by Zoe Dawson
“That he is. To think we have the same kind of relationship Cris and I share. What a jerk.”
“Agreed,” Kid said, even though there was pique still in her eyes. “Sometimes you have to be the bigger person and walk away, but then, sometimes you have to throat-punch a fucker to get your point across.”
She burst into laughter and he pressed a bandage over her cut.
“Sometimes,” she said, her laughter fading as she met his eyes, and he saw that she was quite aware that he had saved her life. Most of the time he was toting a gun and doing something crazy—saving hostages, protecting the US and safeguarding the civilian population in many different countries, all for people he didn’t know. But, in Paige’s case, he knew her, wanted to get to know her more, even against his better judgment. He was only going to be here for a week. He wasn’t really interested in doing something long distance. It was hard enough to be deployed without having to handle someone else’s location. He’d had his heart stomped on and kicked to the curb by a petite, ninety-pound package. Paige looked tougher and more solid than Mia.
She watched him and the longer he was with her, the more intrigued he became with the change and the curious but undeniable fact that she still had a powerful effect on him. He was so aware of her, of the way the sunlight and the wind played with her hair, of her whole body, her breath, of the intensity of her gaze and her barely hidden distress.
Her brow furrowed, and she tucked her chin, and her hand slid up to cover her eyes. A soft curse left her mouth. “Hey,” he said, moving a step closer and bending his head to better see her face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” The lie was barely a whisper. A tremor went through her. He saw it in the brief trembling of her shoulders, in the way she leaned her weight into the side of the van. She sighed and looked away, her eyes moist. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you so much, Ashe.”
She stood and turned toward the steps, her shoulder brushing his and the contact brought her to a sudden halt. Her head came up, and their eyes met.
She was close, very close, her fragrance coming to him on the air, all thankful woman and soft sweet scent.
Powerful.
He found himself breathing deeper just to have more of her. Crazy, crazy, so batshit crazy, the word went through his mind. He was a lunatic, trying to breathe her in—but, God, he loved the way she smelled. He didn’t know how to read the shadowed expression in her eyes.
“Everything’s fine now. You’re safe.”
“Thanks to you.” He reached out and gently took hold of her upper arm.
Gratitude. It was a hell of a lot better than wariness, but it wasn’t even close to what he really wanted from her.
He moved his hand down her arm and slid his thumb along the edge of her wrist, feeling the silken softness of her skin and took another step closer.
“Ashe,” she said his name half as a protest and half as a plea.
Her hand came up to cover her face again, and he couldn’t help it. His fingers smoothed along the curve of her jaw.
“Come on! Let’s get this show on the road,” Anderson yelled.
Paige jerked and then they just looked at each other. Kid wanted to throat-punch the fucker, that was for sure. Instead, he followed her up into the van.
Cowboy crouched low in the cover of the jungle. “No sign of anyone,” Hollywood said into the mic, delivering his low-worded message straight into Cowboy’s ear. They were currently in one of North Korea’s many lowlands between mountain ranges where fly boy, Captain Shawn Martin had gone down while doing top secret surveillance in his Dragon Lady, a nickname for an American single-jet engine, ultra-high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft, or more commonly referred to as a freaking spy plane.
“Any sign of the downed wreckage?” Cowboy asked.
“Negative,” Hollywood answered.
Cowboy looked to Ruckus and he said, “Bring them back, and we’ll go at this from a different angle.”
“Yes, sir,” Cowboy responded, but just before he keyed his mic, he was interrupted.
“We’re on deadline,” Scarecrow said in his soft Southern accent. “Just got the intel that Korean troops are on the move.”
“Copy that. Come back to base. We’ll regroup and search the next grid.”
“Roger,” Hollywood said. He was with Wicked, Blue, Tank and Echo, searching for any clue as to where Captain Martin might have crashed after he was downed by a surface-to-air-missile while flying over the country on an intelligence gathering mission.
“Wait, Echo has picked up something. Standby.”
Petty Officer Ryuu “Dragon” Shannon, the stand in for Kid and their sniper shifted next to Cowboy. His dark eyes never left the field in front of them and even though Cowboy knew most of the guys on Team Seven, Dragon was enigmatic and quiet. He had a baby face, lean, ripped body and shock of dark hair like Kid’s, but he wore it cropped close on the sides and thicker on top. With a slight New York borough accent that leaned more toward Brooklyn, he spoke only when necessary. His mixed heritage was clear in his unique, slightly tilted eyes. As easily as intense as their preferred point man, but more darkly so. Where Kid cracked jokes, Dragon was silent and deadly. Cowboy wondered how Kid was doing in Bolivia. He’d kept his eye on the boy wonder, who showed no signs of his melt down six months ago, but Cowboy wasn’t quite sure that Kid was exactly okay.
“Hollywood?” Scarecrow said.
“Patience,” Hollywood murmured. “The dog can’t exactly say what’s got him agitated.”
“Copy that, but patience is only important when there are no witnesses,” Scarecrow drawled.
“Haha, man, that’s funny. You’re giving my finger a boner.”
“Your girl tells me that’s the only way you can get one,” Scarecrow countered.
“Yours tells me my dick is bigger, and I’m better looking.”
There were several chuckles over the mic. “Echo has found the fly boy, but there are several tangos between us and him,” Hollywood said, his voice hushed.
“What’s his status?” Cowboy asked.
“Looks like he’s not mobile. He’s nicely concealed, but if they start beating the bushes they’re going to find him. LT?”
“Lay low until the sun goes down, then go get him under their noses.”
Cowboy and the four SEALs waited until the sun dropped into the horizon as they bided their time. Egress wasn’t for another hour, but they had to get Captain Martin and hightail it to the LZ.”
“LT, we’re moving in,” Hollywood said.
There was tense silence until Blue said, “He’s in bad shape, LT. Broken leg, banged up good. I’ll need to set it before we can move him. He’s conscious though and wants me to tell you he’s glad to see us, even if we’re SEALs,” Blue said.
Ruckus laughed and said, “Roger that. The plane?”
“Five klicks from here. He said he’s been in and out and can’t say for sure if he destroyed the intel.”
“Hollywood and Wicked, get to the plane and make sure no one is going to get any use out of it. Then head to the LZ.”
“Roger,” Wicked said.
“Blue and Tank, we’re headed your way.” Ruckus rose and Cowboy, Scarecrow, and Dragon rose with him. They started moving to the coordinates Scarecrow was tracking on his computer. Once they reached them, they crouched down, Dragon taking up a position to handle any surprises from the Koreans.
“We’re ready to blow the plane, LT,” Wicked said, his voice hushed.
“Give us five more minutes, then light it up. That’s going to get their attention. Make sure you’re headed to the LZ.”
“Copy that.”
“Blue, let’s move.”
He picked up Captain Martin and headed toward the LZ. Moments after that, an explosion lit up the night. There was some chatter but they were headed away from Cowboy and the rapidly moving SEALs. Suddenly there was a muffled shout and all of them turned to find Dragon pulling a knife out of the guy’s t
hroat. With a nod, LT gestured them into motion. Once they hit the LZ, the chopper landed, and they rendezvoused with Wicked and Hollywood.
Securing the pilot in the Blackhawk, it took off and the North Koreans, except for one unlucky dude, didn’t even know they’d been there.
The perfect op. Again, Cowboy wondered about Kid. Dragon was cool, but Kid belonged to their team. He’d be glad when he was back.
5
So, a day later as he tied up his running shoes at his hotel, he couldn’t quite figure out why he’d kept his distance, and why she’d given him a chilly goodbye at the end of the trip. It was as if nothing of their heat and intensity had survived the rest of the drive down the mountain. Maybe she was angry with the way he’d taken over for her. Competent women didn’t want to look bad in their boss’s eyes. But geez, she’d just been through a harrowing experience. What the hell could he have done? Let her drive, trembling and handling the aftershocks of almost getting plowed by falling rock, hanging off the edge of a cliff, anchored by a guy she just met?
Sure, she didn’t know him. But he had a hard time dealing with his own indecision. An uncertain SEAL was a dead SEAL. Yet he couldn’t seem to figure out what to do about this particular choice.
He headed out of the hotel and soon found himself running on the outskirts of town as night settled over the mountains. The air was chilly, and he’d only donned his gray hoodie, the hood now over his wet and perspiring head. Maybe he could sweat the babe right out of his system and avoid the whole morning after routine completely.
Okay, so one-night stands weren’t his modus operandi. He liked a committed relationship. So, sue him. He wanted to know a woman was his, exclusively.
He’d been totally blindsided that he would end up halfway across the world, completely lost in the wilds of Bolivia with a woman who broke his heart just from looking at her. It made him feel uncomfortably exposed, vulnerable.
Edgy.
The thin mountain air didn’t slow him down one bit. He hadn’t been affected by the altitude at all. The terrain was uneven and challenging, just the way he liked it. It got his muscles working and made the workout more grueling. He couldn’t slack ever, vacation or no vacation.
He was on a ridge overlooking some warehouses, the moon rising and the stars brightening his way. He was drenched now, perspiration running down his torso, getting soaked into the waistband of his running pants.
He saw someone crouching, but the figure rose abruptly and pointed a gun at him. “Stop right there.”
The dark figure sneaking up on her in the night unnerved her. She was still on edge after what had happened yesterday and only part of that was the whole-plunging-to-her-death thing. The other part was what had happened afterward at the van with Ashe being so darn sweet and protective. God, she’d wanted to kiss him in the worse way, inhale him whole, but she couldn’t get past her obligation to NCIS, her job here was crucial to two families who were waiting for justice and the imperative recovery of those weapons. She didn’t have time for pleasure. And, after one look at Ashe Wilder, there was no doubt the man could deliver on pleasure tenfold.
Her eyes never left the dark silhouette. She hadn’t heard him and her snooping outside the warehouse gave her some valuable intel. It was guarded. Why would a warehouse that stored old bikes and other equipment need this level of security?
“Are you armed?” she asked in her don’t-mess-with-me agent’s growl.
“No,” he said, his voice low and hard.
“Let me see.” When he reached for the zipper of his hoodie, she cautioned, “Slow and easy.”
“That’s the way I roll,” he murmured.
Her grip on the Glock 9mm was firm and strong, her finger along the trigger guard poised for violence. One wrong move, a quick squeeze and he would go down.
He slowly unzipped the hoodie and grasped each side in his fingers to reveal…a ripped and lean torso. Her gaze slid down the length of him, every muscle delineated, a work of art, each curve a union of strength and testosterone, of conviction and the iron will to survive.
He turned slowly around and everything about him was intriguing, the aura of him…so familiar. The tight, fine butt, the long, strong legs. She tilted her head, her eyes squinting. “Come to where I can see you.”
He stepped forward so that the security light from the warehouse illuminated him. She gasped and whispered harshly, “Ashe.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said firmly.
They’d had breakfast together while he took every pleasure he could in vexing Marco, her would be suitor, told her intimate things about his dad that she was quite sure he’d never told anyone in his life, and saved her from crushing boulders and a sheer drop in a matter of seconds. Here he was still calling her ma’am. “What are you doing out here?” Immediately, she was wary. She realized she didn’t know him at all. Wasn’t sure about his “tourist” classification. From the beginning, he looked more like a warrior than he did anything else. Who, exactly, was he?
“Running.”
“Running?”
He stepped closer to her. She couldn’t seem to lower the weapon, feeling threatened by him. She hadn’t met a man that looked so dangerous, but was so darn sweet. Sweetly fierce like he’d been when he was saving her, sweetly sincere with his confession about his dad, and so sweetly beautiful, it hurt.
He didn’t stop moving until the gun’s barrel was just under his chin. His eyes were deep pools of blue that she could drown in and there was a recklessness about him that set off sizzling, daunting vibes. Something inside her told her to flee that she would never be the same if she tangled with him, but she couldn’t move.
He was lethally irresistible.
And so, so on edge. She pushed him there to the edge, the knowledge flashed through her like a heartbeat.
Oh, man, she liked him off-balance for sure. She liked him unsteady, because he rattled the hell out of her. His dark hair was covered with the gray hood, only his bangs were visible, hanging like wet, black silk over his forehead and into his eyes, catching on his thick, dark lashes. A trace of beard stubble darkened his jaw and upper lip. The gray cotton was soaked through, still open over his bare chest and all that rippled muscle. But he was still distracting, with cheekbones she wanted to slide her fingers over and a mouth she wanted to kiss—thoughts even more disconcerting now than they’d been yesterday when he’d grappled her out of thin air and onto his hard, hot body.
“Have you ever pulled the trigger while looking a man in the eyes?”
She took a shallow breath, his voice was low, seductive and cold as the night air around them. She had no words, no response, waiting for what he had to say, her body quivering, the gun nothing but a flimsy barrier under his chin.
His head tilted, his mouth lowering toward hers and stopping a hairsbreadth away. “In that instant before you pull the trigger, death is personal, to you, to your target. Three and a half pounds is all it takes.” His gaze was now hot, an incandescent blue. An infinity of snowflakes floated onto his shoulders, into his hair, onto his face, melting when they came into contact with his hot, moist skin.
More long seconds of silence passed. “You’re going to live; he’s going to die. That’s the way it’s orchestrated. You’re never closer to life right there in one breath to the next. It’s silent and quick and ruthless—a perfect cold zero.”
This brought them to the inevitable moment, a moment that she knew was coming at her like a freight train, but when his mouth covered hers, nudging the gun down, it wasn’t with the force of a freight train, but like that of a feather, soft, gentle. The sweet, tantalizing warmth enfolded her as his arm tightened around her, pulling her closer to his body, closer to his heat. His breath was so alive, the faint touch of his lips a seduction on a primal level, the culmination of a kiss that had been coming forever.
One that she could not have dodged or avoided, as certain as death and felt as dangerous as hell.
He brushed her lips again, ling
ering longer, and all she could think was that they were both crazy. She still had the gun under his chin. She had the upper hand. But she was the one trembling—and he was pushing her too far.
Right out of her comfort zone where she realized there had never been any comfort at all. Just hard work, lonely, hastily consumed meals and even lonelier nights. Before this kiss, she thought it was a necessity to get ahead, be all that she could be. Show her dad that she had the same work ethic as him, learning it the hard way all those years of his absence and her raising three hellion brothers. But now it was about hard, velvet muscles, lethal looks, and heat so hot she swore the night was filled with steam instead of snow.
But this new zone, this, this…Ashe Zone was almost more than she could bear, and something she couldn’t get enough of, no matter how hard she thought about it. But, there she was thinking when everything about this encounter was tactile, rousing and astounding.
Before she realized it, the gun was out of her hand and in his, disarming her seemed to be this man’s specialty, and if his motives were hostile, she wouldn’t even see it coming. She’d have her eyes closed kissing him.
The sound was barely perceptible, a scuff of a boot, a soft disturbance in the night, but Ashe shoved the gun in her hand, turned her shoulders and whispered in her ear, his breath hot against the delicate shell. “Hide,” he hissed.
She reacted, her agent instincts finally kicking in. She bolted for cover and the shadows. When she threw a quick glance over her shoulder, he was gone…simply vanished as if he had blended into shadow. She heard a scuffle and headed toward it. No way was she leaving the man who had saved her life out here to deal with something she’d stirred up. Not when she had the gun, the training and the determination. My God, Ashe was a lone wolf distraction that she couldn’t afford. If she blew her cover…her boss would have her head. So much was riding on this assignment.
Down the hill, toward the warehouse she’d been watching, a man stood, alert, searching the night. Paige crouched down, looking for Ashe. Then darkness moved at her peripheral vision. The guard was a brute. Much, much bigger than Ashe, but with several graceful, powerful, lightning-like moves, the huge man let out a gasp and a grunt, then was down and out. A shot echoed, whizzing past her, the zing like the twang of a bow, displacing the air.
