Crazy Girl(43)

“You got it. Not only political figures though. It could be anyone.”

“You were kind of mean to them,” I noted. “The guy that drove us.”

Wren lifted his chin, seemingly more complimented by my comment than offended. “It’s not my job to be their friend. It’s my job to teach them how to serve and protect their client.”

I bit my tongue, regretting my comment. What did I know about any of this, and who was I to judge his teaching methods? The comment had been flippant on my part, but that was no excuse, especially for someone like myself who believed words were everything. I needed to change the subject fast.

“So…” I squinted an eye at him. “If you were pretending to be the ambassador in the car…what does that make me?”

He stared down at me with his deep brown eyes, making my heart sigh, and waggled his brows. “Why, that would make you an intern.”

I grinned. “I see.”

“You can call me Bill,” he whisper-growled in my ear. “I’ll call you Monica.” That made me think of his breath on my neck in the car. Had he blown over my skin on purpose?

I laughed hard as a way to distract me from my inquisitive thoughts, giving his chest a light smack. “You’re a dirty man.”

“You know you like it.” Oh, God. I did. I had to distract myself some more.

Turning my attention back to the epic view of the water, I chuckled to myself. He was being rather pervy, but I loved the playful banter we were having. We were comfortable. And that’s something I rarely felt.

“Wanna go jump in?” Wren asked as he placed his hand on my back, making my belly flutter. Looking up, I found him watching me, his mouth quirked up in his signature smile.

“I forgot my suit.” I shrugged.

“Not true,” he disagreed. “You have your birthday suit.”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “Yeah. I’ll jump in naked. Maybe Kegs and Duke will wanna join, too.”

“No. I don’t think so,” he said gruffly. “You think you’re funny, crazy girl?”

“Crazy funny,” I piped back.

“You guys wanna stop flirting and get on with this mission, or what?” Kegs called as he and Duke waited by the door that led out to the pathway to walk the property.

“The ambassador is sexually harassing me,” I yelled back as Wren and I still struggled, both of us laughing. He was breaking character for me, and it felt damn good.

Squeezing me hard one last time, so tight I couldn’t budge, he put his mouth to my ear. “If you keep up with that sassy little attitude, crazy girl, I’m going to have to punish you later.” Then he released me and walked toward the door. Goosebumps ran down my back. My skin felt scorching. Did the temperature just rise like a hundred degrees or what? I walked behind him, touching the back of my hand to my face. It was hot—there was no doubt in my mind that I was comparable to crimson. The flirting and the sexy threat had me aching. Damn. Damn. Damn. Images of his body above me, his dark eyes fixed on mine as he thrust inside me popped into my mind. By the time we all made it out the door, I was frustrated. Why was I so reactive to him? My body responded to his every word. Wren took my hand and led me down the path, a knowing smile on his face. He knew what his words had done to me.

Bastard.



The drizzle tried to ruin the morning for us but failed. Despite the wet grass sticking to my feet and me slipping twice, I enjoyed the excursion. Our foursome walked the property while more than twenty students practiced protocol for securing a location. They were ahead of us, behind us, and some scattered about hiding in the woods. Wren tried to explain bits and pieces as the day passed. And I think I was getting the gist of his job. As we walked, Wren, Kegs, and Duke pointed out beaver dams and turkey tracks—apparently, all of them were well-versed hunters.

Afterward, we loaded back in the car and went back to the facility; this time there weren’t any issues with the seating. Wren and Kegs had to go into a briefing about the mission we were just on, so Wren sent me with Duke to check out the track where they taught tactical driving. The more time I spent with Duke, the more I liked him. He had real authentic Southern charm, and he made me feel like we were old friends. He talked about his wife and daughter, his career, and asked me many questions about my own work and family. He was a true gentleman. After he nearly gave me a stroke on the track, driving us over 90 mph, he took me back to the facility to meet Wren. On the way, he told me a story about a time he spent in Africa and how villages there would have to protect their banana trees from gorillas.

“The villagers? They’d cut a hole in a tree and put fruit in it and let it rot some so it would smell strong and attract them.”

“Why would they want to attract the gorilla’s if they were trying to protect their fruit from them?” I asked, confused.

Duke chuckled, the sound gravely. “It’s something called monkey-fisting.”

I smiled, the name humorous, but waited for him to explain.

“You see, one gorilla always scouted first, and if they found something would go back and get the rest of their pack. A pack of gorillas will pulverize banana trees, and for these villages those trees are a major food source. So when the scout gorilla would stick their hand in the hole and grab the fruit, the hole was so small they couldn’t take it out without opening their fist. But they wouldn’t want to let it go, so they’d be stuck. The villagers would then shoot it with tranquilizers.”