“In.” One hand at the base of her back, he shoved, not even trying to be gentle. He needed her under the water.

“Argh—” Her shout cut off and her mouth dropped open as the spray hit her skin.

She tried to turn away, to shift back, but he held her there. “Yeah, it’s going to sting.”

“This isn’t frostbite.”

“No.” Probably not even frostnip, but now wasn’t the time to talk technical terms.

She started shaking hard enough for her heels to thump against the floor of the old tub. “I’m still freezing.”

He could barely hear her as her jaw rattled and knew he’d fucked up this timing. Ignoring the cold and her body and every other signal that this had been a piss-poor idea, he stepped in next to her. The second his shoe hit the tub bottom, she turned. Her fingers curled into his wet shirt as she buried her face in his neck.

“There you go.” The position let him maneuver her closer to the spray. With his arms wrapped around her, he pushed her back, submerging them both in the spray. He rubbed his palms over her. Whispered into her hair. He didn’t even know what he said, but the mumbling had her clenched muscles relaxing and her body falling deeper against his.

Another few seconds and her body warmed. Then he hit the tipping point. When the touching went from saving to savoring. When he stopped worrying about her breathing and struggled to control his own. Her body, all lean muscles and sexy curves, fit against him as he knew it would. The slow, sensual torture as she blew soft puffs of air against his throat confirmed one thing he knew before the private plane had taken off to bring them here—he was fucked. That was the only explanation for breaking into a sweat in these temperatures.

He cleared his throat and inched back so he could look into her eyes. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

The haze had gone, and something else replaced it. Something he couldn’t think about for more than two seconds or he’d be rationalizing how fucking her could warm her right up.

He waited until she nodded to drop his hands and reached around her to shut off the water. The brush of his arm across her ass was pure accident but pretty damn great. “Good to hear it.”

Her fingers relaxed against his shirt, but she didn’t let go as she glanced down between their bodies. Focused on the bulge in his wet and confining jeans. “Is that still nothing but harmless reaction?”

“Depends on how you define ‘harmless,’ but yeah.” The bigger worry was that he’d be in this state until he delivered her back to civilization.

What qualified as worse than being fucked? He was that.

•   •   •

She tried to swallow as he moved away from her. She’d been cold, too cold, and every action he took made sense. Brought her back to sanity faster. Even now her mind clicked into gear. Reality crashed into her right after.

Big, sturdy, commanding and so rough around the edges—she wanted it all. They’d met back before she left the CIA. Him hovering at the fringes of her life. The limited space between them had taken a toll.

Blame the adrenaline rush or the blanket of danger she’d been under for so long, but she wanted this—him. For her. Not pretty, not a commitment, not even a date. Just hot, out-of-control sex. Abandon her hang-ups and forget everything sex. Get-lost-in-him sex.

But it couldn’t happen, or so she kept repeating in her head, hoping her body would catch up to her brain. Not if they were stuck out here, always on watch. Not if he saw her as a job. She had to rein in the need pumping through her and find a kick of self-preservation or she’d be crawling all over him.

She was about to point out that the whole cold, wet clothes thing had been his fault when he started to strip. Stood right in front of the sink and peeled the wet shirt off. Dropped it to the floor and let it slap against the hardwood. Then he reached for the Henley underneath and pulled it up, revealing miles of broad back with muscles carved into every inch.

Like everything else about him, his back, all that skin, wasn’t perfect and pretty. Faint white scars marked his upper back as if he’d been lashed. A jagged line stretched along the right side of his back and disappeared around to his front. Likely from a knife. The wounds of a warrior. Of the man who went in first, took on the most dangerous jobs.

The ripping sound of a zipper cut through the room and her mental inventory. He shifted his hips, then the wet jeans dropped, taking a tight pair of gray boxer briefs with them. Her gaze slipped from the dip in the small of his back, down his ass cheeks, so round and firm. No fat, just perfectly formed and muscled.

His shoulders stiffened for a second then fell again. “I don’t care if you look.”

That comment had her fumbling as she reached for the closest towels, and not from the cold this time. She wrapped one around her chest and folded the end against her skin for a snug fit. Tucked her wet hair up in the other.

Somewhat dressed and feeling a bit more sturdy on her feet, she tackled the bigger issue. “This isn’t going to work.”

The door to the cabinet under the sink slammed as he reached for a towel. They’d somehow managed to use three of the total four available in a five-minute span. Still, him with a towel balanced on those hips, turned away from her, showing off that broad back and the outline of every muscle, proved potent enough. Naked and facing her might cause her to make a humiliating scene.

Which brought her right back to the topic he seemed to be ignoring. “We are never going to last a week.”

He rubbed a hand through his hair, smoothing down the stray strands. “We get along fine.”

She meant without having sex, but she took the easy out. “You know I’m trained. We both know sitting here waiting to get shot at or blown up is stupid.”

“Neither of those things is going to happen.”

She had no intention of letting either of them get injured, but that wasn’t really the point. It was one of tactics and strategy. “I should be moving every day or two as I zigzag my way from here to nowhere in particular.”

Still he didn’t face her. “We’re done with this argument.”

“So if someone fires a grenade launcher—”

He spun around, those dark eyes snapping with fury. “I’ll know before they try. If for some reason I don’t, I will push you to safety.”

Anger zipped through him. She could see it in every stiff line of his body. In the tiny lines at the corners of his mouth where his lips had thinned into a grim slash. No question about it. He would sacrifice his life for hers without even blinking. She got that but she didn’t like it.

Ever since the whole CIA mess with her backing her team against her CIA superiors and landing on their target list, she’d been shoved into a position of accepting gratitude and help from other people. Bast acted as her lawyer, even when she didn’t want one. Hired Gabe when she’d said no. “I don’t remember agreeing that you’re the boss on this gig.”

“Humor me.”

She picked up the blanket sitting on the edge of the sink, unsure how it even got there, and slipped it around her shoulders. “Fine. Since my plan was to go on the run by myself, not drag anyone else into potential danger, why don’t you tell me your plan.”

“We stick together. You follow my directions until we have confirmation that the CIA believes you intend to keep quiet about the secrets you know and plans to uphold their end of the agreement.”

It sounded simple, but she knew from experience that little about the CIA operated that smoothly. “I’m unclear on how exactly we get that confirmation.”

“The most obvious?” He shrugged. “No one tries to kill you. No one comes here and we don’t pick up word about you being hunted.”

That sounded a bit loose for her comfort. “‘Pick up word’?”

“Andy handles that part. He tracks chatter and contacts and looks for signs that someone is trying to find you.”