by Elise Faber
Fucking biology.
Prompting errant erections and shit.
“This way,” Jess said, turning to the right and leading me through the dark yard.
I could make out the shadows of the training course in the far corner, the glass-enclosed swimming pool in the distance. We moved beyond both of them, and she used her keycard to enter a door just on the other side of the yard.
She flicked on the lights.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and then when I saw where she’d brought me, I could have kissed her—
No, not kissed her.
Hugged?
No. That would be awkward, too.
Um . . . give her a high-five.
Yup, definitely. Just a high-five.
I surveyed the target-shooting course then turned back to face her.
“What do you think?” she asked, nibbling at the corner of her mouth. Which circled back to the whole kissing her thing, and seriously. What the fuck? Maybe it was the Georgia air. Maybe I was just pent up.
But why had my body just decided to realize that Jess was a woman?
Why now?
I deliberately ignored my dumbass dick and put my hand up for that high-five. “I think my new teammate knows exactly what I need.”
“Benefit of also being your old teammate,” she said, dutifully smacking my palm before turning away and twisting her red hair into a low bun, securing it with a band that she’d had around her wrist.
Pale skin dusted with golden freckles.
She had a small tattoo on her nape, almost completely hidden in her hairline, one I hadn’t seen before. Before I knew it, my fingers had lifted, tracing the small line of text.
Obstinate, headstrong woman.
Jesse spun at the contact, something in the depths of those blue eyes that had me looking closer.
Then it was gone, and her brows lifted. “What?”
“New ink?”
A shrug, and she grinned, going to the rack on the wall, and pulling out some throwing knives, setting them on one of the stalls’ counters. “Best out of three,” she said.
I ignored the guns, the crossbows, the stars, the hand arrows, the hatchets, and the other throwing weapons to pick up an identical sheaf of knives, and took the stall next to Jess. “Best out of five,” I countered.
“Always gotta one-up, huh?”
“You know men. The bigger, the better.”
A roll of her eyes. “Then we’d better make it best out of seven million.”
Chuckling, I pulled out a knife, weighed it on two fingers to check the balance. This would be child’s play for us in the temperature-and-wind-controlled room. No Mother Nature to cope with. No bad guys running at us or firing bullets in our direction. Just skill and accuracy. “Deal,” I said. “You call.”
She pushed a button that sent the dummies in front of us rolling back, way back, increasing the challenge . . . and the size of my grin. “Left hand. Heart. Right eye. Right thigh.”
“That’s only four.”
Her eyes came to mine. “Dick.”
“Rude.”
She snorted, playing her knife over her fingers, the silver of its blade flashing in the bright lights. “I mean the fifth target is its dick.”
“Should I be grabbing mine in fear?”
The knife flew through the air, unerringly sinking into the dummy’s dick—or where the dick would have been if it’d had one, and I actually had to clench my hand into a fist in order to not give in to the urge to cover my cock.
She turned her head, her mouth curving up. “Maybe.” A beat. “Your turn.”
I pushed all thoughts of my dick out of my brain (and seriously, but this interaction had been filled with far too much cock talk), adjusted the grip on the knife, aimed for the right eye.
And made the shot.
Jess laughed, picked up the next blade.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She threw the knife, matched my shot on the right eye.
I aimed. Threw. Hit the left hand. Glanced at her.
A smirk, her fingers drifting over the blades. She barely looked as she launched the next knife . . . and it sank into her dummy’s hand.
I hit the right thigh.
So did she.
I moved onto the easiest shot—the heart. The blade sank in with a solid thunk.
Jesse didn’t miss a beat as she tagged her last target, then crossed her arms, and turned to face me as I snagged the final knife and aimed. I released the weapon, watched it spin through the air, and . . . miss.
Not completely.
It hit the dummy’s groin, but it wasn’t in the weird androgynous crotch area where the fictional dick should reside.
Jess laughed.
“What?” I asked, a blip of annoyance creeping in.
“I knew you couldn’t do it.” More laughter, this time filling the air. “Even in target practice, guys are too attached to their dicks.”
I pushed the buttons to bring the dummies back to us. “For good reason, with women like you around,” I muttered, my ego just the slightest bit bruised when she did nothing but continue laughing as she retrieved her knives.
“Cheer up, Leo. I know you hate losing. We’ve got four more rounds,” she said, stacking the blades. “Well, only two, really, since I’m going to win the next two. But anyway”—a smirk—“it’s your turn to call.”
I named the targets—not the dummies’ dicks, and for the record, not because I was too attached to my own, but because it was too big of an area to aim for.
This needed to get harder.
Jess’s face filled with approval. “Making it tough?”
I hefted the blade, eyes focusing on the bottom lip. That was the hardest, so I’d get that out of the way first.
I threw. Hit.
She threw. Hit.
And as the hours rolled by, we kept at it.
Chapter Four
Jesse
My eyes were bleary, and my hands were aching, but I took a deep breath and aimed at my dummy.
Poor guy was looking a bit worse for wear.
He was designed to take a beating, but Leo and I had gone far past the five rounds (which, by the way, I won, hands down), and just kept on throwing, trying to one-up each other because we were both secret agents and we had egos.
Good times.
I threw, and the knife sailed through the air, sinking into the tiny spot on the right cheek that he’d called out.
Then I yawned.
Leo glanced at me, stuck his final knife into the sheath. “We should call it a night.”
“I’m”—another yawn—“fine.”
He brought the dummies in, made short work of stowing his blades, then nudged me out of the way to take care of mine. A moment later, he was stowing them back on the rack.
“Come on,” he said, glancing at his watch. “It’s nearly one, and I don’t think you’ve gotten much sleep since it all went down.”
It being everything with Daniel and Jack and the shitshow we were now involved in. “I’m—”
“Fine,” he said. “I know. You’re always fine.”
I winced.
“What?” he asked.
For some reason, him thinking I was always fine sliced deep. Inside, I felt very not fine, what with Daniel and Jack and traitors, and with Leo here, unnerving me, making me feel inadequate and ridiculous for crushing on a man who was so far out of my realm that it wasn’t even funny. Him thinking I was good meant that he didn’t see through the mask I put up, didn’t see who I was beneath. Which was . . .
I stifled a sigh.
Typical, because I’d spent a long ass-time cultivating that shield. The one that showed the rest of the world I was completely and utterly unaffected. Growing up, it hadn’t been in my best interest to show weakness. So I’d become strong, unaltered by the events around me. I think it was one of my strongest characteristics, and most definitely, one that made me a good agent.
T
hings went to shit?
I held it together.
A bomb counting down, readying itself to explode, seconds ticking by . . . and I could be counted on to cut the right wire.
So, it wasn’t a surprise that he took me at my word.
Because I had just been about to say I was fine. Again.
But that stupid little girl inside me, the one who used to hide in the library and read fairy tales and fantasy novels, who embraced the happily ever after and wished to be special and extraordinary, wanted him to see through my barriers.
Stupid, huh?
Not that I could tell him that. Not that I could tell anyone that.
What I could continue doing?
Being fine.
“It’s just my wrist,” I said with a shrug. “The old break aches sometimes.”
That, at least, wasn’t a lie. Even though I’d hurt it in the lamest sort of way and seriously despised bringing it up.
How, one might ask?
And if I happened to admit it (something I only did when seriously pushed or was severely drunk), I’d done it falling up a staircase.
Twice.
So much fun.
I was supposed to be a mythical secret agent, and I couldn’t even ascend a staircase properly. Go me. I’d broken both bones in my wrist because I tried to catch myself and instead had missed the railing and fucking Gumbied my way into stomping on my own arm.
So much shit.
As in, I’d been given so much shit for that klutz adventure.
The only good thing I’d gotten out of it was two days on the beach when the team had needed to surveil a hotel, and I’d been given lounge chair duty.
Spending that time overlooking the Mediterranean hadn’t been the worst detail I’d ever had.
The cast had been itchy and sweaty, though.
I started to the door, but warm fingers wrapped around my wrist.
“That still bothers you?” he asked, and I was gaping at the feel of those calloused fingers on my skin, unable to form words, so instead I just nodded.
He lifted my arms, frowned down at the formerly broken arm. “You have tiny wrists.”
My brows drew together, and that loosened my tongue. “Um, okay, weirdo.”
Leo chuckled, ran his thumb over the bump there, the one that never went away, even after the six weeks in the cast. “I still can’t believe that you managed to do that to yourself.” He fought a smile . . . and lost.
Self-preservation had me tugging my arm free. “And how lucky for me that it was caught on surveillance.”
Another chuckle, warm and rough and sliding down my spine.
“Come on,” I said, putting a little more distance between us as I made my way to the door and opened it, indicating for him to go first as I flicked off the lights and closed up behind us.
The moon was out, and a chill had entered the air, but it felt good drifting across my skin, so much so that I tilted my head down so I could feel the breeze on my nape.
When I looked up, rolling my shoulders, I saw that Leo was staring at me.
“What?” I asked, unconsciously smoothing back my hair. My ponytail tended to get out of control with very little effort, the fine strands slipping out of the holders. Which was why I usually braided it if we knew we were going into combat. Tight and secure and off my forehead so it couldn’t itch me into insanity.
He opened his mouth, something flashing and gone so fast in his eyes that I couldn’t decipher it. But then he shook his head. “Nothing.”
I studied him closer, but after a moment, not reading anything, I just started walking back to the main area of the base, back to our rooms. “You think you’ll be able to sleep?” I asked as we moved past the training course, the pool, through the open green space that I liked to hang out in when it wasn’t ridiculously humid. My favorite was a shaded corner on the far end of this space that held a cozy chair, was out of sight, and was my absolute favorite place to read.
I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye. “I’ll deal with it if I can’t.”
“Knock on my door if you can’t,” I said. “I can talk to you about the different timer varieties on the bombs I’ve encountered recently. I’m sure that would put you right out.”
He laughed, and we continued walking.
Then I heard it. Froze.
“Wait,” I whispered, snagging his arm.
Leo went to sudden and rigid awareness, and I swore that I could feel his senses brushing against mine, searching for whatever had put me on alert.
“Not a threat,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.” I pointed toward the roofline, toward the direction I’d heard the screech. “There,” I said, still keeping my voice down. “You see?”
He shifted closer, his shoulder brushing mine before he angled his body and moved even nearer, his head next to mine, half his chest pressed to half of my back.
My breath caught, but I pushed down the thread of heat.
Not for me.
Not for me.
“See?” I whispered again.
“An owl?” he asked, and the tone of his voice told me he was not nearly as impressed as I was.
“It’s a barn owl,” I said quietly. “Look at her beautiful face, and if she flies, you’ll see that her wingspan is huge at almost three and a half feet.”
“Why do I feel like I’ve stumbled onto the Discovery Channel?” he teased.
I spun, punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Asshole.”
He snagged my hand, ran that calloused thumb over the inside of my wrist again. “You knew that already.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “She’s beautiful and strong, and if you can’t see that, then it’s your loss.” With a sniff, I yanked my arm free, tossed my ponytail over my shoulder, and kept walking, leaving my pretty barn owl to her hunting.
It took me a few moments to realize that Leo wasn’t next to me.
“What?” I asked, spinning back to face him.
His gaze was on the roofline, but I had the notion that he was very far away, and when he glanced at me again, there was that strange expression in his eyes again. If he were looking at anyone but me, I would have said it was desire.
But . . . he’d never ever shown any indication that he was attracted to me.
Plus, I’d seen his type, seen who he went out with.
And that type was fucking light-years away from me.
Ouch.
I needed to stop thinking like this, needed to focus on the traitor in our midst and return to being proud of myself and my body and the things it could do. Nothing good could come from going down this track of self-hate, and I’d spent too long crawling my way out of it in order to just let my fantasy for the sexy as hell Leo mean that I’d lost all self-respect.
I was a good agent. I was smart and capable.
I wasn’t a fucking damsel who needed to get swept up off my feet onto a white horse and whisked away.
I could do the sweeping.
I could do the riding.
And that was the best gift I’d ever given myself.
“Let’s go,” I said brusquely. “I’m tired.”
His head cocked to the side, studying me, but to his credit, he didn’t say anything about my tone (which was probably sharper than it should be). He swiped his card over the reader, stepping through and holding the door open for me to enter behind him. He turned unerringly in the direction of the living quarters, and I shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew where he was. We were all taught to be aware of our surroundings, to count our turns, to always know exactly where we were at any given time.
And Leo was a good agent.
His lack of appreciation for barn owls aside.
“What’s the owl’s name?” he asked as we walked, unlocking our way through the doors and entering the corridor with our rooms.
I paused, considered that. “I don’t have one.”
“Hmm.”
“What?” I asked, my feet slowing to a halt, star
ing up the couple of inches that separated us, taking in the stubble lining his jaw, the crisp lines of his nose, the faded scar on his temple, until I reached his eyes.
His voice was soft, took my breath away. “Something that beautiful should have a name.”
My throat was tight, words stoppered up in my throat.
I cleared it, painfully. “I’ll work on it.”
Still. The air went still, and I could have sworn that I felt a tendril shoot from my body to his, or his body to mine, lacing us together, connecting us in a way . . .
In a way that was a fantasy.
Except, Leo stepped closer, and his fingers brushed mine.
Not the inside of my wrist, but rather tracing along the sensitive tips, making me shiver, making my knees quiver.
“I should go,” I whispered as I stared into his molten emerald eyes.
His fingers still stroked mine, but then he lifted one hand, slowly traced his thumb over the shell of my ear, tucking a strand of my hair behind it. Goose bumps prickled on my skin. Heat bloomed in my middle. He moved close, that hand sliding to my nape. “Jess, I want—”
A click behind us signaled a lock disengaging, and we jumped apart.
Hannah slid through the door, her eyes going from Leo’s to mine, to our position in the hall, separated by barely a few inches and much closer than two people might be for a casual conversation. Her brows went up, and I knew she was getting the absolute wrong idea when her expression went knowing.
He’d just wanted to talk about the owl.
Right?
But maybe . . .
No. No maybes because Leo seemed to realize what Hannah was thinking as she slipped into the hall.
He dropped his hands, said loudly enough that the entire base should be able to hear, “Thanks for showing me the shooting range.” Which sounded innocuous and completely normal, I knew. Except for the way he punched my shoulder again. Hard. “Thanks, buddy.”
If he kept that up, I was definitely going to have to start punching him back.
I nodded, saw the expression on Hannah’s face twist, something like pity skittering over her features, and since I didn’t want to see that, couldn’t bear to see that, not when I’d spent a couple of heartbeats, an eternity hoping for . . .
Enough.
