Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(32)

“You…you’re not gonna kill me?” the man panted, beads of sweat sliding down his forehead.

“Come on now. Why would I do that?” Rock frowned. “You’re not doin’ anything but what you’ve been ordered to do.”

Vanessa watched the agent’s gaze dart about. Then he looked up and back into Rock’s face, frantically searching his eyes. And he must’ve found what he was looking for, because he managed a jerky nod, saying, “Okay. Tie me up.”

“Bon,” Rock winked. “Good choice. Now, chere,” Rock turned to her, “I need you to hurry and get in the main compartment of my pack and pull out that bundle of zip ties.”

Looping the M4’s strap over her shoulder, Vanessa felt a little like Rambo—sans the spiffy red bandana—and did as Rock instructed. Less than ninety seconds later, the operative was tied to a small tree. His ankles and wrists secured by plastic zip ties and a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

She stepped away from the trussed-up man and turned to Rock, a wonderful lightness filling her being despite the fact that they were still in a shitload of trouble.

“What?” he demanded, frowning so fiercely the corners of his goatee drooped, his lush bottom lip pouting in the most delicious way. “Why are you grinning at me like a possum eatin’ a sweet ’tater?”

“You didn’t kill all those men, did you? You really didn’t.”

He blew out a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his goatee and turning away to squint into the distant foliage. “?Course I didn’t,” he muttered.

***

“I knew it!” Vanessa shot a fist in the air—that’s right, a fist. Rock felt one corner of his mouth twitch. He’d never seen someone—outside of the stoner dude at the end of The Breakfast Club—actually do that.

“I knew those charges were trumped up.” She nudged the tied-up operator with her foot and pointed a finger in Rock’s direction. “And when your buddies find you, you should tell them to leave Rock alone. He’s innocent. I mean, if he’d really killed all those men do you think he’d think twice about killing you? No.” She shook her head adamantly. “And another thing—”

“We don’t have time for this,” Rock cut her off because he could tell she was about to get herself on a roll. “We need to get goin’.”

“Oh,” she blinked at him. “Uh…yeah. Sure.” But instead of coming to his side, she once more nudged the operator’s foot. “I’m serious,” she hissed. “You’re going to tell them, right?”

And seeing her, with her inky black hair—shorter now, thanks to his knife work—all down around her shoulders, and an M4 strapped to her back, railing in his defense, a veritable tigress determined to help him clear his name, he felt himself fall…just a little. Because, mon dieu, she was something.

But he shook his head and reminded himself of all the pain and suffering that resulted from loving someone, reminded himself of Lacy’s sunken eyes and sallow skin in those last months, and his resolve once more hardened to stone.

Vanessa was obviously satisfied when the operator vigorously nodded his head, because she smiled triumphantly and strolled over to Rock. And when she glanced up at him, the dreamy look in her eyes disturbed him more than if she’d chucked a grenade in his direction.

“Get that thought right out of your pretty head,” he warned, adjusting his pack and turning into the jungle.

“What thought?” she inquired, following close behind him.

“The one that says, oh, Rock,” he raised his voice into a terrible falsetto, “you’re my knight in shinin’ armor, my hero.”

“Pfft. For one thing, I’ve known a lot of heroes in my life, so don’t go thinking you’re anything special.”

And that caught him off guard. Because it was the first time he considered the fact that Vanessa had spent most of her career as a linguistics and communications specialist in the spec-ops community surrounded by men who tended to not only come equipped with far more than their fair share of testosterone, but also the ability to bag just about anything that moved—and it occurred to him to wonder just how many of those heroes she’d invited into her bed.

And following right on the heels of that thought was a burst of jealously so intense he actually lost his footing. Had a vine not been handy, he’d have face-planted into the forest floor. As it was, he had to grab onto the sucker and breathe past the hot vise gripping his chest.

Just the thought of her arching into some bastard who grunted above her was enough to have red easing into the edge of his vision.

And he knew it was absolutely ridiculous to feel that way. He had no claims on her. Didn’t want any claims on her. But he still couldn’t shake the images in his head or the way they made him want to tear some nameless, faceless A-hole’s head clean off his shoulders.

“And secondly,” Vanessa continued, unaware that he was about to burst an aneurism on the spot, “your armor isn’t all that shiny. In fact, if you must know, it’s actually pretty dingy and, I’m not trying to pick a fight or anything, but you could use a washing machine and a healthy spritz of cologne.”

Just like that, the green-eyed monster that’d perched on his shoulder disappeared, and a surprised laugh burst from him.