Page 56 of Locked and Loaded

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

She'd changed back into the jeans and the white cotton blouse from the backpack. The robe had felt too much like waiting, too passive. If she was going to steal a key from a man who noticed everything, she wanted clothes she could move in. The blouse was soft from being folded, a crease running down the front where it had sat in the bag. She didn't bother smoothing it out.

Despite the crack in the door letting the scant light in from the courtyard, the room had gone dark except for a single lamp on the desk. Outside the gallery doors, the riad had settled into silence.

She'd been sitting there for what felt like an hour when she heard his footsteps in the hall. Then the click of the bathroom door. Then water began running.

She was on her feet before she'd finished the thought.

The bathroom Dragan used was on this floor. She berated herself for not exploring it earlier. Now, thanks to her error, she’d have to search the layout blind.

She moved down the gallery as quietly as possible, the tile cool beneath her bare feet.

At the bathroom door she stopped and listened. The water was running full, and the sound of movement reached her from within. The door wasn't latched, and sat just slightly ajar, a sliver of yellow light cutting across the dark hallway.

She set her crossbody bag down on the floor, and then she pushed the door open with two fingers.

The bathroom was bigger than she'd expected. A long room with the copper basin at one end and a deep soaking tub at the other, but it was the shower enclosure in the corner that snagged her attention. Steam was already clouding the glass. She could see the outline of him through it, blurred and indistinct.

His clothes were on a wooden bench against the wall. Jeans. A dark t-shirt. And on top of the jeans next to a cell phone, glinting in the steam, was the key. Iron and heavy, on a simple ring.

She crossed the room in three steps and focused hard on grabbing the object. Her fingers closed around the key, and it was warm, like it had been sitting in his pocket for hours. Which she was sure it had. She lifted it soundlessly and turned toward the door.

A hand closed around her wrist.

She didn't scream. Later she'd be proud of that. What she did was freeze, her heart slamming against her ribs so hard she could feel it in her throat.

Dragan spun her around. He had a towel slung low around his hips and nothing else. His hair was wet and pushed back from his face, and water was still running in beads down his chest, tracing the scar along his ribs. He didn't look angry. He looked like a man who had been expecting exactly this and was only mildly surprised she'd taken this long.

"You could have just asked," he said.

His voice was low and entirely too calm. He still had hold of her wrist. His grip wasn't tight enough to hurt. It was just tight enough that she couldn't pull away.

"I didn't think you'd say yes."

"You didn't ask."

She lifted her chin. "Fine. Can I have the key?"

"No."

"See? Asking isn’t a useful strategy."

The corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't quite a smile. "And stealing it is?"

"It was working until you grabbed me."

"You were two steps from the door. That's not working. That's almost getting caught."

"I wasn't almost caught. I was caught. There's a difference."

He tilted his head, studying her. "Is there?"

"Yes. Almost caught means I made a mistake. Caught means you were waiting for me."

"Maybe I was."

She should have pulled away. His hand was still around her wrist. She could feel each individual finger, the calluses on his palm, the heat and humidity coming off him from the shower. She was standing in a bathroom with a naked man who had just caught her stealing from him, and the only thing she could think was that she didn't want him to let go.