pillows and a small white nightstand still decorated the room.
Estelle and Celia wore headphones, tuned in to any sound John Black made. Sam perched in front of the television monitor hooked to the video camera Maybel operated. Rose held binoculars,
“What’s he doing now?” Sam’s words were clipped. She spun to the window. “Do you hear anything? Anything else?”
Celia and Estelle both shook their heads.
“He’s doing a lot of grunting.”
“Maybel, can you see anything?” Sam asked.
She, too, shook her head from behind the video camera.
“He’s involved in something,” Sam said. “Viktor Heinrich. The port. This isn’t a coincidence. It has to have something to do with Dad’s case. It just has to.”
None of the women contradicted her theory.
“Keep eyes on him,” Sam insisted. “Where is he now? I want to know every move he makes.”
“We lost him,” Estelle said. “He was near the couch, and now he’s…gone.”
“Gone? Gone? He can’t be gone. Keep looking.”
The ladies surveyed his house.
Silence.
Sam had never been very good with silence. “Anything?”
“Nothing.”
She didn’t feel anything but the pounding of her impatient heart. Not the soft carpet beneath her bare feet. Not the sweep of cool air from the overhead vent. “Where is he?”
“I think…” Celia began. Sam jerked her head to the woman. “Wait.”
“Wait, what?” Sam bit off. “Celia, what ?”
“I hear something. Music, I think.”
“I have movement,” Maybel said from behind the video camera. “Top right window. Lights just went on.”
“Got it.” Sam lifted high-powered binoculars to her eyes. “There you are, you—”
Wow.
Not expecting the view, Sam stopped breathing.
He stood in the middle of the empty room, with music blaring, completely nude.
As in naked .
His entire front bare for them to see.
He appeared to be doing a workout routine on the hardwood floor. Since the room was empty, there was nothing else to look at but him.
Tear your eyes away. Tear. Your. Eyes. Away.
She tried, God she tried, but she physically couldn’t. She was transfixed by his body, corded with muscle. His movements fluid with every twist. Massively wide shoulders, strong arms, and a firm abdomen flowed into a tight waist and sculpted legs. She couldn’t begin to describe what lay between his legs. That, too, deserved praise. Holy. Hell.
Sam’s mouth went bone dry.
Ten hours. That was her first coherent thought. He must work out for ten hours a day to have a cut body like that. No real human man could achieve it otherwise. Or he’s an alien. That was the only other explanation. He was an alien from Asgard or Krypton. Yeah, that had to be it. Chris Hemsworth had moved in next door.
The only sound emanating from the room were the breaths each woman heaved while watching him curl his hunky arms with weights and then do jumping jacks.
Up, down, up, down.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
“Is everyone seein’ what I’m seein’?” Estelle spoke in a breathy tone. “I’m not imaginin’ his throbbin’ banana bouncin’ like that, right? It’s really happenin’?”
“Uh-huh,” Maybel said behind her, fixated on the room with binoculars. Sam thought the older woman might have even licked her lips. “He appears to…” Her throat rippled as she swallowed. “… enjoy working out.”
“Well,” Estelle spoke, barely audible, doing some swallowing of her own, “he might be a drug dealer, but at least he’s… fit .”
“Uh-huh,” Maybel said. “Fit.”
Sweat streamed down his muscled chest, mingling with the light dusting of dark hair. Sam imagined running her tongue along the path, tasting the salty sweetness of his tan skin. It probably tasted like sunshine. She’d never wanted to taste someone’s chest so badly in her life. A primal need to lick him all over grabbed hold of her and refused to let go.
God, the way his strong legs flexed and constricted.
Her own skin
Estelle and Celia wore headphones, tuned in to any sound John Black made. Sam perched in front of the television monitor hooked to the video camera Maybel operated. Rose held binoculars,
“What’s he doing now?” Sam’s words were clipped. She spun to the window. “Do you hear anything? Anything else?”
Celia and Estelle both shook their heads.
“He’s doing a lot of grunting.”
“Maybel, can you see anything?” Sam asked.
She, too, shook her head from behind the video camera.
“He’s involved in something,” Sam said. “Viktor Heinrich. The port. This isn’t a coincidence. It has to have something to do with Dad’s case. It just has to.”
None of the women contradicted her theory.
“Keep eyes on him,” Sam insisted. “Where is he now? I want to know every move he makes.”
“We lost him,” Estelle said. “He was near the couch, and now he’s…gone.”
“Gone? Gone? He can’t be gone. Keep looking.”
The ladies surveyed his house.
Silence.
Sam had never been very good with silence. “Anything?”
“Nothing.”
She didn’t feel anything but the pounding of her impatient heart. Not the soft carpet beneath her bare feet. Not the sweep of cool air from the overhead vent. “Where is he?”
“I think…” Celia began. Sam jerked her head to the woman. “Wait.”
“Wait, what?” Sam bit off. “Celia, what ?”
“I hear something. Music, I think.”
“I have movement,” Maybel said from behind the video camera. “Top right window. Lights just went on.”
“Got it.” Sam lifted high-powered binoculars to her eyes. “There you are, you—”
Wow.
Not expecting the view, Sam stopped breathing.
He stood in the middle of the empty room, with music blaring, completely nude.
As in naked .
His entire front bare for them to see.
He appeared to be doing a workout routine on the hardwood floor. Since the room was empty, there was nothing else to look at but him.
Tear your eyes away. Tear. Your. Eyes. Away.
She tried, God she tried, but she physically couldn’t. She was transfixed by his body, corded with muscle. His movements fluid with every twist. Massively wide shoulders, strong arms, and a firm abdomen flowed into a tight waist and sculpted legs. She couldn’t begin to describe what lay between his legs. That, too, deserved praise. Holy. Hell.
Sam’s mouth went bone dry.
Ten hours. That was her first coherent thought. He must work out for ten hours a day to have a cut body like that. No real human man could achieve it otherwise. Or he’s an alien. That was the only other explanation. He was an alien from Asgard or Krypton. Yeah, that had to be it. Chris Hemsworth had moved in next door.
The only sound emanating from the room were the breaths each woman heaved while watching him curl his hunky arms with weights and then do jumping jacks.
Up, down, up, down.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
“Is everyone seein’ what I’m seein’?” Estelle spoke in a breathy tone. “I’m not imaginin’ his throbbin’ banana bouncin’ like that, right? It’s really happenin’?”
“Uh-huh,” Maybel said behind her, fixated on the room with binoculars. Sam thought the older woman might have even licked her lips. “He appears to…” Her throat rippled as she swallowed. “… enjoy working out.”
“Well,” Estelle spoke, barely audible, doing some swallowing of her own, “he might be a drug dealer, but at least he’s… fit .”
“Uh-huh,” Maybel said. “Fit.”
Sweat streamed down his muscled chest, mingling with the light dusting of dark hair. Sam imagined running her tongue along the path, tasting the salty sweetness of his tan skin. It probably tasted like sunshine. She’d never wanted to taste someone’s chest so badly in her life. A primal need to lick him all over grabbed hold of her and refused to let go.
God, the way his strong legs flexed and constricted.
Her own skin
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