they looked extra perky and had that perfect bounce when she walked, but they were just a pair of tits. He could get that shit anywhere.
So why did he want to wrap his hands around this particular pair of fleshy globes and see if they fit his palms as perfectly as he thought they would.Goddammit.“Go back to sleep,” he rasped, trying to ignore the growing heaviness in his jeans. Half-walking, half-limping back over to the chair, he sat down.
“Are you okay?” Mia asked, eyeing him strangely.