Page 23 of Covert Operation
“I know.” Zeke reaches up to push back a curl of hair that’s fallen in my face. “I didn’t want you to have to explain why I had them tell you.”
I almost lean into his touch, the automatic movement taking me by surprise. It sends me stepping back, needing a little space. I hide the reflexive retreat by going to the sink and rinsing the rag again. “I would have come up with something.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” he rumbles behind me.
“How about you just make sure there’s not a next time?” I can’t meet his gaze when I turn back around, but that leaves my eyes locked onto his chest.
I try to keep my touch clinical, but his skin is so warm and the almost crisp texture of the hair scattering his chest tickles my fingertips, making me want to get a better feel. Without realizing it, my movements slow. What should be a wipe becomes more of a stroke.
And I can’t seem to stop.
I would have thought being this close to a man as lethal as Zeke would make me nervous. If he wanted to, he could overpower me. Easily. There’d be nothing I could do to stop him.
But this is Zeke. He would never hurt me.
He would hurtfor methough. I know that all the way to my bones.
Not because I’m special to him, but because that’s just who he is. He keeps people safe. Protects them from the kind of men whodomake me nervous.
“Thank you for taking care of me.”
I risk a peek at his face, my stomach flipping at the tender way he’s staring at me. “You take care of me.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to do the same.” One of Zeke’s hands comes to grip my wrist, his hold gentle and warm. “Is that why you’re doing this? Because you feel like you owe it to me?”
It should be why I’ve spent an unnecessary amount of time running my hands over his body. But it’s not. “No.” I swallowhard before admitting a surprising truth. “I’m doing it because I want to.”
TEN
ZEKE
MY SHOULDER IS aching and I’m fucking exhausted, but I’m having a hard time focusing on anything but Savannah’s careful touch as she cleans me off. I try to remember how long it’s been since someone took care of me like this, but it’s been too many years.
Enough that it feels like a lifetime ago.
I clear my throat, knowing I shouldn’t be letting her do this, but unable to make myself tell her to stop. “How’s your condo coming?”
She continues working and it takes me a second to realize she hasn’t heard me. “Savannah?”
Her eyes widen but don’t lift to my face. “Hmm?”
“How is your condo coming along?” I repeat myself, expecting this time I’ll get an answer.
Instead she asks, “My condo?”
Guilt settles into my gut. I didn’t mean to upset her by not sharing news about what happened, but obviously I did. “You said it was a mess because you had all your stuff delivered.”
“Oh.” She wipes at the same, already clean, spot she just went over. “Yeah. It’s messy.”
I expect her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. Savannah just keeps trailing that warm rag across my chest, the tips of her fingers chasing the cloth as it glides against my skin. There’s an odd look on her face as she watches the movement. One I can’t read no matter how long I stare.
I’m still focused on her face, looking for some sign of what she’s thinking, when the rag—and her touch—drags across my nipple. The contact is so unexpected, a breath hisses between my teeth.
Savannah jumps back, her cheeks flushing as she rips her hand from my body. The other presses to her stomach as she continues putting space between us, the flame of her cheeks getting deeper with each step.
Fuck. I don’t know what to say. How to smooth over the visceral reaction she just caused. One that’s spreading like wildfire to other—more obvious—parts of my body.
“You’re all clean.” Savannah drops the rag into the sink before grabbing a cold pack from the drawer. She tosses the unactivated bundle my way before spinning to the door. “I’ll see you later.”