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“I feel good. Why should I sleep? I think maybe we should talk about this kiss some more.”
She pokes me in the center of my tactical vest with her pointer finger. “Or maybe we should talk about what’s in your pants. Do you have a big stethoscope?”
I nearly choke to death on my own saliva. “No. Let’s not.”
“I thought with the way you kissed me you’d want to show me your—.”
Damn woman. “Simona!”
She makes a satisfied sound in her throat as she grins.
I shake my head. Vixen. All attitude and sexy as fuck wrapped up in a tight little package with every damn trait I find irresistible. “Just close your eyes and fall asleep. Your body needs it.”
And I need it. God help me.
“I’m aroused. Everything is all warm from my head to my….”
I bite out a growl. “Faaak—”
“I can’t help it. Is this supposed to happen?”
I remove her finger from my chest and press it down to her side. Touching me is a really bad idea right now. “Hell if I know.”
“Put some of that stuff on you.”
Andre laughs out loud in the front seat.
“No. Actually, that’s a ‘hell, no’.”
My control is paper thin right now. An aphrodisiac would turn me into a rutting, wild animal.
Her wet-dream inducing lower lip sticks out in a pout. “The man is a chicken.”
“Call me what you want. I’m not only your doctor, I’m guarding you from that crazy fucker that shot you point blank. I need to have a clear head.”
She sighs. “Ah, you do have a point. Maybe later. Maybe you can use it on the way home to the States and we can join the mile high club together.”
I drop my head back onto the headrest of the seat. “God. Save. Me. My patient has been possessed.”
Eyeballing the salve, I consider slathering another dose on her to knock her out, because the last thing I want to be talking about or thinking about is kissing her.
Mile high clubs.
And god forbid, a tattoo on her labia!
CHAPTER SEVEN
The bedroom door latch clicks as I pull it closed behind me. “She’s asleep.”
Andre suppresses his smirk. “That smelly crap flipped her for a loop.”
Shaking my head, I mutter, “He warned me.”
He eases back the curtain just enough to take a look outside the small window. “She’s a handful anyway. Give her drugs and she’s a real firecracker.”
Dropping onto the sofa, I ask, “What’s her story?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I know she’s from the Czech Republic, but she never lets on much. Marshall might know more.”
