“Just cleaning,” Leo says innocently, but there’s desire in his dark eyes again.
“You’re such a fucking liar,” I accuse, but I spread my legs slightly to give him better access.
Leo’s fingers stroke through my folds, cleaning away the evidence of our earlier activities, but it’s sensual rather than perfunctory. His thumb brushes my clit, and I shiver despite the warm water.
“And you calledmeinsatiable earlier?” I tell him, but my voice comes out breathy.
“Only with you.” Leo leans down to kiss me. He presses me back against the cool tile wall, the contrast between the warm water and the cold tile making me gasp into his mouth. His hands are everywhere—in my hair, on my face, sliding down my sides.
I run my hands over his chest, feeling the solid muscle under wet skin, tracing the scars I’ve memorized. There’s one on his ribs from a knife fight, another on his shoulder from a bullet that thankfully went clean through. Each one is a story I’ve made him tell me, lying tangled together in the dark.
My hands slide lower, over the ridges of his abs, following the trail of dark hair that leads down to where he’s already hard again. When I wrap my hand around his cock, feeling the weight and smoothness of him, Leo makes a strangled sound that instantly makes me wet.
“My turn,” I say, reaching for the body wash with my free hand.
I soap up my hands and start with his shoulders, working down his arms, appreciating the way his muscles flex under my touch. Water streams over both of us, making his skin slick and warm, and I take my time exploring every inch of him. The cut of his hipbones. The hard planes of his chest. The way his abs contract when I trace them.
Leo watches me with those dark eyes, tracking every movement of my hands, and I can see his breathing get faster. His cock is heavy in my hand, and when I stroke him slowly and feel his hips buck into my touch, I feel powerful.
“Emma,” he warns, his voice strained. “If you keep doing that?—”
“What?” I ask innocently, twisting my wrist on the upstroke the way I’ve learned he likes. “This?”
“Fuck,” Leo groans, then his hand is covering mine, stopping my movement. “As much as I love what you’re doing, I need to actually shower and get downstairs before Dante sends a search party.”
“Fine,” I say with a theatrical sigh.
We actually wash then, taking turns rinsing off, stealing kisses between rinse cycles and I let myself pretend—just for these few minutes—that this is normal. That we’re just lovers waking up together and sharing a shower before starting our day. Not captor and captive. Not mob boss and kidnapped woman.
Just Leo and Emma.
16
EMMA
Reality intrudes, as it always does, when we’re getting dressed.
Leo’s phone rings while he’s buttoning his shirt, and I watch his expression change from relaxed to tense when he sees the caller ID.
“Dante,” he says by way of greeting, putting the call on speaker while he continues dressing. “What’s wrong?”
“Good morning to you too,” Dante says and he sounds tired and weary. “We have a situation.”
I freeze in the middle of pulling on my leggings, watching Leo’s face. His jaw is tight, his eyes hard, and just like that the gentle lover from the shower is gone, replaced by the mob boss.
“What kind of situation?” Leo asks, his voice flat.
“Connor Brennan is planning something,” Dante says, and I feel my stomach drop. “We’ve got multiple sources reporting increased activity. Weapons being moved. Alliances being formed with families that usually stay neutral.”
Leo’s eyes flick to me briefly before returning to his phone. “How solid is the intelligence?”
“Solid enough that I’m calling you at eight in the morning,” Dante replies, and I can hear the frustration in his voice. “The details are vague—no one knows exactly what he’s planning—but everyone agrees he’s mobilizing for something big.”
“He’s coming for me again,” I say quietly, and both men look at me—Leo in person, Dante presumably through the phone since I can feel the weight of his attention.
“Most likely,” Dante confirms, not sugarcoating it. “The first rescue attempt failed. He’s not going to just let that go.”
“I have sixty men on this property alone,” Leo snarls, his dark brows drawn. “Connor’s not getting anywhere near her.”