The Equalisers: A Soldier's Oath. Debra Webb
that he lifted his arm out of her way without any awkwardness. Now if she could only unwrap herself from the cover she would make a mad dash for the bathroom.
But that wasn’t going to be easy. Somehow she’d wound herself in the sheets all the way from her edge of the bed until she’d nestled against his muscled torso. The room was cool. Maybe her body had instinctively sought out the heat. And then generated a little of its own, she admittedly self-consciously.
Enough of this. She had to get up.
As if he’d picked up on her discomfort, he dropped his feet to the floor and disappeared into the bathroom. But not before she’d gotten a full view of that broad chest and those sculpted abs. Even his back looked strong and toned.
She put her hands over her face and groaned.
He had to think she was totally pathetic.
Not that she cared what he thought of her personally. She drew her hands away from her face and glared at the ceiling. None of this was personal. She had hired him to get her son back. He didn’t have to like her or even respect her. He only had to do what she’d paid him to do.
If only she could maintain that sense of logic.
Kicking off the twisted covers, she managed to scramble out of bed. Her clothes were as twisted as the covers, so she righted them before sifting through her suitcase to pick out something to wear today.
Khaki slacks and a white long-sleeved pullover and sneakers.
The bathroom door opened and he emerged.
She hurried past him, careful not to make eye contact, and closed herself in the bathroom. A shower would help. She was a little off-kilter this morning. Jet lag. She just needed to regain her bearings and she’d be fine.
Truth was she hadn’t woken up with a man next to her in nearly a year. Waking up next to a man to whom she wasn’t married was even more unusual.
But that was her hang-up. She had plenty.
Spencer ordered room service and made a quick call to his contact. They would meet in an hour at one of the available commercial properties in the city. Touring a couple of office buildings would confirm his cover. If anyone had decided to keep an eye on him, this would back up Spencer’s reasons for visiting the peaceful state of Kuwait. Meetings with a couple of random agents in the city wouldn’t hurt.
When the light rap came at the door, he checked the peephole and established that it was room service. He opened the door and watched as the waiter rolled the cart into the room. He signed the check and locked the door once the waiter had gone.
The coffee smelled great. He needed caffeine. Lots of it. Though he doubted any amount of caffeine would erase the feel of Willow nestled snugly against him. The heat from her body had awakened urges he’d thought long dead. Not so, evidently. Too bad the timing was seriously off.
HE’D HAD his second cup of coffee by the time she reappeared dressed for the day.
“There’s fruit and sweet rolls.” Since he couldn’t be sure what Willow would like, he’d gone with the safest bet. “And coffee.”
She dove into the fruit before having her first cup of coffee.
Watching her eat so ravenously reminded him that she’d skipped dinner on the plane last night. He’d assumed she was too upset to eat. She was bent on making up for it now it seemed. Her lips closed around a strawberry and he couldn’t help but stare.
He now knew something personal about Willow Harris the woman, not Willow Harris the ex-wife and mother. She loved strawberries. The way she closed her eyes and relished the burst of flavor on her tongue spoke volumes about just how much she loved the lush red berries.
She opened her eyes and her cheeks turned pink. “Sorry. I get a little carried away sometimes.”
He sipped his coffee and tried to act nonchalantly. “I’m the same way about coffee.”
She’d left her hair down. Even in the plain white pullover and khakis she looked soft and feminine, elegant somehow. Maybe it was because she was so tiny and her clothes, though conservative, fit so well. At five-two, she couldn’t weigh more than ninety pounds. And even though he recognized that her clothes weren’t designer, more like bargain super center, they looked tailor-made for her figure.
Like her, he’d dressed casually. Jeans and a pullover sweater with a casual sports jacket. Though the temperature was probably in the mid-sixties, it could drop unexpectedly. Especially if it rained. No matter what the weather did, the jacket would serve another purpose as well. Weapons were illegal in this country. Carrying one required certain precautions on his part, concealment being top priority.
Willow stopped eating long enough to ask, “Did I hear you making an appointment with someone?”
He grabbed a sweet roll. “We’re meeting my real-estate contact at ten-thirty. We’ll look at a couple of properties today and get the lay of the land. I made a couple of other calls to local agents as well.”
She poured a cup of coffee and sipped it thoughtfully before voicing her next question. “When can we drive by the house?”
She wanted a glimpse of her son. He certainly understood that. But moving too hastily could prove a mistake.
“We’ll do some driving around in that area later this evening, maybe just before dark.”
“Today’s Thursday, the family may be out to dinner as a group tonight. Getting close to the house probably won’t be difficult.”
The Kuwaiti work week was generally Saturday through Wednesday. Thursday was considered a sort of family night. The next two days were holy days, not to mention a national holiday, Hala February.
“As long as we maintain an appropriate distance, I think we’ll be okay,” he warned, not wanting her to get her hopes up too high. Just because they drove by didn’t mean she would get to see her son.
“I understand.”
He wondered if she did.
She devoured another strawberry. The act made his gut clench. He had to get a handle on these unusually strong feelings of attraction and protectiveness. Certainly he intended to protect her, but he realized already that he was having difficulty maintaining objectivity.
Not good.
Recognizing the problem was the first step, he reminded himself. Just like at Alcoholics Anonymous. Not that he’d attended enough of those sessions to know what came next, but he did know that pinpointing the problem was essential in correcting it.
Funny, he realized abruptly, he hadn’t thought about alcohol since that tense moment on the plane. Not that it would have done him any good. The only way to get an alcoholic drink in Kuwait was to go to a private, very illegal, party. Still, he felt some sense of relief at not waking up to the urge to pour himself a drink.
He hoped the change for the better was about getting his life back together with this career endeavor. But he had a feeling it had more to do with his distraction with his client than anything else.
And that was definitely not good. At all.
“Whenever you’re ready, we’ll get going.” Getting his head screwed back on straight would be a hell of a lot easier outside the intimacy of this room—away from the bed they’d shared last night. No matter that nothing had happened. Waking up to her cuddled up against him had been more than enough to inspire his too-vivid imagination.
Evidently, while he’d overindulged in alcohol since exiting his military life, he’d neglected his physical needs. Now he was paying the price of having gone too long without sexual release.
She grabbed the scarf and quickly wrapped it around her head to cover her hair and neck. “Okay. I’m ready.”
He shouldn’t have let her come.
The realization slammed into him like an