Hell on Wheels (Black Knights Inc. #1)(67)

He sighed and glanced down at his scarred, callused hands, shaking his head.

It was quite sad, really, that it took the man getting shot before he gave her a true glimpse of who he really was.

“I, uh, checked in with the Knights while you were busy gettin’ us these…charmin’ accommodations.”

She rolled her eyes and started scrubbing the bitter taste of stomach acid from her mouth.

“General Fuller was finally able to speak with the Director of the FBI. It seems he hasn’t a clue what Agent Delaney was investigating. Said the man started actin’ strange in the months before his death. Secretive is the word the Director used.”

She spit. “Well, that’s just great.”

He made a face and nodded. “Yeah. But there’s some good news.”

“Oh, yeah?” She wiped her mouth with a hand towel, then wrinkled her nose and tossed it into the sink. The thing smelled like armpits. “Well, what are you waiting for? I could use some good news. Lay it on me.”

“I went through Grigg’s personal correspondence. It appears this was a one-time thing. I didn’t find any other mission requests, so I don’t think he was in the habit of goin’ off reservation.”

“Well,” she sighed, “There’s that. So he was a rogue agent but at least he was a discerning rogue agent.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“No,” she shook her head, seeing her exasperatingly lovable, but most importantly loyal brother in her mind’s eye. “I think there has to be a good explanation for his behavior. I can’t fathom him doing something to put me or you or any of the other guys at unnecessary risk. Can you?”

“No. I can’t.”

Good. At least they could agree on that. Grigg may have been a lot of things, but he wasn’t a traitor, to his country or the men he worked with. There was some comfort there, she supposed.

Nate grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen and twisted off the cap. Throwing four gel caps to the back of his throat, he tilted his head and swallowed.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” she asked as she eyed the gauze bandages, checking to see if he was bleeding through. He wasn’t, thank goodness.

“A bit,” he shrugged his good shoulder. “But it’s really just a flesh wound.”

“‘A flesh wound? You’re bloody arm’s off!’” Okay, so her British accent could use some work.

He lifted a dark brow.

“Oh come on,” she raised a hand. “You know, Monty Python and the Holy Grail?”

The look he sent her clearly questioned her sanity.

“Sheesh, just when I think you might be normal…” she shook her head and started tidying the mess they’d made.

“We are the knights who say ni!” he declared in a pretty convincing accent, and she swung around to face him, her mouth slung open. He grinned. “You really don’t know me at all, do you?”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine, I guess.”

“Yeah, good guess.”

“Can’t help it,” he grumbled. “When you’re around, I have difficulty hidin’ this,” he motioned to the bulge behind his zipper, “so I usually just avoid you.”

Now her mouth was hanging open for a completely different reason. “Really? After racing for fifteen hours across the country on the back of a bike that vibrates enough to rattle every single tooth out of your head, after getting shot and having my fingers shoved in your bullet wound, you’re still able to think about sex? You really must be insane.”

“Blame it on the adrenaline rush.”

“Fine. So…” she took a step toward him. “Let’s do something about it.”

“What?” He looked like she’d just told him they should shave their heads and join the Hare Krishnas.

“You heard me.” And there was nothing to stop them, no one around, and despite his repeated rejection and his assertion he didn’t want to physically react to her, it was obvious, really, really obvious—given that substantial bulge—that his mind and his body were on two different pages.

She tended to side with his body because, to put it simply, she wanted him. Like she’d never wanted a man before in her life.

Perhaps it had something to do with the not-so-small fact she might be in love with him. Or perhaps it was simply that it had been a long time coming. Whichever, it didn’t really matter, because both reasons only supported her assertion they should give in to their desires.

And if she did love him—okay, she did—didn’t she deserve at least one night in his arms?

“No.” He shook his head, eyeing her approach like a cobra eyes a mongoose.

***

“Why?”

“Why what?” Oh, Nate knew what she was asking, but he desperately searched for a way to stall, because he just couldn’t for the life of him come up with a plausible excuse to—

“Why won’t you make love to me?”

Uh, yep. That was the question he couldn’t bring himself to answer since Ali wasn’t the kind of woman to take a night’s pleasure and vanish. Hell no. And to offer her anything more was out of the question, given he’d then be compelled to admit he’d killed her brother and lied to her about it, which…no, that just wasn’t gonna happen.