“I’m fine.” When her fingers curl into my shirt, lust slams straight through me.
Feeling it too, she pushes me away. “Nothing personal. I simply don’t trust you.”
Her sucker punch nearly doubles me over.
Doesn’t trust me? Oh, that’s rich.Gritting my teeth, I cup her cheeks. “Listen up. I’ve been living outdoors, tracking you for aweek. The State Police gave up on you days ago. Marked you down as dead, but I refused to stop looking.”
She rolls those gorgeous, chocolate brown eyes. “I’ll send your name to the pope to see if we can get you sainthood. I don’t care. I can track him myself, no offense.”
If there were a game show called Push My Button, the stubborn female would be the reigning champ ten years running.
Voice lowered to a dangerous whisper, I press my nose to hers. “My ancestors have lived on this mountain since the seventeenth century. No one knows this area better than me.”
Anyone else would’ve backed off. Not the feisty bobcat.
Slow and mocking, she shoves me away before clapping twice. “Impressive, Mr. Mayflower. Explains the whole New Englander-Puritan vibe. Search lead. Loyal hound. Let me guess… a dairy farm? A pickup with a rifle rack?”
Her barbs hit their mark. “For someone who claims she’s being stalked, you sure aren’t worried about being heard.”
Silent, her face flushes bright red.
What I wouldn’t give to have met her under different circumstances, blushing as I stripped her bare before sinking deep into her folds.
As I shake off inappropriate thoughts, I unroll my sleeping bag. For once, her smart mouth remains shut.
After I toss her a cold MRE, I park myself down by a tree. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
“Give me the second shift. Wake me.” Her tempting, cute little butt wiggles as she crawls into my damn sleeping bag.
Not a chance, sweetheart.Jaw clenched, cock hard, I turn away.
Other than my discomfort, the night passes without incident. Even Becca, who loves chasing critters, stays close, snoring lightly.
At the ass crack of dawn, my suspect slips out the tent’s flap. Stretching tall, she squints into the sky, then scowls. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
I sigh. By now, whatever she took should have worked through her system. “Put yourself in my boots. What would you have done?”
Eyes much clearer than last night she nods. “Right. Thanks. Do I have time to clean up?”
Trying not to picture her naked, I point. “Stream’s to the north. Take Becca with you.”
When my dog trots to her side, the woman squats, grins, and pets her head vigorously. “Morning, sweetheart.”
Briana’s smile—the first real one I’ve seen—lights up the whole damn forest.
As she saunters away, I shake my head. “Get your damn act together, O’Malley. Focus on the mission.”
Copy that.Jetboil. Flame. Coffee down in three gulps. Stow gear. Noise. Weapon. Turn.
“Don’t shoot, Sheriff, it’s me.”
Holy shit. Her skin’s still damp, her face scrubbed clean. She’s braided her shoulder length brown hair and stolen one of my T-shirts. Damned if my libido doesn’t take notice of her bad-ass-girl-next-door vibe.
Closing my dropped jaw, I hand her my mug. “We should get going. We'll stay on the secondary path.”
As I kick sand into the fire, she takes a deep gulp. “Fine.”
“What? No argument? Well, that’s a first.”
