by Em Petrova
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Xtreme Behavior
Xtreme Ops
Book 3
Copyright Em Petrova 2021
Ebook Edition
Electronic book publication 2021
Cover Art by Bookin’ It Designs
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More in this series:
HITTING XTREMES
TO THE XTREME
XTREME BEHAVIOR
XTREME AFFAIRS
XTREME MEASURES
This special operative and a K-9 handler must work in close proximity to solve a crime—and whether they kill each other or wind up in bed is anyone’s guess.
After a string of deaths are linked to a man locked up for another crime, Special Operative Alix Broshears and his team are racing against the clock to stop him before another person dies. Bringing in the gorgeous handler from a local K-9 unit makes sense—unless you ask Broshears’ libido. When it comes to the intelligent woman who thinks on her feet, his control is tested every damn minute.
Vivian Valentine is up for the challenge of joining the team on yet another mission with her K-9 partner, Zack. She’s also determined to prove her worth to a certain special operative who takes arguing with her seriously.
Sure, they hate each other. They’re also friends.
And there might have been one encounter in a closet, but they don’t discuss that.
Despite their strained ties, when Broshears learns Vivian’s in peril, the race is on to save her. Nothing can keep him from holding back his wrath against their enemies…or his feelings for the woman he’s determined to rescue.
Xtreme behavior
by
Em Petrova
Prologue
Vivian was lost without her dog. She always traveled with Zack, and not having his leash in her hand felt as if she’d left one of her limbs back on that mountain.
She navigated through the Anchorage International Airport, hardly seeing the other travelers milling around. After six days of her and Zack aiding a search and rescue, she’d need some major downtime to decompress—either that or a very stiff drink.
Fatigue washed over her, and she again closed her fingers on the leash she was so used to holding. One of her fellow handlers had taken both of their dogs home. At this moment, Zack would be curled up with a full belly for a well-deserved and much-needed rest.
For working dogs such as Zack, never finding a victim alive left them depressed. In fact, some handlers had their friends hide so their dogs could locate them and feel useful.
Vivian hung a little on the low end of the mood spectrum too. She spent an extra day with the Alaska IV Search and Rescue helping to call the victims’ families…
She needed that drink right now.
With her carryon slung over her shoulder, she maneuvered through a group in a flurry of excitement and anxiousness at boarding their plane. The squeals of the kids and the fact they were sporting mouse ears gave her the assumption they were headed to Disneyland.
Their cries of happiness echoed behind Vivian as she strode faster in search of that large tequila.
The airport grill thankfully had open seats at the bar, and she slipped onto a stool, which wasn’t all that comfy for a short girl to sit on. Her legs failed to reach the bottom rung where taller people comfortably rested their feet.
She extended the toes of her boots to the rung and swung her bag across her body to keep it out of the way. The bartender lifted his jaw to her in question, and she ordered tequila with a twist of lime.
Seconds later, she had her fingers wrapped around the glass and the burn of smoky alcohol in her stomach.
Bar TVs projected sports and news. When she glanced up and saw the report of the failed rescue attempt in the mountains, she slugged back a big gulp and had a coughing fit.
Her eyes watered, and heat climbed her cheeks at the stares of the bartender and the other patrons.
“Can’t handle your drink?”
She whipped around at the deep baritone voice belonging to the man sliding onto the stool next to her.
She groaned. “Not you.”
Special Operative Alix Broshears. Knowledgeable about old weapons that nobody cared about anymore. A know-it-all in every other aspect of life. After working with him on several missions where his team required a dog, Vivian knew all she needed to about the man.
He grinned at her, and she caught herself staring at him.
Okay, she wasn’t blind. Broshears looked sexy as hell when he smiled. With little creases around the corners of his eyes and the hard brackets surrounding his mouth, he looked like a damn poster boy for hot special operatives.
She twisted her attention from Broshears and went for her drink again.
The bartender came over. “What can I get ya?”
Broshears eyed her glass. “I’ll have what she’s havin’. You got any peanuts or pretzels?”
The bartender pushed a dish of pretzels toward him. Broshears stuffed two in his mouth and crunched noisily.
Of all the members of the Xtreme Ops team to run into at the airport, why did it have to be this particular one? She got along well with the captain and had become friends with a couple others who were far less cocky and annoying.
She gulped down another mouthful of her drink. Broshears received his as well and took a sip. She turned her head to see his thick, tanned throat work in a long, smooth swallow.
Setting aside his glass, he gave her a very intense, very thorough checking out, from the top of her black hair to the tips of her boots balanced on the stool rung.
“You’re pretty small, Valentine,” he said, drawling her last name in that way that always got on her nerves for the intimate sound of it. “Can you handle that much alcohol?”
She pivoted her head and stared into his deep brown eyes. “Misassumption about short girls number two. I’m quite capable of handling my alcohol,” she said stiffly.
A gleam came into his eyes. “What’s misassumption number one?”
She raised her glass. “That we’re bossy.”
Broshears almost fell off his stool laughing. Heads turned to take in the huge man cackling like a demented crow, but she faced forward and rolled her eyes.
“That’s a good one, Valentine. Not bossy.” He snuffled through another chuckle and knocked back his drink in one swallow.
He set the glass down with a clunk. She felt his gaze on her…waiting for something.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
He directed his attention to the glass in her hand.
A challenge.
One thing Vivian prided herself on was that she never backed down from a challenge. In her line of work, hesitating wasn’t an option. One misstep could mean the criminal got away, or she failed to find the bomb…or the missing person.
While the events on that mountain over the last six days flooded into her mind, she brought the drink to her lips and slammed it down. It took her two swallows, but she turned to Broshears without so much as a gasp or a watery eye.
Their stares met.
He waved the bartender over
for another round.
When they had their drinks in hand again, she looked straight at the big bad military man and drank the entire shot.
As he swallowed, he had a habit of quirking one corner of his lips. By shot number three, she knew the shape of those hard lips.
Her mind started to grow fuzzy, but she was far from drunk.
“You headed home, Valentine?” he asked.
“Yes. You?”
“Not home.” As he smiled, she noted how much looser the alcohol made him. He almost resembled someone she might actually like.
“Where is home?” A lock of her black hair dipped into her eye, and she brushed it away.
He tracked the movement and then settled his stare on—of all places—her lips.
Suddenly self-conscious, she chewed at her lower one. “What are you looking at?”
He flicked his gaze up to hers. “I’m looking at your lips, Valentine.”
The dark heat of his tone and his words made her want to squirm on the stool. Alcohol was hitting her harder now—probably a mixture of exhaustion and lack of food over the last twenty-four hours.
“What fault do you find with my mouth? You find enough things to pick on me about when we work together.” She sliced a look around as if someone might overhear them and figure out that he was a special operative who worked for a division of Homeland Security, and she was a handler for a K-9 unit that assisted him in stopping terrorists.
He latched his stare onto her lips again. “What things do I pick on you about?”
She waved a hand a little too hard, which jolted her entire body. Okay, maybe that third shot hadn’t been the best idea. Her hair tumbled over her eye again, and she moved to shove it away, but Broshears was too quick.
The brush of his callused fingertips over her forehead as he stroked her hair off her face caused her breath to catch in her throat and all rational thought to fly out her nostril.
No, that wasn’t the saying. My ear. Fly out my EAR.
He didn’t drop his hand but continued to trail a finger over the crest of her cheek. “You’re flushed, Valentine. Are you a little drunk?”
“If I am, I’ll never admit it to you.”
He gave her an expression of mock shock that had a giggle bubbling up her throat. God, the shame of it—she’d never live this moment down. She could almost hear the dispatch over the radio.
Special alert. Vivian Valentine, hard ass of all hard asses, was reduced to giggles after three drinks which she proclaimed to be able to handle.
She swirled her stool to face forward and flagged down the bartender. “I’ll have another.”
He opened his mouth, but Broshears cut across him. “No, she won’t. Time to go, Viv.”
A pleasant, woozy fog settled over her brain as she eyed Broshears. Alix with an I. When she read his name once on a report, that I in his name rather than the usual spelling with an E struck her as interesting.
The brawny, beefy know-it-all interesting. Ha!
She laughed, and Alix looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. He curled an arm around her waist and guided her off the stool. For a moment, she couldn’t recall where her feet were.
She glanced down, the world spinning, the lights of the bar flashing in her peripheral.
“What are you looking at, Valentine?” He was solid and strong and he smelled good.
She wiggled her toes inside her boots. “They’re weird, aren’t they? Feet? I mean, who designed them?”
“Okay, sweetheart. Come with me.” With his arm lashed around her middle, he took her bag off her shoulder and hooked it over his own as he led her away from the bar.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to walk the airport so you can metabolize some of the tequila in your system. Damn, I never should have challenged you. Of course you’d never back down, and you’re half my size.”
She tipped her head, following broad chest to bulky shoulders and landing on his face which seemed to be so high in the air. “I’m not half your size,” she said indignantly.
He stared down at her for a long minute. “Let’s walk.”
They circled the airport twice. He bought her a soft pretzel for an exorbitant airport price and forced her to sit on a bench and eat it. After the carb hit her stomach and soaked up a bit of the alcohol, her brain began to clear.
Broshears ducked his head to peer at her face. “Better?”
“A little.” How much of a fool had she made of herself? She didn’t want to know. Besides, she’d hear it soon enough when he told all the guys on his team. She’d worked with the Xtreme Ops twice before and likely would again.
He closed his eyes and slowly opened them. She studied his rugged features—strong nose that would be odd on a smaller man. Dark eyes that snapped with vitality.
Her hair fell into her eye again, and when she reached up to move it away, he did too. Their fingers brushed. To her shock, he meshed his thick digits with hers and drew her hand down to the bench. Then he cupped her face in his other wide palm and lowered his lips to her forehead where the lock of hair had been.
Vivian sucked in a harsh breath.
His rasped. Or maybe that sound was a growl.
As she anchored a hand on his big chest, she experienced the rumble just below the surface. Yes, it was a growl. But why?
Tilting her face up to his, she found his expression blazing.
A fire ignited deep in her core, and she started to lean toward him.
“Not here,” he grated out. He pulled her to her feet and towed her across the airport to the restrooms.
“What—?” she started and fell silent as he whipped open an unlocked janitor’s closet positioned between the restrooms. He slammed the door shut behind them and kicked aside a bucket and mop.
With his coarse knuckles beneath her chin, he raised her head to meet her gaze. “Who am I, Vivian?”
“You never call me Vivian.”
“What’s my name?” he demanded in a way that reminded her of the orders he barked at everyone.
“Broshears.”
“My first name.”
The syllables quivered on her lips as he hovered so close that she could rise onto tiptoe and crush her mouth to his.
“Alix,” she whispered.
He whipped her arms over her head and pinned them to the door at the same moment he captured her mouth. The taste of him had her moaning out and swaying her body closer.
As he angled his head to sink his tongue between her lips, she rubbed her breasts on his insanely large, muscled chest. With another animalistic growl, he trapped her hips to the door with his own.
She gasped under the assault of his mouth plundering hers. He was huge—everywhere.
The thick length of his erection bulged against her lower belly. Her panties flooded, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol still swimming in her veins.
She wanted him.
He ripped his mouth from hers, and she whimpered when he latched onto her neck. Red-hot need burst inside her, and she curled her fingers into his, wishing he’d release her so she could explore his muscled body too.
Sweeping kisses along her throat from ear to ear, he paused to nibble at one. “You drive me crazy, Valentine,” he rumbled hotly into her ear.
Her knees weakened, and she tore her hands free of his hold to grip his shoulders. His eyes flashed in the dimness of the closet, and she almost wished there was a light switch. She felt the wall next to the door but dropped her hand when she failed to locate one.
The close confines excited her more.
She threw herself at him, grabbing his face and kissing him as he lifted her. When she clamped her thighs on his muscled waist, her pussy throbbed with the desire to be filled by this man.
As he thrust his tongue into her mouth, she grappled at his shirt. Somehow she managed to drag it over his head and he broke the kiss to allow her to remove it. She dropped the garment to the floor and a crash sounded.
“
Mop,” they said together and went at it again.
He crushed her spine to the door and let her slide to her feet. To her shock, he dropped to his knees in front of her. When he tore open her fly as if he perfected tearing women’s clothes off as a skill, a sordid whimper escaped her throat.
Bowing her head, she made out the determined set of his jaw and the swipe of his tongue over his lips as he shoved her pants down her hips, taking her panties with them.
“Fuck, I wish I could see you better. But I can smell your arousal, and that’s enough.” Without another word or any warning at all, he pressed on her inner thighs to part them and delved his tongue into her soaking wet folds.
Her head fell back, smacking off the door, but she didn’t care at all as pure pleasure rushed through her body. Her nipples throbbed and liquid heat trickled from her core as Alix swiped his tongue through her folds.
He dipped the tip into her entrance, and they shared a primal groan. Too quickly, he withdrew his tongue and wiggled it upward, in a slow, thorough lick, to her clit.
When he pressed on the hood of her clit and exposed the needy core, she cried out.
He didn’t make any noise to urge her to quiet, and she couldn’t if she tried. It’d been too long since she had anything but her fingers for pleasure, let alone a man like Alix Broshears.
He flicked his tongue, softly batting her clit back and forth and into some shape he wanted it. She rose onto her toes and tore at his hair as her orgasm thundered upward, gripped her, threw her into the unknown and tore a scream from her lips.
She came for long, dizzying seconds, pulsing against his tongue and now his fingers too, which he edged inside her at the final moment. Gasping, she drooped in his hold.
As he lifted his head and looked at her through the darkness, she shuddered at the gleam of wetness visible on his lips and jaw.
In a swift glide, he gained his feet—and his full height. He knuckled the wetness off his mouth in the hottest move any man ever made in the history of the world, and kissed her.
