“Hold on there, sister, I’m about to get around to your arrest. You may want to keep your mouth closed in the meantime, because consider this your official notice of you rights being read.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m guessing you’ve had them read to you before.”>Farther into a shadowy hallway, he saw a couple of other unobtrusive doors. Could have been offices. But he knew they weren’t. As if on cue, a couple sidled toward one of those back rooms. A woman in fuck-me heels, a shrink-wrapped miniskirt, and a tired perm led a sunburned tourist by the hand. Liam scrubbed a hand over his head and looked away, frustrated all over again that he had to bring Rachel to a place like this. But then the luxurious safe-house quarters on base ultimately hadn’t been any more secure.
He’d accepted the failures he’d made in his personal life. He refused to accept failure in his ability to do his job. And right now, his job was keeping Rachel alive and finding out why Brandon Harris’s accusations had set off such a hailstorm in the military community.
The crack and snap of a game of pool reverberated from the back corner. A beer rested on the edge of the table, serving as a paperweight for a couple of twenties. Angling over the velvet table, a middle-aged guy in khaki cutoffs and a T-shirt lined up his shot.
A brawl could break out at any second in a place like this.
Liam leaned on the bar to hurry things up just as the bartender passed over a bag of food and jug of tea. He passed the guy the extra twenty and made tracks back out to the parking lot toward their first-floor room. How had the air gotten even muggier in the span of—he checked his watch—seventeen minutes? Could be something to do with the woman tucked against his side, a woman he would be spending the whole night with alone in a motel room.
He rounded the corner and found… oh crap.
A local TV station, with bright lights and a camera rolling, taping footage of God only knew what as they interviewed a cop. Probably a knifing or robbery.
Their room was at least five doors down from the epicenter of the media frenzy, straight through the camera’s line of shooting.
“Rachel,” he hissed, turning her around. “We need to go back into the bar.”
“Kiss me.”
“Huh?”
“Turn away from the camera and kiss me.” She grabbed his face and plastered her lips to his, dragging him until his back was to the crowd.
His brain went on stun for a second at just the feel of her mouth on his, her hands against his cheeks. Reason filtered through. But just barely.
He buried his nose in her neck. “Damn it, Rachel, I said not to draw attention to us.”
“Hate to break it to you.” She nuzzled his ear, circling it with her tongue. “But people are already looking. We’ll definitely blend into this place a lot more by acting like a couple of barflies on our way to a motel hookup.”
She had a point.
Liam nipped her shoulder. “We can’t just hang around here all night making out.”
“Then kiss me the whole way to the room.” She looped her arms around his neck, the half-gallon jug of tea thudding between his shoulder blades. “Do you have a problem with that?”
In theory? No. But the reality of tempting himself that much wreaked serious havoc with the rational part of his brain shouting at him to keep Rachel out of harm’s way. The best way to do that? Stay objective.
And objectively speaking, she was actually right about the best way to blend in around here.
“Okay, I can see your point.” He pressed a finger to her mouth. “Let’s get to work and make the hookup look realistic.”
“We need to do more than look realistic.” She drew his finger into her mouth and circled her tongue around the tip.
The one simple stroke ramped the already steamy temperature close to meltdown.
Another car pulled up, headlights sweeping the lot.
Jug of tea in one hand, she pressed his palm to her breast. Before he could pick his jaw up off the cracked sidewalk, she tucked her fingers down into his jeans back pocket and dug her nails into his ass.
Shock held him still for only a second. She was right about making this look realistic. His hand filled with her sweet softness, he backed her toward their room. He drew her tongue into his mouth, massaging the soft curve of her breast, each step of the way careful to tuck them both behind the wall of onlookers eager to appear on television. He had to think, move, hide her away in their room as fast as possible.
Except how was he supposed to think with the taste of her flowing through his veins?
Her hitchy, surprised gasp of pleasure ignited the fire in his belly. She clawed his butt through his jeans pockets and plastered herself to him so convincingly, his hard-on throbbed against his button fly.
“Are we still acting?” He pressed his mouth to the pulse along her neck. “Because we’re well out of range of the camera’s lens.”
“Hell no, I’m not acting. Get me inside,” she gasped. “Now!”