Page 30 of Striker
She switched off the TV show barely holding her attention even though it was one of her favorites. All she wanted was to think about Atlas. To remember him. His voice, his warm, strong hands, and the ease with which he’d carried her.
He’d said he’d be in touch.
She glanced at the phone he’d given her and sighed. His number was programmed in it. She could just call him to say hi.
To make sure he’s real.
No, that was crazy thinking. He was busy. Working. Even if she was slightly desperate, she wouldn’t show him that.
She needed sleep and ibuprofen for the tension in her neck and the pounding in her head. But first, a hot bath. Her achy muscles craved one. It was 10:23 p.m., already bedtime, but she wasn’t going to sleep without a bath.
She rose from the couch and cleaned up the coffee table. Then she took the phone into the bathroom with her and made sure the ringer was on . . . just in case someone called her. Someone like the only person in the world with this number.
The little bar at the top of the screen revealed that the battery was low. After placing the phone on the vanity near the tub, she went into the bedroom and removed her charger from the outlet near her bed. Back in the bathroom, she plugged the charger into the wall and then fit the other end into the device.
At least she wouldn’t miss Atlas’s call.
She cranked on the tap and poured her favorite bath salts into the hot water. She refused to look in the mirror. Seeing her too-thin, bruised face always jolted her. Right now, she needed to think about nothing but relaxing.
And maybe a hunky soldier.
At the thought of Atlas her skin prickled. God, being held by him in the parking lot had been the closest to heaven she’d ever been. Never had she felt so safe. So protected.
If at any point you need help, call me. Whether it’s tonight, next week, or next year, call me. I’ll come.
The memory of his words sent yearning pulsing through her. But not just the kind that she needed a man to fill . . . the kind that touched her heart. She should just call him. Ask him to come. To stay with her and?—
And what?
She blew out an exasperated breath and stripped off her clothes. Geez, how desperate was she? That was a surefire way to send Atlas in the opposite direction. She dipped her foot in the nearly too-hot water, then sank in the rest of the way.
No, she wouldn’t call Atlas right now. She’d wait to hear from him and maybe then drop a hint that she’d like to see him again. Only if she could manage a sentence that didn’t make her sound like a beggar.
The memory of the scar on his chest flashed in her mind. The skin there puckered and rippled with the evidence of healing. It’d been too round to be from a knife, which meant it was likely a gunshot wound. She’d wanted to ask what had happened, but the moment had passed before she could. Did the man possess more scars? Had he really been shot before? Now she might never know.
Warmth engulfed her and tension eased from her shoulders. She slid lower into the tub, letting the water nearly touch her chin. Atlas’s touch burst into her mind and her folds throbbed, aching for release.
She dragged her fingers over her thigh, then delved between her legs. Her mind drifted to Atlas, imagining his long, thick fingers touching her, spreading her heat. She bit her lip and worked over herself until pleasure taunted around her nerve endings. Her flesh pulsed and sang, and she pushed two fingers deeper.
The image of him burying his cock inside her tipped her over the edge. She cried out as her orgasm arched her toes and coated her skin in sweat. Limp with satisfaction, she closed her eyes, soaking in the warm water and not regretting her fantasy for a second . . .
She startled and her eyes popped open. She must have drifted off.
Smart, Molly. Everyone knows not to fall asleep in the tub.
She hadn’t even washed herself yet and the water was cold. She turned on the hot faucet. Once she was comfortable, she turned off the tap and scrubbed a soapy cloth over her skin. While she rinsed the suds, her mind went back to Atlas.
He still hadn’t called.
Which meant he hadn’t found Rex.
Creak
Molly froze. Her gaze snapped to the unlocked bathroom door. No, she was hearing things. Paranoid. No one had gotten into her apartment. She’d surely have heard them break open the front door.
Creak, creak
A shadow crossed the slat of space between the floor and the bottom of the door.
