Riding The Edge - Elise Faber Page 0,23

the heat of his body, intensified by the shower, bringing a damp cloud of moisture with him that coated my skin and made me shiver.

“We’re off watch for a few hours,” I said, glancing back at him. “Ryker’s old team has it covered, but we’re to be ready to go as needed.”

He nodded then pointed at a square on the screen. “This camera might present a problem.”

“Blind corner,” I agreed. “Olive is already getting another camera in place.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t move and neither did I. Dan, for his part, seemed riveted to the screen, but I was frozen in place by temptation.

If I moved, I might touch.

If I touched . . .

He straightened, and not a moment too soon. My fingers had clenched on my lap, resisting the urge to stroke that warm skin, but remaining there only by pure dint. Because that kiss. Because his smell. Because his body and the way he’d stroked my hair and how he’d held me so carefully.

And whiskey on his breath and on my tongue, mixing with peaches and rum.

Summer heat and sea breeze.

Gentle eyes in a gym.

Muddy hair and light bone.

Tempting. The man was far too tempting for a woman who didn’t have any hope in hell of giving him what he deserved.

I turned my head and found my lips a mere inch from his, blazing blue eyes staring into mine, pinning me in place.

Just one inch, and I could taste him again.

Just one inch, and—

“I’ll be right back,” he said, stepping back.

“Dan—”

He stopped, straightening, that glorious chest on display. “Yeah?” he asked, a husky question that sent fire through my veins.

I opened my mouth but found the words were stoppered up in my throat.

“I—um . . .”

I wanted him. Just as I wanted so badly to pretend my past didn’t exist, to have a moment with him, to maybe have more than just moments.

But that couldn’t be.

We couldn’t be.

“I moved your bag,” I whispered, heart heavy even as I shored up the walls. Hoping and wanting didn’t make one bit of difference. The only thing that mattered was reality. “It’s by your bed.”

He held my gaze for a heartbeat, lips parting, but then I looked away, pretending to turn back to the cameras, but in reality, watching him in the mirror as he scooped up his duffle bag and headed back into the bathroom.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

I nodded but couldn’t form words.

Not when every nerve in my body was telling me to trail after him into the bathroom, to dislodge that towel, perched so precariously around his hips. My words were bottlenecked by the need coursing through me, nearly propelling me to my feet and into that steam-filled room.

It would be so easy.

It would be so good.

That kiss had been the ultimate tease, bringing me back to two years ago. How good it had felt to give in to the fiery attraction, the sparking desire, the connection between us. I’d forgotten about my uncle, the elevator, the public place, and been right back in the humid summer days, eating peaches until my stomach hurt.

For a moment, I’d even forgotten about covering my back, about covering Dan’s. I’d forgotten everything.

Because it felt so fucking good.

But . . . my feelings didn’t matter.

The door clicked closed, and I stood, walking over to the windows. The curtains were drawn, but I knew if I shifted just slightly to the side, I could see a sliver of the sea, a glimmer of the beach below, and the sun sitting just below the horizon in the distance.

Maybe I should have felt trapped, the dim light of the room suffocating me, only the narrow slice of the outside world in front of me.

But I didn’t feel contained.

This life I lived might, in many ways, be smaller than what most people hoped for, but it was more than I had ever dreamed up when locked in that cell.

I was strong and could protect myself. I’d spent the last years helping other people, undoing some of the bad in the world. I knew I could never hope to make up for what my family had done and what it currently still did, knew I couldn’t begin to right every wrong.

But I had made some small difference.

Right now that was enough.

As was the truth I knew in the very marrow of my bones—I would never be back in that cell again.

Feeling slightly more centered, I turned away from the window.

Or started to, anyway.

Because just as I began to step