She hurried from the room, his voice following her out the door.
“The mess hall is down in the basement.”
12
Derek dressed and went back to work, both amused at Jenna’s reaction and uncomfortably horny. He couldn’t get her off his mind—not when he had a private conference with Corbray, not when he read Pentagon intel reports on Qassim, not when he went to the shooting range for target practice specifically to get her out of his head.
How could any man forget an attractive woman checking him out with such blatant lust in her eyes? Yeah, she’d taken a good, hard look at him, her gaze fixing on his cock, and the expression on her face had been pure sexual hunger.
The fact that she’d gotten so flustered afterward was interesting, too. He would expect for a woman who worked in reproductive health care not to be fazed by dicks. But her face had flushed bright pink, and she’d said things she hadn’t meant to say.
I’m lust…lost.
Yeah, she was lust all right—for him. He’d never gotten hung up on a woman like this. Sure, he’d been sexually attracted to a lot of women, but he didn’t walk around thinking about them all fucking day.
I work in women’s healthcare, not penises.
He’d almost lost it and started laughing at that point. She could have said men’s healthcare or male reproductive healthcare or almost anything, but his dick had apparently been foremost on her mind. That was okay with him.
Maybe it was time to do something about this. They were adults, and they were hot for each other. Maybe the best thing for both of them would be to get it out of their systems by fucking each other’s brains out.
She’s Jimmy’s little sister. You’re her bodyguard. You’re at a job site.
These were three excellent reasons to keep his dick in his pants. What kind of example would he set if he, one of Cobra’s owners, broke the rules while on the job?
It’s not like he could hide what was going on. He was in a building full of operatives and intel specialists. There were no secrets.
None of this was enough to keep him from shooting Jenna a text message that evening and offering to give her a tour of the place.
I don’t want you getting lost.
No, it hadn’t been necessary to add that last bit, but it had been fun.
Where should I meet you?
I’ll come to you.
He went to her room, knocked.
She opened the door. “Hey.”
For some reason he couldn’t fathom, she had trouble meeting his gaze.
He tried not to grin. “You ready?”
He gave her the same tour he gave U.S. Senators, Pentagon officials, and presidents, sexual tension humming between them like a live wire. Somehow, he managed to stay on topic. “We have close to five hundred staff and operatives spread out over eight major operation centers around the world.”
“Antarctica?”
He chuckled. “No.”
He showed her the infirmary, the gym, the shooting range, the holding cells, and the weapons locker on the lower level. “This is all mission-critical gear. Our armorer makes sure it’s ready to go at a moment’s notice.”
“Wow.”
“You found the mess hall, I assume.”
“Yes.”