have what he needs, and I’m waiting for instructions about making a trade. Satisfied?”
“Did you explain that the death of his men wasn’t your fault?”
“No point,” he said tersely. “Rabbit doesn’t want to hear excuses. He just wants to see results.”
Bailey nodded slowly. “So what now?”
Sean turned his back on her again. “Now we wait.”
Chapter 6
Thwack. Thwack-thwack. Thwack.
Bailey tried to ignore the sounds reverberating on the other side of the loft, but it was a difficult task. Sean had been battering that punching bag for the past hour, fists slamming into leather as Bailey sat on the couch, her frustration growing by the second. Couch, bed, and punching bag. Somehow it made sense that those were the main pieces of furniture in Sean’s loft, because sleeping, fucking, and fighting were probably the only things Sean Reilly was interested in. That, and gathering information.
The last thought sent her gaze in the direction of the file cabinets. She really needed to figure out a way to break into them. What kind of dirt had Sean unearthed about her?
Thwack. Thwack-thwack.
And why wasn’t O’Hare calling back? It had been three hours since Sean had texted the man, and Bailey was beginning to get anxious. O’Hare had to have seen the news, must know by now that his men were dead. And he definitely knew that Sean was alive and in possession of the flash drive. So why wasn’t he making a move? Theman had gone to a lot of trouble to secure that drive, which told Bailey he was eager to get his hands on it.
Her gaze traveled back to Sean, and her pulse skipped in the most aggravating way. He’d stripped off his shirt, which left him in those ill-fitting khakis that rode so low on his hips they were in danger of falling off.
Despite her better judgment, she focused on his chest. His very bare chest, which was . . . Fine, it was truly wonderful. Roped muscles and golden skin assaulted her vision. He didn’t have much body hair, save for a dusting between his heavy pecs and the dark line leading to his groin. He was built like a warrior. Tall, broad, and deadly.
Before Bailey could stop it¸ the memory of being underneath that powerful body flashed in her head, and she almost moaned out loud.
The sex had been good.
No, it had been more than good.
But so what? Sean had lied to her from the word
go
. He’d deceived her. And just because she’d known he was doing it didn’t excuse his behavior.
What kind of man pretended to be his twin to get a woman into bed?
She jerked when his gaze suddenly locked with hers. He’d caught her staring, but he didn’t comment. He simply released another one-two punch that made the black leather bag sway wildly. God, he looked . . . feral. Bloody knuckles, handsome face covered by a sheen of sweat, sleek muscles coiling from every deadly strike of his fists.
“Haven’t you had enough yet?” Bailey called out, not bothering to hide how frazzled she was.
He kept on swinging.
“Seriously. You’re going to fuck up your hands.”
Breathing hard, he let his arms fall to the sides. He slanted his head, watching her with an expression that made her skin break out in shivers. Feral, all right.
She rolled her eyes. “What, you’re in adrenaline overload? You need to hit something
this
bad? Because you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep it up.”
“What the hell do you care, luv?” But her words must have penetrated that thick skull of his, because he grabbed a towel from the workout bench behind him and used it to wipe his sweaty face.
Then he strolled toward her, slow, predatory. Red blotches stained the white towel in his hands as he wiped his knuckles on the terry cloth.
“You got me,” he told her. “It
is
adrenaline, and you know why? Because I robbed a bloody bank today, Bailey. And when I’m feeling this way, there’re only two activities that calm me down.” He shrugged. “Fighting’s one of them.”
“What’s the
“Did you explain that the death of his men wasn’t your fault?”
“No point,” he said tersely. “Rabbit doesn’t want to hear excuses. He just wants to see results.”
Bailey nodded slowly. “So what now?”
Sean turned his back on her again. “Now we wait.”
Chapter 6
Thwack. Thwack-thwack. Thwack.
Bailey tried to ignore the sounds reverberating on the other side of the loft, but it was a difficult task. Sean had been battering that punching bag for the past hour, fists slamming into leather as Bailey sat on the couch, her frustration growing by the second. Couch, bed, and punching bag. Somehow it made sense that those were the main pieces of furniture in Sean’s loft, because sleeping, fucking, and fighting were probably the only things Sean Reilly was interested in. That, and gathering information.
The last thought sent her gaze in the direction of the file cabinets. She really needed to figure out a way to break into them. What kind of dirt had Sean unearthed about her?
Thwack. Thwack-thwack.
And why wasn’t O’Hare calling back? It had been three hours since Sean had texted the man, and Bailey was beginning to get anxious. O’Hare had to have seen the news, must know by now that his men were dead. And he definitely knew that Sean was alive and in possession of the flash drive. So why wasn’t he making a move? Theman had gone to a lot of trouble to secure that drive, which told Bailey he was eager to get his hands on it.
Her gaze traveled back to Sean, and her pulse skipped in the most aggravating way. He’d stripped off his shirt, which left him in those ill-fitting khakis that rode so low on his hips they were in danger of falling off.
Despite her better judgment, she focused on his chest. His very bare chest, which was . . . Fine, it was truly wonderful. Roped muscles and golden skin assaulted her vision. He didn’t have much body hair, save for a dusting between his heavy pecs and the dark line leading to his groin. He was built like a warrior. Tall, broad, and deadly.
Before Bailey could stop it¸ the memory of being underneath that powerful body flashed in her head, and she almost moaned out loud.
The sex had been good.
No, it had been more than good.
But so what? Sean had lied to her from the word
go
. He’d deceived her. And just because she’d known he was doing it didn’t excuse his behavior.
What kind of man pretended to be his twin to get a woman into bed?
She jerked when his gaze suddenly locked with hers. He’d caught her staring, but he didn’t comment. He simply released another one-two punch that made the black leather bag sway wildly. God, he looked . . . feral. Bloody knuckles, handsome face covered by a sheen of sweat, sleek muscles coiling from every deadly strike of his fists.
“Haven’t you had enough yet?” Bailey called out, not bothering to hide how frazzled she was.
He kept on swinging.
“Seriously. You’re going to fuck up your hands.”
Breathing hard, he let his arms fall to the sides. He slanted his head, watching her with an expression that made her skin break out in shivers. Feral, all right.
She rolled her eyes. “What, you’re in adrenaline overload? You need to hit something
this
bad? Because you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep it up.”
“What the hell do you care, luv?” But her words must have penetrated that thick skull of his, because he grabbed a towel from the workout bench behind him and used it to wipe his sweaty face.
Then he strolled toward her, slow, predatory. Red blotches stained the white towel in his hands as he wiped his knuckles on the terry cloth.
“You got me,” he told her. “It
is
adrenaline, and you know why? Because I robbed a bloody bank today, Bailey. And when I’m feeling this way, there’re only two activities that calm me down.” He shrugged. “Fighting’s one of them.”
“What’s the
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