Hunted Through Italy

In this scene, you’ll see Buck fighting his attraction to Zaire. They’re in an abandoned CIA safe house, where they’ll be able to get some rest and food to eat. 

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His thoughts screeched to a halt at the sound of running water. Zaire was in the shower.

Naked.

Soap suds and water running down her body.

Buck shook his head and shoved to his feet. She was absolutely not his type. She talked too much. She asked too many questions.

So why did his body temperature suddenly increase by fifty degrees? And why did he have an almost violent response to the attention she received from good ole Paul? He’d been ready to choke him out where he stood.

I can’t believe you’re going back to America. You’ll be missed.

Buck blew out a puff of frustrated air.

His attraction to Zaire was a problem for two reasons. One, he’d sworn off women for the foreseeable future. They were a complication he didn’t need. Two, he never ever got involved with women while on a mission. It created complications that could affect decision-making—a major problem when a split second decision could mean the difference between life and death.

He opened the window wider and let in more of the night’s cool air. Music floated in from somewhere nearby. He heard laughter and the occasional clink of glasses as diners enjoyed late-night drinks at one of the trattorias, the enticing aroma of garlic and rosemary making his mouth water.

Was there any food in this place?

He checked the refrigerator and found an unopened bottle of red wine, moldy cheese, and questionable looking salami. The cabinets contained a couple bags of dried linguine and canned vegetables, including chickpeas and tomatoes. He checked the expiration dates. None of them had expired, so they were a possibility for a simple dinner. He placed the items on the counter.

The shower stopped.

He waited, tense, ears cocked for the sound of movement.

Moments later, the door opened, and the thrum of his heart beat as loud as a bass drum. He had to get rid of the inappropriate thoughts about Zaire. She was under his care.

He walked down the short, dim hall and was about to go through the open bathroom door when the bedroom door suddenly opened.

“Oh!” Zaire froze and her eyes widened with surprise.

Buck froze too. And he stared.

The pale yellow towel highlighted the richness of her dark brown skin, which carried a dewy sheen from her shower. His gazed drifted down the length of her body, and he felt his d*ck hardened at the thought that she was completely and utterly naked under the towel.

He didn’t need this. They were in the middle of a dangerous situation, and he was supposed to protect her.

“I found food in the cabinets,” he said, hardly recognizing the strangled sound of his voice.

“Th-That’s good. I was feeling kind of hungry, especially after we passed a couple of restaurants where I could smell the food. This area is known for its restaurants. I never got the chance to visit before, but it was on my list of places to check out before I return to the states. Did you know there’s a non-Catholic cemetery in this neighborhood and English Romantic poets John Keats and Percy Bysshe Shelley are buried there?”

He almost laughed. “No, I—”

“Testaccio means Monte Testaccio or “mount of shards.” That’s because of the hill made of broken terra cotta vessels used to transport olive oil. They estimate that there are millions of fragments that make up the mound, which is 115 feet tall.” She bit the corner of her lip.

“Thank you for that information.”

“I need to get my clothes from in there.” She pointed at the bathroom. Without waiting for him to respond, she ducked into the bathroom, came out seconds later, and didn’t give him another look before she shut the door to the bedroom.

As if she knew another kind of danger had entered her life.