breach the security of his estate. Were they connected?
Ben stirred, as if sensing his father’s agitation.
With a sigh, Dylan checked his watch. He’d dozed for about twenty minutes. He kissed the top of Ben’s head, then a little scratch above his eyebrow.
He needed to get back down to the lab. He was nearly done mapping the nerves. If Natasha could hold off the hacker long enough, Campbell could finish debugging the program, and Dylan could test it one last time. Then they could encase it in the specially built box, and NSA could transport it, along with Dylan and Ben, to whatever secret government location they wished.
Once he was satisfied that Ben’s surgery was successful, Dylan planned to wash his hands of the damned interface, the government and the encroaching danger. Maybe once it was out of his hands, he could be sure his child was truly safe.
Moving quietly, he got up and glanced at the connecting door that led to his room, the room he’d vacated when Natasha had arrived. He was spending most of his time in the lab, and he liked the idea that Charlene was on one side of Ben and Natasha was on the other.
Natasha had looked ill by the time she’d gone into her room. Had she just been feeling the reaction to the close call with the helicopter, or had she been hurt worse than he’d realized?
The sight of her grimy, scratched face, eyes dark with concern for Ben, rose in his mind. He’d already seen how seriously she took her job, but today, she’d earned his admiration and trust, and his undying gratitude. She’d protected his child without thought to her own safety.
He needed to check on her. To thank her. After slipping on his shoes, he tiptoed over to the door and knocked lightly.
No answer. He wasn’t surprised. Natasha didn’t seem like the type to waste time or indulge herself when there was work to be done. She’d probably already cleaned up and gone down to the lab. He knocked again.
Behind him, Ben stirred. Not wanting to wake him, Dylan turned the knob and slipped through the door.
“Natasha?” he called.
No sign of her, except her dusty clothes tossed in a corner. Oh well, he’d catch up with her in the lab. As he started toward the hall door, he heard a faint noise behind him.
The bathroom door opened and she emerged, one hand toweling her wet hair, the other pulling a very short, very damp purple satin robe closed.
“Oh.” Her eyes widened.
Her face, her neck, the hollow between her breasts, gleamed with dampness. Every curve of her body was unmistakably outlined by the wet satin. Her concave belly and delicate navel were exposed to Dylan’shungry view, as was the golden glistening shadow between her legs.
To his surprise, his body reacted immediately and urgently. Suddenly, he grew hard, his arousal throbbing with a delicious ache against the constricting seam of his jeans. Desire, hot and unfamiliar, streaked through him.
Twice in less than twenty-four hours he’d reacted sexually to Natasha Rudolph.
Twice . Yet he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been attracted to a woman. The last time he’d felt anything at all other than the fear that he wouldn’t be able to save Ben’s legs.
She yanked her robe closed, and let the towel drop to the floor. His jaw ached as the terry cloth slid down her legs—legs that went on forever, smooth and creamy. He raised his gaze, tracing the strong shapely thighs back up until they disappeared under the very short robe.
His gaze continued upward. Her breasts had tightened. The thin wet fabric revealed each puckered ridge of her nipples.
His mouth went dry as he imagined the taste of them. “I’m sorry—” he croaked.
“Did you—” she said at the same time. “Did you need something? Is Ben okay?”
His gaze flew to her face. “Your face is bleeding,” he whispered hoarsely.
Her eyes, starred by her pale wet lashes, widened. She shook her head. “Just scratches,” she said tightly, releasing one edge of
Ben stirred, as if sensing his father’s agitation.
With a sigh, Dylan checked his watch. He’d dozed for about twenty minutes. He kissed the top of Ben’s head, then a little scratch above his eyebrow.
He needed to get back down to the lab. He was nearly done mapping the nerves. If Natasha could hold off the hacker long enough, Campbell could finish debugging the program, and Dylan could test it one last time. Then they could encase it in the specially built box, and NSA could transport it, along with Dylan and Ben, to whatever secret government location they wished.
Once he was satisfied that Ben’s surgery was successful, Dylan planned to wash his hands of the damned interface, the government and the encroaching danger. Maybe once it was out of his hands, he could be sure his child was truly safe.
Moving quietly, he got up and glanced at the connecting door that led to his room, the room he’d vacated when Natasha had arrived. He was spending most of his time in the lab, and he liked the idea that Charlene was on one side of Ben and Natasha was on the other.
Natasha had looked ill by the time she’d gone into her room. Had she just been feeling the reaction to the close call with the helicopter, or had she been hurt worse than he’d realized?
The sight of her grimy, scratched face, eyes dark with concern for Ben, rose in his mind. He’d already seen how seriously she took her job, but today, she’d earned his admiration and trust, and his undying gratitude. She’d protected his child without thought to her own safety.
He needed to check on her. To thank her. After slipping on his shoes, he tiptoed over to the door and knocked lightly.
No answer. He wasn’t surprised. Natasha didn’t seem like the type to waste time or indulge herself when there was work to be done. She’d probably already cleaned up and gone down to the lab. He knocked again.
Behind him, Ben stirred. Not wanting to wake him, Dylan turned the knob and slipped through the door.
“Natasha?” he called.
No sign of her, except her dusty clothes tossed in a corner. Oh well, he’d catch up with her in the lab. As he started toward the hall door, he heard a faint noise behind him.
The bathroom door opened and she emerged, one hand toweling her wet hair, the other pulling a very short, very damp purple satin robe closed.
“Oh.” Her eyes widened.
Her face, her neck, the hollow between her breasts, gleamed with dampness. Every curve of her body was unmistakably outlined by the wet satin. Her concave belly and delicate navel were exposed to Dylan’shungry view, as was the golden glistening shadow between her legs.
To his surprise, his body reacted immediately and urgently. Suddenly, he grew hard, his arousal throbbing with a delicious ache against the constricting seam of his jeans. Desire, hot and unfamiliar, streaked through him.
Twice in less than twenty-four hours he’d reacted sexually to Natasha Rudolph.
Twice . Yet he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been attracted to a woman. The last time he’d felt anything at all other than the fear that he wouldn’t be able to save Ben’s legs.
She yanked her robe closed, and let the towel drop to the floor. His jaw ached as the terry cloth slid down her legs—legs that went on forever, smooth and creamy. He raised his gaze, tracing the strong shapely thighs back up until they disappeared under the very short robe.
His gaze continued upward. Her breasts had tightened. The thin wet fabric revealed each puckered ridge of her nipples.
His mouth went dry as he imagined the taste of them. “I’m sorry—” he croaked.
“Did you—” she said at the same time. “Did you need something? Is Ben okay?”
His gaze flew to her face. “Your face is bleeding,” he whispered hoarsely.
Her eyes, starred by her pale wet lashes, widened. She shook her head. “Just scratches,” she said tightly, releasing one edge of
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