Midnight Captive by Elle Kennedy Page A

other?” she asked, then cursed herself for opening her stupid mouth.
    Because his green eyes were gleaming now, smoldering with sin. “What do you think, luv?”
    Several seconds ticked by as their gazes held.
    “It’s fucking,” he drawled. “Pure, hard-core fucking.”
    Her breath lodged in her lungs. Sean’s sultry gaze held her captive, making it impossible to turn away. The man radiated sexuality. He always had. It heated his eyes and rippled through his body, and whenever he directed all that sensual energy her way, her body responded.
    “Would you like to help me out with that?” A mocking note entered his deep voice. “Because I’m more than happy to stop tearing up my hands and put them to better use.”
    She hated him. Hated that her nipples puckered against the front of her tank top, hated that he could see her response. She’d left her long-sleeve shirt at the bank, and the camisole she wore was too skimpy to hide a thing. Her breasts ached and her core pulsed, so hard she had to clench her thighs to curb the hot throb of arousal.
    “What do you say?” He dragged his tongue over his lower lip, a gesture that should have been lewd, but made her heart beat faster. “Wanna help me fuck all the tension away?”
    She was too mesmerized by the seductive rasp of his voice, the raw desire glittering in his eyes.
    “Or maybe you can just suck me,” he said silkily. “You know, just to take the edge off.”
    The vulgar suggestion jolted her back to reality. “Fuck you,” she muttered.
    “Yes, fuck me.” A defiant smile curved his lips. “Fuck me, Bailey.”
    She stared at him.
    “No?” The smile widened, taunting as hell. “Then I guess I’ll continue doing the next best thing.”
    He tossed the towel away, bare feet padding back to the punching bag. Bailey’s frustration returned in full force as she watched him pound on the bag once more.
    Thwack. Thwack.
    God, he was such an ass. Why couldn’t her traitorous body see that?
    She leaned her head back on the couch cushion, ignoring the arousal still coursing through her veins. Maybe she was just sex deprived. The last time she’d slept with someone had been nearly a year ago, a couple of months after her night with Sean. She’d been desperate to exorcise the man from her system, so she’d hooked up with a SEAL she’d met in the Middle East. The sex had been . . . decent.
    But nowhere near as good as it had been with the arrogant asshole who was currently scraping his knuckles raw on a defenseless punching bag.
    Damn it. Why had she come? Why was she
still
here?
    For Oliver,
a little voice reminded her.
    Bailey took a deep breath, focusing on the twin whowas actually in danger and not the one who
was
the danger. It would all be okay. O’Hare would make the trade, Oliver would be fine, and then she could walk away and leave Sean Reilly in her dust.
    Until then, she just had to do a better job of steeling herself against him.
    *   *   *
    Sean didn’t want to give Bailey the satisfaction of telling her she was right, but hell, he’d definitely overdone it with the bag. By the time he finally called it quits, his knuckles were bruised and swollen, and both his hands ached when he flexed his fingers.
    Rabbit was taking too long to respond. Sean knew his old boss had received his text—the phone showed him whenever a message had been read—so why the radio silence? Rabbit had to know that Gallagher and the others were dead. Did he hold Sean responsible for their suicide by Garda? Fuck. If he did, then he might’ve already taken it out on Oliver.
    Sean inhaled slowly. No. Ollie had to be alive. He had to trust that Rabbit wouldn’t hurt him, not when Sean still had the flash drive.
    He grabbed his phone from the desk and checked the screen, but no new messages had come through.
    “I’m taking a shower,” he announced.
    From her spot on the couch, Bailey swung her head around, and the sight was so fucking beautiful it hurt to look