And there it is,he thought.That undeniable…something.
He could feel it stretching between them. Pullingat them.
She wore her rage as easily and clearly as he’d once worn a military uniform, and he imagined he could see the waves of challenge rolling out of her.
In contrast, he adopted a casual tone. “Fancy seeing you here, Agent O’Toole.”
He had assumed she’d hopped on the chopper with the others. He hadn’tseenher do it because he’d ducked deep inside the log when two searchers shined their flashlights all over his hidey-hole. Now, he chastised himself for not waiting to ensure no one other than the two tactical team guys had stayed behind.
“I thought you’d be on that helicopter with the others. Reckoned the bloodhound in you wouldn’t let you give up the chase for the bad guys.”
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her to say in response, but it certainly wasn’t, “Youkissedme, you motherfucker.”
Ah, yes. The deepest depths of my betrayal.
He understood. It would have been one thing if he’d simply lied to her. But it was something else entirely to have used her desire against her.
To his chagrin, her merementionof that kiss had his blood warming and running south of the border. But, for the time being, he ignored the little head in his pants to fully utilize the big one hanging off the end of his neck.
The way he saw it, he had two options. He could beg for forgiveness. Which would likely prove futile even though he actuallywassorry he’d taken advantage of her. Or he could play the role she’d already assigned him. That of an unscrupulous asshole.
He went with option number two.
“I did kiss you,” he admitted with a blasé shrug. “And if I were more of a gentleman, I might apologize for that. But since we both enjoyed ourselves immensely?—”
When she opened her mouth to argue, he shook his head. “Don’t do yourself the disservice of claiming otherwise.” He stepped forward, invading her space. He wasn’t surprised she didn’t take a step back. Instead, she tilted her piquant little chin and shot daggers at him through her narrowed eyes.
God, she’s glorious,he admitted as her subtle perfume invaded his nostrils and had his jaw hardening along with…other parts of his body.
“Because I remember how hungry you were,” he continued relentlessly, his gaze dropping to her generous mouth. “How…hotyou were.” He intentionally added the pause and the emphasis.
They both knew he wasn’t talking in generalities. One very specific part of her had been flaming hot…and sopping wet.
His words made her nostrils flare. Made her jaw set at a sharp angle. If rage had a physical form, it would be Julia O’Toole.
Fine. Good. She can hate me, he told himself. If she hated him, she’d stop him from pulling her into his arms and attempting a repeat of what they’d shared in the kitchen.
It was taking everything he had not to give it a try.
“If I were fifty pounds heavier, I’d kick your ass up between your shoulder blades and then rip off your dick and make you eat it,” she snarled, her chest rising and falling in angry huffs that drew his eyes to the delicate hollow at the base of her throat.
He wanted to press his lips there. Taste the warmth of her skin until the flavor was imprinted on his brain. Drag his tongue over the little divot to hear her gasp and whisper his name.
“You’re welcome to try, sugar pants.”
Her right eye twitched. “Did you just call me sugar pants?”
“It was my second choice.”
Her chin jerked back. “What was your first choice?”
“Sexiest woman on the planet.”
She snorted. “Flattery will get you nowhere. I’m onto you. This thing…” She waved a hand between them. “It’s smoke and mirrors. Just an act that I was dumb enough to fall for.”
“Bullshit,” he spat, offended she’d discount what was so clearly obvious between them.
“Excuse me?”
