Shielding Josie_Special Forces_Operation Alpha by Casey Hagen

Author:Casey Hagen [Hagen, Casey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aces Press, LLC
Published: 2018-06-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Josie lay in Cole’s guest room, staring at the perfectly dusted ceiling fan, the sound of his weights slamming, signaling that he might just be as frustrated as she.

She crawled out of bed, Cole’s t-shirt reaching her knees, concealing the boxer shorts she’d borrowed underneath.

On the floor, when she opened the door, she found her jeans, tank top, underwear, and bra from the day before, washed and neatly folded, waiting for her.

And lying next to the stack, the gun the deputies had dropped off the night before while she was in the shower.

She clenched her thighs as zings of awareness coursed through her, and the image of her bra strap dangling from his finger flashed in her mind.

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

Down girl.

So, the guy did laundry, too. He could have done a girl a favor and given her something she could use as an excuse to hold back.

Scratch his balls a lot—because a little could be overlooked if the guy was sexy enough.

Pick his nose—total deal breaker. Look, everyone did it, but be stealth, man, that’s all women ask.

Pick his teeth with a piece of unopened mail during dinner—not great, especially when that piece of broccoli finally broke free, flew across the table, and landed in a girl’s cleavage.

All things she had witnessed over the past ten years of on and off dating.

All things that made it a hell of a lot easier to pass on an invite to dinner or a movie and instead stay home and get the job done with the arsenal in her nightstand.

She grabbed her clothes and headed for the kitchen and the scent of fresh coffee filling the air. The feel of the smooth tile under her feet surprised her. No bits of dirt or sand. No crumbs or sticky spots where his drink had spilled and he didn’t bother wiping it up.

Nope.

The occasional shirt or jacket had been tossed in a chair or bar stool, but for someone who was in and out of their place a lot and sometimes had to take off on a case with little warning, it was totally expected.

She slid a mug from the hooks under the cabinet and poured herself a hot cup of coffee. Just as she went for the first sip, a ping sounded from behind her making her jump. Hot coffee sloshed over her hand and splattered on the floor.

So much for clean.

She swiped the mess with a paper towel, grabbed her coffee and Cole’s phone, and headed toward the sound of weights.

She peeked into the room at the end of the hall, the door cracked open a mere four inches, but just enough to see Cole, lying down on his back, his chest bare and straining, his biceps bulging as he bench pressed a seemingly impossible amount of weight piled on both ends of the bar.

Sweat glistened on his skin, rolling off the dips and valleys of his ribs and disappearing around his back only to soak into the white towel underneath him.

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