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Quote by Sophie Monteiro

“I want to live an adventure. If not physically, then mentally and emotionally, through the world of literature.”

Quote by Sophie Monteiro

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Sophie Monteiro

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“I’m taking a shower.” Oh, God. She was killing him. Making him want to laugh out loud. Where had his sense of self-preservation gone? He didn’t feel emotion— that was far too dangerous. He shivered beneath the blankets, suddenly afraid for her. For himself. “You’re still cold. I should have thought to rub you down with some warm oil. Lexi makes it and I use it sometimes when I come in from a dive. It warms you up fast. Can you roll over, because I’m not rubbing your front.” “Why not?” “If you want a massage, turn over.”

“A few more steps and you’ll be in the bedroom. I’m going to lay you down and try to get your wet clothes off.” She sounded dispassionate, as if he wasn’t a man at all. She didn’t seem embarrassed by the thought of removing his clothes, but then she was a diver and he knew they often had to strip with other divers around them. He didn’t mind that she wasn’t embarrassed, but it vaguely bothered him that she didn’t see him as a man. With his head pounding so hard and his chest so tight, he wasn’t certain of anything, so he dismissed the notion as idiotic. The moment he stretched out on the bed, he closed his eyes and let her work. She found his knife in one boot and his holdout gun in the other. There was another knife strapped to his leg. Another gun in his belt. A third one in a harness. Another knife and three small daggers in loops at his belt. She didn’t say a word but her breathing changed. She inhaled several times quite sharply. That made him want to smile too. She found his throwing stars and the two throwing knives, but she missed the garrotes sewn into his clothing. “What are you? Some kind of assassin?” He didn’t answer. She was tugging his clothing off of him, and he knew the instant she saw him as a man. Her hands stilled and she made a single sound, a low note he couldn’t quite interpret. He opened his eyes and caught her looking, her eyes enormous and beautiful, the lashes fanning the sweep of her high cheekbone. She looked up at him and he felt a physical jolt. She cleared her throat and tugged on his jeans. “Lift up.”

“When she turned away, he caught her hand. He waited until she looked back at him. “I need my weapons. Just in case.” “You won’t shoot me. Or stab me. Or throw one of those thingies at me.” “No.” She snorted. “How would you know? You don’t know what you’re doing half the time.” “Still.” She sighed and began stacking weapons on the bed beside the pillow. “Fine. But I’ll be royally pissed if you try to kill me again. It’s getting old.”