Licensed to Kill

Chapter 18

"I'm setting an alarm for five-thirty," Dallas said, sleepily fiddling with his phone. "We'll get up, eat some shitty café food if it feels safe enough – that place across the street opens at five – and we'll put a plan together for the day. Sound good?"

His statement confirmed just how physically drained he was. Never had I known Dallas to call it a night without planning out the entire next day – and sometimes the day after that, too. It wasn't like him to say we could plan something out in the morning. He liked to be prepared to the point of overkill, and so did I. I'd adopted that trait from him after years of his mission techniques rubbing off on me. We lived by the idea that it was always better to be over prepared than under prepared.

I watched his tall frame in the glow of the flickering lamplight as he tossed the thin, worn out comforter to the foot of the bed and shoved his still damp hair back. The muscles in his back were visibly tight beneath his shirt, showcasing his stress. My palms itched to touch him again, to feel his skin at my fingertips. I wanted to massage away his tension.

"Tali?" His voice was low. "Did you hear what I said?"

He got in bed and scooted back to sit up against the headboard, watching me with questioning eyes.

I nodded and rubbed my eyes, blinking a few times and saying nothing. I cleared our gear and casework off of my side of the bed, laying it on the floor a few feet away. Dallas and I set our pistols on our respective nightstands and I slipped into bed beside him, shuffling around until I decided I was as comfortable as I was going to get, and I pulled the string on the lamp, cloaking the room in darkness. The only light came from headlights as cars passed by the motel.

A deep, tired sigh came from Dallas as he adjusted his position and finally laid down. I felt him pull the covers up, and I could hear his breathing become quieter, but I knew he wasn't asleep.

I stared a hole through the stained wall, listening to the incessant sound of water dripping from the ceiling. We had our backs to each other, but I could feel the heat radiating off of Dallas's body. His warmth enveloped me like a comforting hug and I smiled, despite my miserable state.

As I lay there unable to fall asleep, I forced myself to think of happy memories with Dallas, rather than dwelling on our current unfavorable conditions. Occasionally, Enrique Bellucci's cruel eyes would emerge in my head like they were glaring right into my soul. I'd do my best to shake away his image, replacing it with Dallas's smiling face, but it wouldn't be long before another villain's likeness would appear, crashing through the wall of happy thoughts I was trying to build – it was more fun stacking "happy bricks" than counting sheep, I suppose.

Around one o'clock, I glanced at the clock with stinging eyes. I was sure the whites of my eyes must've been a flaming red by then. They burned like they were, anyway.

Trying my damnedest not to wake Dallas, I slowly rolled over and inched my way closer to him, instantly feeling a little better when I felt more of his body heat. I nestled my face into the pillow, finally ready to pass out, but a soft mumble of something indecipherable paired with a deep groan filled the silence, and I realized my efforts to not wake my bedmate had been unsuccessful.

"Tali? You okay?"

His voice was gentle, yet steady in a way that said he was ready to leap from the bed and go hunt down whichever sorry son of a bitch was plaguing my thoughts and preventing my rest. I couldn't help thinking that the gruffness laced in his words was sexy, like his panty-drenching morning voice. There had always been something about the way Dallas muttered sleepily in bed that instantly shifted my priorities and made me want to climb on top of him. It was like a switch flipped in my internal programming and lust was taking over.