Free Enemy Mine (The Base Branch Series Book 1) by Megan Mitcham
Authors: Megan Mitcham
replied, tone tipping toward harsh.
Once behind the bathroom door, Sloan locked it, turned on the sink to full flow, and threw herself at the toilet. A mixture of bread, bile, and liquor fell into the bowl thanks to a well-placed middle finger and the thought of Kobi’s mouth on her skin. No way in hell could she let the alcohol cloud her judgment or dull her reactions. Sloan flushed away the mess, rinsed with mouthwash, and blotted the make-up under her lashes.
With seconds to spare she considered her reflection. Her hair remained impeccably styled in a low ponytail that cascaded down her back in uniform ringlets. Amber eyes as clear as the Baltic gem. None of the drama within showed on the cool exterior. A lifetime of training did that trick. Blotting the bold lip-stain she applied, Sloan smiled, and opened the bathroom door to deal with Kobi Ross and find a clue to the whereabouts of Devereaux Kendrick’s black book.
The best laid schemes.
10
“ W ow ! This place is amazing.”
The young woman drooping off Baine’s arm titled her head in an awkward angle to take in his suite. He was amazed the words came out in any discernible form, since she stood with one foot dangling over the cliff of pissed drunk. One gust and she’d be legless.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes. Please,” she nearly hollered into his ear. As acting crutch, Baine helped her over to the bed with only a slight weave and wobble in between. The duvet’s fabric snapped, echoing in the big room, and puffed up around the redhead as she sank back onto the covering.
“You’re amazing too,” she said, raising one brow. Her hands fumbled around the top of her short dress, pulling here and tugging there. She looked like a pretty cat stuck in a sock. The thought made the corner of his mouth quirk up as he turned. He didn’t like cats, but boy, were they amusing for a minute.
Baine made his way to the bank of floor-to-ceiling shelves where a decanter of single malt scotch sat. Glasses clanked as he arranged two and poured in the dark liquid. With his back to Kobi’s camera, Baine added three drops of clear liquid to one. By the time he returned to the bed, the cat was out of the bag, or dress, as it were. She lay starkers across the mattress, chin propped in one hand.
“You don’t waste time.”
“Not tonight,” she said, curling her index finger at him. “Most of the time this job is work. But every once in a while it’s pure pleasure.”
On a different night, he might have entertained her. Occasionally, he eked a modicum of satisfaction from the stale entanglements. Most times, he left the bought women to the others. When his father made a point of giving him a girl, he dealt with them.
“Then,” he said, moving to the bedside and handing her a drink, “we drink to pleasure.”
“To pleasure,” she agreed before tipping up the glass.
After she emptied it, Baine took the glass and returned it to the shelf. He flipped the power to the antique turntable on, and lowered the tonearm onto the record. Pablo de Sarasate’s artful violin filled the room with haunting beauty. Sarasate was fine. Nowhere near his favorite pub band, or better yet, silence. But the music served two purposes. Annoy the bloody hell out of Kobi and keep him from hearing any other noises.
Baine returned to the bed. Red’s head had slipped from its perch and nestled into the comforter. She smiled up at him under heavily lidded eyes and tried to sit up. He leaned over, flipped the switch, and the room plunged into darkness. After pulling the covers back and arranging the pillows, Baine lifted the small woman and rearranged her neatly on the bed, then pulled the duvet over her naked body. A small sigh breached her lips as she snuggled into the sheets.
“Sleep well,” he said.
The first inconvenience dealt with, Baine’s curiosity and irritation ripped from their neat restraints. His fists clenched as he moved silently from the room. In the bathroom he
Once behind the bathroom door, Sloan locked it, turned on the sink to full flow, and threw herself at the toilet. A mixture of bread, bile, and liquor fell into the bowl thanks to a well-placed middle finger and the thought of Kobi’s mouth on her skin. No way in hell could she let the alcohol cloud her judgment or dull her reactions. Sloan flushed away the mess, rinsed with mouthwash, and blotted the make-up under her lashes.
With seconds to spare she considered her reflection. Her hair remained impeccably styled in a low ponytail that cascaded down her back in uniform ringlets. Amber eyes as clear as the Baltic gem. None of the drama within showed on the cool exterior. A lifetime of training did that trick. Blotting the bold lip-stain she applied, Sloan smiled, and opened the bathroom door to deal with Kobi Ross and find a clue to the whereabouts of Devereaux Kendrick’s black book.
The best laid schemes.
10
“ W ow ! This place is amazing.”
The young woman drooping off Baine’s arm titled her head in an awkward angle to take in his suite. He was amazed the words came out in any discernible form, since she stood with one foot dangling over the cliff of pissed drunk. One gust and she’d be legless.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes. Please,” she nearly hollered into his ear. As acting crutch, Baine helped her over to the bed with only a slight weave and wobble in between. The duvet’s fabric snapped, echoing in the big room, and puffed up around the redhead as she sank back onto the covering.
“You’re amazing too,” she said, raising one brow. Her hands fumbled around the top of her short dress, pulling here and tugging there. She looked like a pretty cat stuck in a sock. The thought made the corner of his mouth quirk up as he turned. He didn’t like cats, but boy, were they amusing for a minute.
Baine made his way to the bank of floor-to-ceiling shelves where a decanter of single malt scotch sat. Glasses clanked as he arranged two and poured in the dark liquid. With his back to Kobi’s camera, Baine added three drops of clear liquid to one. By the time he returned to the bed, the cat was out of the bag, or dress, as it were. She lay starkers across the mattress, chin propped in one hand.
“You don’t waste time.”
“Not tonight,” she said, curling her index finger at him. “Most of the time this job is work. But every once in a while it’s pure pleasure.”
On a different night, he might have entertained her. Occasionally, he eked a modicum of satisfaction from the stale entanglements. Most times, he left the bought women to the others. When his father made a point of giving him a girl, he dealt with them.
“Then,” he said, moving to the bedside and handing her a drink, “we drink to pleasure.”
“To pleasure,” she agreed before tipping up the glass.
After she emptied it, Baine took the glass and returned it to the shelf. He flipped the power to the antique turntable on, and lowered the tonearm onto the record. Pablo de Sarasate’s artful violin filled the room with haunting beauty. Sarasate was fine. Nowhere near his favorite pub band, or better yet, silence. But the music served two purposes. Annoy the bloody hell out of Kobi and keep him from hearing any other noises.
Baine returned to the bed. Red’s head had slipped from its perch and nestled into the comforter. She smiled up at him under heavily lidded eyes and tried to sit up. He leaned over, flipped the switch, and the room plunged into darkness. After pulling the covers back and arranging the pillows, Baine lifted the small woman and rearranged her neatly on the bed, then pulled the duvet over her naked body. A small sigh breached her lips as she snuggled into the sheets.
“Sleep well,” he said.
The first inconvenience dealt with, Baine’s curiosity and irritation ripped from their neat restraints. His fists clenched as he moved silently from the room. In the bathroom he