Entice:Eagle Elite Book 3

By: Rachel Van Dyken



And I was alone with my husband.

Never had I imagined I’d be so attracted.

Let that be a reminder to any woman out there — math can fail you, logic will lead you in the opposite direction. Numbers? Not always solid. But your heart? That’s the biggest failure of all, because just when you’ve told yourself it’s safely in your keeping, it gets freaking stolen by a guy with green eyes and dark hair.

The sound of the door clicking shut almost had me bolting for the window. And then every ounce of air was sucked out of the suite. Chase turned. His eyes met mine, demanding, craving, lusting. I clenched my fists, letting my nails bite into my flesh.

My heartbeat pounded hard against my neck, making me dizzy. And it had only been a few hours.

Hell.





Chapter Eight



Chase



I’d just redefined the meaning of coming on too strong. Hell, that woman made me want to react. Every single word that came out of her mouth caused a gut instinct reaction. I hadn’t planned on kissing her; it had just happened. I wasn’t aware that I no longer controlled my body or my thoughts where she was concerned. But I wasn’t going to apologize. It had been a damn good kiss. She’d tasted warm, like a hot dessert that just came out of the oven. And I was a sucker for chocolate cake.

That mouth of hers was perfection. Clearly my mind had done me a favor by allowing me to forget just how soft her lips were. A man should never forget the way a woman tastes — and somehow I’d done it.

Never again.

I had planned on our kiss to feel frigid, cold, lifeless. Instead my body had responded with such heat that the entire drive to the hotel I’d gripped the steering wheel hard enough to pry it from the dash.

Thank God, she’d been kissed into silence, especially if that was how I reacted when she challenged me.

The only reason I even upgraded the room was to give us more space — being too close to her made me feel like a caged animal just waiting for the zookeeper to unlock the cage. I ran my hands through my hair in frustration and dropped our bags onto the ground.

“I, uh, I’m going to go get some ice.” Small talk of epic proportions.

“Fine.” Mil shrugged and grabbed the TV remote.

My eyes narrowed as she lay down on the bed, her entire demeanor screamed calm; whereas, I was contemplating how many ways I could dump ice in my pants without looking like I’d just had an accident.

“Whatever,” I grumbled under my breath, grabbing the bucket and making my way down the hall. Call me paranoid, but even though we were staying at the Waldorf Astoria, I wasn’t taking any chances. I kept my gun tucked into my pants and muttered curses under my breath the entire length of the hall toward the ice machine. I needed time to cool off, time to think, time to form a game plan.

Did we have to have sex? And what guy actually asked that on his wedding night? But that mouth, her mouth, I groaned as my mind tortured me with the memories of what she’d tasted like, what her mouth had felt like pressed against mine. How was it possible to be so intrigued by someone else when I knew that no one would ever captivate me the way Trace had? My body clearly didn’t have trouble with it. That much I was painfully aware of.

Shit.

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. I needed a solid minute or several of them before going back into that room. The last thing Mil needed was for me to go back in there so damn turned on I had trouble walking. May as well wave a flag or something. It was beyond obvious, not to mention irritating.

By the time I reached the ice machine, I wanted to shoot so many holes through it that I was already regretting the fact that I’d brought my gun. Pretty sure destroying hotel property would land me in jail.

Groaning, I leaned my forehead against the machine and took a few deep breaths.

Just as I was about to press the button, the hair on the back of my neck stood on edge. It was quiet, too quiet. The elevator dinged, and then I heard some shuffling, footsteps. The normal hotel guest would be talking, or at least purposefully walking. Quietly, I ducked into the corner and looked down the hall. Two men in suits were quietly walking and talking. Nothing out of the ordinary. But that’s the problem. It’s never the creepers I worry about. But normal people? Men in suits? People who looked like they belong — those are the real threats. They’re the moms and dads taking their kids to school in the sick SUV. The clean cut ones were a pain in my ass. I watched, I waited. They stopped in front of my room.

Shit.

The tall one on the right seemed to be in charge. He motioned for the other to step aside as he pulled out his gun and moved to the front of the door. Wow, a silencer. How predictable. The taller one knocked on the door and said in a low baritone, “Security.”

I rolled my eyes. Security, my ass.

They weren’t my men. They sure as hell weren’t familiar. I reached for my Glock and held it behind me, making my way casually down the hall. As I approached, they both looked up and offered easy smiles, which meant one thing.

They weren’t there for me. They didn’t even know who I was.

They were there for Mil.

I gave them a cocky grin, counting the seconds until I could punch in their shit-eating faces. On the plus side, I could take out all my pent-up frustration on them, poor bastards.

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