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“No.”

“At least we have something. Let’s go back to the hotel and wait to hear from Rhett.”

They had to be careful of the woman, if Dani was right and she’d followed them to the hotel, anyone could be waiting for them there. At the same token, they wouldn’t have made it this far if she was that close. “Yeah. We should get out of here.” He folded her hand in his and left the apartment. Rhett had told them to stay low, and they couldn’t take the chance of going to the authorities until he knew for sure it was safe.

“What’s on your mind?” Brock’s question popped the bubble of her thoughts. She stretched her legs in front of her, toward the window, but didn’t take her eyes off the Eiffel Tower. They had two key players in the plan to steal the Chrisolicom XII virus and let it loose in several countries—but it didn’t feel like enough.

She shrugged. “We’re at a standstill. How is it possible that we’re carrying this formula, we know Sven and Giles’s plan and where they were residing, yet it’s not safe to go to the police?”

“If you think about it, other than the map with the dates, what do we have to prove Giles is involved?”

She stood up and paced the floor. “That’s what’s pissing me off. We’re so close, but we’re missing the most important piece of the puzzle—proof he’s the one behind this.”

She stopped to take in Brock’s form. He leaned against the window, one hand shoved in his pocket. The backlighting made him appear even wider and more formidable. She took a few more steps and rested her hands on the back of the chair. God, she could stare at this view for the rest of her life. And she wasn’t just talking about the Eiffel Tower. She might never get the chance to return to Paris, and if she did, it probably wouldn’t be with Brock. She didn’t need a crystal ball to know that once they got back to San Diego, they’d fall into old patterns and the adrenaline that had brought them together in Europe would vanish. Resentment and delicious memories of his lavish kisses and generous pleasure-giving would be all that remained.

Was it so wrong to stay with someone because of the sex? Good sex had to count for something.

Brock moved away from the window and stood behind her, settling his large palms on her shoulders. Heat radiated off his muscular hands and seeped into her tense muscles like a poultice on a wound. He moved them in a circular motion and she dropped her head back and moaned. “Ah, you have the most incredible hands.”

His raspy laugh tickled the back of her neck. “And you,” he said, dragging his knuckles down her arms and back up, “have the most incredible body.”

“Mmm. I thought you were going to say mind.” Her cheeks warmed as her lips slid into an involuntary smile.

“That too.” He dropped a kiss on her neck and desire scorched over her skin, springing her nerve endings to life.

“I know it’s frustrating. For now, we need to stay safe and let Rhett work on this.”

“Have you heard anything?”

“It’s 7:00 a.m. in San Diego right now. I’m sure we’ll hear something soon.”

She nodded and let the back of her head rest against his pec. His hands continued to work over her shoulders then moved down her arms, turning her body to liquid fire. No man had the power to turn her on like he did. She hadn’t dated much since breaking up with Brock. The odd blind date or late-night drink after going out with Peyton—all had left her feeling empty and longing for the connection she’d always had with Brock. It wasn’t just the way her body fell in tune with his. It wasn’t just his irresistible smile and boyish behavior that made her float. It was something more. Something that pulled behind her breastbone and made her susceptible to every grin, every laugh, and every touch of his hand.

She wasn’t dumb enough to believe that if they survived this hellish mess, their problems would go away. All the pinnacle points of their relationship had been a result of the rush of a job. They both thrived on adrenaline, danger—and money. Working together had given them a high nothing else could. And after this was over, she couldn’t return to that life. She’d been kidnapped, and now this. God was giving her a firm warning to stop. If she was fortunate enough to survive, she’d heed the message.

“I was thinking,” Brock said, his voice gravelly next to her ear. “It might be a long time before you get that honeymoon in Paris.”

“What are you trying to say?” she asked, pretending to be offended. She couldn’t help but feel utterly relaxed when his body was so close to hers. He tickled her side and she giggled.

His laugh shook her. “Have dinner with me at the Eiffel Tower.”

Her pulse slowed, and she stopped smiling. A tiny bud of delight planted itself in her heart, but she didn’t dare allow it room to bloom. Dinner with Brock at one of the most romantic places on earth would be dangerous. But the roar of excitement in her blood was more so. She turned around to face him.

Relax. It’s just dinner.

She plucked at the material of his T-shirt and slowly inched her gaze up his chest, over his chiseled, shadowed jaw, to the warm hazel eyes that searched her face with uncertainty. A smile smoothed out his lips, and he averted his gaze.

“It was just an idea. I can cancel the reservation?—”

She flattened her palm to his chest. “You made a reservation?”

He lifted his hand to sweep it over the wayward strands of his hair. “Yeah, well. I figured it wouldn’t be drop-in style.”

“How? They’re probably booked a year in advance.”

He brushed his knuckles over the loose strands around her face. “They had a cancellation. Are you going to give me an answer or not?”

“I’d love to.” Although her lips ached to grin, she couldn’t. Brock sensed her hesitation and rocked her in his arms.