Thwack. Thwack-thwack. Thwack.

Bailey tried to ignore the sounds reverberating on the
other side of the loft, but it was a difficult task. Sean
had been battering that punching bag for the past hour,
fists slamming into leather as Bailey sat on the couch, her
frustration growing by the second. Couch, bed, and punching
bag. Somehow it made sense that those were the main pieces
of furniture in Sean’s loft, because sleeping, fucking, and
fighting were probably the only things Sean Reilly was
interested in. That, and gathering information.

The last thought sent her gaze in the direction of the file
cabinets. She really needed to figure out a way to break
into them. What kind of dirt had Sean unearthed about her?

Thwack. Thwack-thwack.

And why wasn’t O’Hare calling back? It had been three hours
since Sean had texted the man, and Bailey was beginning to
get anxious. O’Hare had to have seen the news, must know by
now that his men were dead. And he definitely knew that
Sean was alive and in possession of the flash drive. So why
wasn’t he making a move? The man had gone to a lot of
trouble to secure that drive, which told Bailey he was
eager to get his hands on it.

Her gaze traveled back to Sean, and her pulse skipped in
the most aggravating way. He’d stripped off his shirt,
which left him in those ill-fitting khakis that rode so low
on his hips they were in danger of falling off.

Despite her better judgment, she focused on his chest. His
very bare chest, which was . . . Fine, it was truly
wonderful. Roped muscles and golden skin assaulted her
vision. He didn’t have much body hair, save for a dusting
between his heavy pecs and the dark line leading to his
groin. He was built like a warrior. Tall, broad, and
deadly.

Before Bailey could stop it, the memory of being underneath
that powerful body flashed in her head, and she almost
moaned out loud.

The sex had been good.

No, it had been more than good.

But so what? Sean had lied to her from the word go. He’d
deceived her. And just because she’d known he was doing it
didn’t excuse his behavior.

What kind of man pretended to be his twin to get a woman
into bed?

She jerked when his gaze suddenly locked with hers. He’d
caught her staring, but he didn’t comment. He simply
released another one-two punch that made the black leather
bag sway wildly. God, he looked . . . feral. Bloody
knuckles, handsome face covered by a sheen of sweat, sleek
muscles coiling from every deadly strike of his fists.

“Haven’t you had enough yet?” Bailey called out, not
bothering to hide how frazzled she was.

He kept on swinging.

“Seriously. You’re going to fuck up your hands.”

Breathing hard, he let his arms fall to the sides. He
slanted his head, watching her with an expression that made
her skin break out in shivers. Feral, all right.

She rolled her eyes. “What, you’re in adrenaline overload?
You need to hit something this bad? Because you’re going to
hurt yourself if you keep it up.”

“What the hell do you care, luv?” But her words must have
penetrated that thick skull of his, because he grabbed a
towel from the workout bench behind him and used it to wipe
his sweaty face.

Then he strolled toward her, slow, predatory. Red blotches
stained the white towel in his hands as he wiped his
knuckles on the terry cloth.

“You got me,” he told her. “It is adrenaline, and you know
why? Because I robbed a bloody bank today, Bailey. And when
I’m feeling this way, there’re only two activities that
calm me down.” He shrugged. “Fighting’s one of them.”

“What’s the other?” she asked, then cursed herself for
opening her stupid mouth.

Because his green eyes were gleaming now, smoldering with
sin. “What do you think, luv?”

Several seconds ticked by as their gazes held.

“It’s fucking,” he drawled. “Pure, hard-core fucking.”

Her breath lodged in her lungs. Sean’s sultry gaze held her
captive, making it impossible to turn away. The man
radiated sexuality. He always had. It heated his eyes and
rippled through his body, and whenever he directed all that
sensual energy her way, her body responded.

“Would you like to help me out with that?” A mocking note
entered his deep voice. “Because I’m more than happy to
stop tearing up my hands and put them to better use.”