Besides, she wasn’t into casual sex.
Maybe that should change.
“What about before that? You must have had lots of boyfriends.”
Was he asking her about her sexual past?
Gabriela got out of bed, found the brush he’d bought for her, started running it through her hair. “Before that, I was in training at Langley—”
Hands on his hips, he stared at her. “Thisis your first mission?”
She hated to admit that. “My first solo mission, yes.”
“Damn, girl. When you jump into the deep end, you jump.” He picked up a printed menu. “I hope they’ve got good room service.”
Gabriela orderedperico—scrambled eggs with peppers, onions, and tomatoes—along witharepas, fruit, and coffee. Dylan ordered coffee andcachapas, a kind of corn pancake folded around cheese and shredded pork.
While they waited for the food to arrive, Gabriela took a shower, shaving her legs and underarms with Dylan’s razor, something she hadn’t done in eighteen months. God, it felt good to be completely clean and silky soft again.
She heard a knock at the door.
“Room service!”
She stayed in the bathroom until room service had gone, washing her panties in the sink and hanging them on a towel rack to dry. She and Dylan had agreed that she shouldn’t let the hotel staff see her, given that her face was all over the news. She’d already been seen by the receptionist when they’d arrived last night.
She stepped out of the bathroom, going without panties, to find Dylan wearing his shirt again—damn it—and breakfast on the table. “Dios mío, that smells good!”
She sat and poured them each a cup of coffee. Then she dug in, the buttery taste of thepericomaking her eyes drift shut.
Bliss.
When she opened her eyes again, she found Dylan watching her, a lopsided grin on his face. “What did you eat at the mission?”
She dabbed her lips. “Mostly rice and beans. Sometimes plantains. It was a very plain diet with little variety. We distributed food to the poor there. We tried to live with the same poverty as those we served. How could I think about food when so many families were going days without eating anything?”
His brows drew together in a frown. “You never thought to sneak out to get some chocolate or pizza or a beer?”
“Sneak out—and risk destroying a cover that took so long to build?” She shook her head, reached for her coffee. “I’m stronger than that. Besides, I had no money, no credit card.Nada. I didn’t take vows, but I lived exactly like the other Sisters.”
“I’m impressed. I don’t think I could live like a priest for that long.” He laughed, shook his head, as if the idea were absurd. Then he lifted his gaze to hers, regret in his gray eyes. “I’m sorry for being an asshole last night. You were doing your job. I just don’t like being tricked, and I overreacted. I know it wasn’t intentional.”
Oh, yeah. She could get naked with him. “Apology accepted.”
* * *
Dylan was trappedin a tiny hotel room with a sex goddess.
Gabriela wasn’t even trying, and still, everything about her screamed sensuality. The sound of her voice. Her scent. The way she moved. Her sweet face. Those lethal curves. The way she moaned when she tasted something delicious. Those big, brown eyes. Her dark, silky hair.
How had he ever believed she was a nun?
While he sorted through the gear in his backpack, she sat on the bed, legs crossed, watching the news for any updates about their situation and taking notes. And she wasn’t wearing panties. He knew this because he’d found her panties drying in the bathroom and had ended up half hard just looking at them.
Tiny, pink bikini panties, for God’s sake.
NVGs. Body armor. Helmet. M4 rifle broken down. First aid kit. Spare ACUs, socks, and underwear. A billfold full of cash. Condoms left from their black-market op. A bag of coffee beans. One more pack of smokes. Rain gear. Emergency blanket. Emergency food rations. Water filter. A hundred rounds of 5.56×45mm NATO. A hundred rounds of 9mm. The Glock 19.
He checked it, held it out for Gabriela. “It’s loaded—fifteen rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber.”