Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(8)
She glanced down at her white cotton blouse and discovered the dousing she’d given herself a moment ago had rendered the material see-through. The peek-a-boo lace of her bra did nothing to hide the deep red of her areolas or the provocative thrust of her pebbled nipples.
Yeesh!
She yanked the sodden fabric away from her body. And now there was no mistaking that, yes, indeedie, those fabulous lips of his were most certainly quirked.
She opened her mouth to tell him to wipe that sardonic grin right off his face, but he beat her to the punch. His expression hardened to living stone.
“Secondly,” he said, “your boss is being held hostage by a group of TTP who’ve barricaded themselves in a room upstairs.”
Oh, holy hell. Why had the silly man thought he’d be safer in the offices? Why?
“My Team is doing their best to either negotiate his release or formulate a plan to go in and grab him,” he assured her. “But depending on which scenario command chooses, it’s possible you and I could be stuck in here for a while.”
Stuck. In a room. One that had various surfaces on which to get horizontal. With Michael.
Lord, help me.
She’d managed to protect her heart from him after one night together. But two? That would be pushing it. And not because she was a woman and susceptible to the oxytocin—the bonding hormone—that Mother Nature had decreed should flood her system after orgasm. But because Michael was…well…Michael. Sexy and smart. Loyal and courageous. But here was the kicker: in the time she’d known him, she’d come to appreciate the fact that he was just flat-out likable. And the more she was around him, the more she wanted to continue to be around him. In fact, it would be so stinking easy to just—
No. She gifted herself with the mental version of a bitch-slap. Remember what it was like for your momma lovin’ a soldier.
Right. She couldn’t forget that. Not when it’d shaped her entire childhood.
So, stick to your guns. Stick to the plan. And for the love of all that’s holy, stick to the conversation!
“Well, I suppose that’s good news,” she said quickly, then added, “About the ambassador still bein’ alive. Not about us bein’ stuck here.” And then it occurred to her. “Which brings us to my third point. Why are we stuck in here again? Can’t we just…I don’t know”—she shrugged—“slip out the back door or somethin’?”
“There are still a few remaining Taliban fighters lurking around the building. And since neither I, nor anyone else, is willing to take a chance that a surprise bullet might find you”—Lordy. Yup. She could go her whole life without experiencing one of those, thank you very much—“we’re staying locked up safe in here until the place has been completely cleared.”
Searching his face and seeing the lines of strain around his eyes—not to mention talk of the surprise bullet—it suddenly sank in. He’d come in so brash and cocky, acting like everything was A-okay, but the truth of the matter was, he’d been fighting for his life, for her life all afternoon long. And even though she was certain he’d seen and done worse things in his storied military career, that didn’t change the fact that this was the first time he’d seen and done those things for her.
Her heart immediately swelled up like her lips had done that time she was stung in her grandpa’s barn by a whole nest of dirt dobbers. And it was a wonder her ribs were able to contain the silly organ.
“Oh, Michael,” she whispered, unconsciously dragging a hand through her hair. With tears of gratitude burning the back of her throat, she started to thank him for…everything, for being brave and fierce, for being a warrior in every sense of the word—even though a simple thanks seemed like such an insignificant way to acknowledge all he’d undoubtedly done.
But before she could croak out one heartfelt syllable, he demanded, “And now how about you answering my question?”
She swallowed the burgeoning tears in one gulp, frowning up at him. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “Which question was that?”
One of his eyebrows lifted, his expression bland. “You know exactly which question.”
Damnit. She did know. She was just stalling because…well…because she didn’t know what to tell him.
I’ve been avoiding you because you were so wonderful that night, more wonderful than I ever imagined, and now I’m afraid that fallin’ for you would be far too easy certainly wasn’t going to work because… Number one: lame-oh. And number two: she wasn’t ready to hash out the reason why she was convinced going head-over-keister for him was not at all copasetic with her current life plan.
“I…I…” She stopped and licked her suddenly dry lips. What bastard had gone and stuffed cotton in her mouth? And when?
Michael’s ocean-water eyes flashed down to the flick of her tongue, sharpening instantly. The blood coursing through her veins burst into flames like it was made of gasoline and that look of his, that unmistakably hungry look of his, had been a match.
“I just figured I’d make it easy on you,” she managed, almost convinced that if she glanced down she’d see little sparks flashing through the air separating their bodies. “You know, considering you Navy boys like to practice the art of one-and-done.”
“Bullshit.” Okay. Yup. Leave it to him to call her on it. “You should’ve been relieved of that misconception after I called you the first time much less after I called you the twentieth time. Now, maybe I can understand if you’re playing a little hard to get. I enjoy a good game of cat and mouse as much as the next guy, but—”