“I don’t care what it wants. Please get rid of it.” The tremor in her voice was unlike anything I’d heard from her before, even when we’d been pinned down by gunfire during our fourth week.
“The woman who handled suspected chemical weapons with steady hands is afraid of a scorpion?” I couldn’t help teasing her as I tracked the creature’s movement. Scorpions weren’t something to ignore in this landscape, but my goal was to calm her with my confidence.
“We all have our things, LaPierre.” She shifted on the bed, her bare feet carefully centered on her pillow. “I don’t mock your irrational hatred of powdered eggs.”
“Powdered eggs are an abomination,” I replied, moving toward the scorpion with deliberate steps. I’d been in such a rush to get to her, my feet were only protected by my slide-on sandals, which had been by my door for late-night latrine trips. A sting on one of my toeswouldstill require medical attention. “And there’s nothing irrational about it.”
With a quick motion, I brought the notebook down, ending the scorpion’s intrusion with a decisive crunch.
Brooke squeaked at the sound.
“All clear, Doc.” I disposed of the remains, then turned toward her with a raised eyebrow. “You can come down now.”
She didn’t move, just stared at the spot where the scorpion had been. “There might be more.”
“There aren’t.” I moved to the bed and reached for her. “I promise.”
She hesitated, her eyes meeting mine. Something shifted in the air between us. I’d been in her quarters before to help her move things, but never after hours, never with her in sleep shorts and a tank top, never with myself shirtless and focused entirely on her.
Instead of taking her hand, I gripped her waist. Her skin was warm beneath the thin cotton of her tank top, her waist narrow under my spread fingers.
Her breath caught as I lifted her down, bringing her closer than I should have, so her body slid against mine. My fingers refused to listen to my brain, and I held her against me. Time seemed to stretch, the moment extending into something dangerous.
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered as her hands smoothed up my biceps to rest on my shoulders.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.” Her eyes held mine, dark and filled with the same heat that had been dancing between us for weeks. “Holding me like this.”
“No,” I agreed. “I shouldn’t.”
But I didn’t let go.
“This breaks about a dozen regulations,” she murmured, her fingers moving slightly against my bare skin.
“At least.” I could feel her heartbeat accelerating where our chests pressed together. “We’ve been very professional.”
“For two whole months.” She fluttered her eyelashes, all the fear vanishing from her eyes. “It’s been torture.”
The admission broke something loose inside me. Two months of carefully maintained distance, of professional respect layered over growing desire, of watching her mind work and her courage unfold in dangerous situations.
“Tell me to go.”
“I don’t want you to.” She moistened her lips, all the invitation I needed.
My mouth found hers. It was tentative at first, like testing the temperature of water. But then her lips parted, offering. A quiet moan vibrated against my lips. Her hands slid up my neck, driving into my hair.
That small sound undid me.
I kissed her like I’d been starving for two months. Because I had been. I devoured her mouth, my tongue exploring hers, tasting her. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was possession. It was demand. My hands slid down her back, memorizing the curve of her spine, settling on the swell of her ass.
I squeezed hard, and she gasped into my mouth. Her hips jerked forward, pressing against the unyielding ridge of my erection. Heat lanced through me.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, holding my face to hers as she met my ferocity with her own. Nails scraped pleasantly againstmy scalp. Everything vanished except her heat, her taste, the urgent little sounds she made.
We’d apparently moved, because her back hit the flimsy plywood wall. I pressed into her, pinning her, not as worried as I should have been about taking the whole building down. My mouth moved from her lips, trailing along her jaw. Her head fell back, exposing her throat. I nipped the delicate skin below her ear, and she whimpered. Her chest rose and fell against me, rapid breaths that stoked my own need higher.
“I’ve wanted this since you asked me about detection protocols,” she confessed, her breath coming faster when my lips found her ear. “That first day, when you actually cared about understanding the science.”
