Secure Location - By Beverly Long Page 0,12

women. There were only two men and they were dutifully following their wives or girlfriends around the room. Directly across the wide room was a door that probably led to a backroom and then to the alley. If he stood by the cash register, he’d have a good view of the room and both possible exits. “I’ll wait up front,” he said.

Meg took a shopping basket off the stack. “I won’t be long.”

He hoped not. His eyes were starting to water. Somebody was wearing enough perfume to knock an elephant on its butt.

Meg smelled the same. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d noticed that but it had been nagging at him. Her skin had always been so soft, so incredibly sexy, and her scent, some perfect combination of vanilla and her, had turned him on. Always.

Six months ago, he’d awakened after surgery, thinking, Damn my leg hurts but at least I’m not dead, and he’d known she was there. He’d lain in the bed, keeping his eyes closed, content just to let her scent surround him.

She was back. It had made getting shot worth it. A hundred times over.

She’d held his hand. He hadn’t been in any shape to converse but that hadn’t kept the thoughts from tumbling around in his drugged-up head. I promise I’ll be a better husband. I promise I’ll be more in touch with what you need. I promise I’ll be enough.

But he hadn’t had the opportunity to even try to deliver on those unspoken oaths. She’d held his hand, kissed his cheek, whispered goodbye and that was the last time he’d seen her until today.

Who’d have thought that he’d be standing around watching her buy underwear? No matter that every item Meg dropped into her basket caused the heat on his neck to branch out until his whole body felt warm. No matter that he felt like a damn teenager because he was getting hard. No matter what. His job was to watch her. He’d somehow failed her before. And that couldn’t be changed. But he would not fail her with this.

He shifted the dry cleaning, folding it over one arm, letting it hang in front of him. When Meg came up to the counter to pay for her items, he kept his eyes moving around the room, away from where the cashier was diligently wrapping every item in tissue paper. There was only so much temptation he could take.

“Ready?” she asked.

Oh, yeah. Ready, aimed poorly and about to fire. He opened the door, scanned the street and stepped out first. Meg followed and they walked back toward the hotel in silence. When they got to their rooms, he unlocked Meg’s door and checked it before letting her enter. “Do you want to rest before we eat?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’ll take a fast shower. Will that work for you?”

What would really work for him was if she put on some of her new purchases and straddled his body and he—

“Cruz?”

“Yeah. Works for me.”

* * *

MEG STOOD UNDER the shower and let the hot water attempt to work the tension out of her shoulders, her back. Her mind. It had only been seven hours since Cruz had stood in her doorway and already she was a bundle of conflicting emotions. She wanted him gone. She wanted him in her bed. She wanted him to understand that she wasn’t his responsibility any longer. She wanted him to tease her and make her laugh like he used to.

Ping, pong. Up, down. Right, left. She was waffling more than a presidential candidate.

It had been so much easier to pretend that she didn’t love him still when he’d been a thousand miles away. She could pretend that she’d moved on. She could pretend that she hadn’t left everything that ever mattered back in Illinois.

The pretending she’d been doing—well that was merely drama class. Now that he was here, staying next door, committed to being her shadow, her performance needed to be worthy of a damn academy award.

She got out of the shower and towel-dried her short hair. When she’d been married, she’d worn it past her shoulders, taking the time to straighten the thick, naturally curly locks. That’s how Cruz had liked it. She’d cut it the day after she’d come back from her vigil at his hospital bed that had begun with a call from Sam.

Cruz was shot. He’s at the hospital. Not sure of his condition.

She’d taken the first plane from San Antonio to Chicago.