Breakneck laughed. “Too true. But I’m okay.”
“He’ll be the judge of that.” Ice turned away, then looked back. “I’m sorry about your family situation, but the brotherhood…we have your six, always.” Breakneck’s throat tightened, and when Ice offered his fist, Breakneck bumped it.
Blair moved on to a female constable who was righting and rearranging the disarray on her desk. She was clearly upset. Blair leaned in, hugged her, and spoke to her, making almost constant eye contact. She wasn’t petite by any stretch of the imagination, tall, he’d guess close to five eleven, that lithe body covered in a navy blue uniform…yeah.
The navy RCMP shirt fit her like it had been tailored, the fabric pulled snug across her shoulders and chest, the sleeves hugging lean, defined arms that didn’t come from gym vanity but from long days in the saddle and nights tracking assholes through the dark. Her badge glinted above her breast pocket, gold and authoritative, drawing his gaze like a magnet before he could drag it away.
Her pants were basic dark navy, but on her, they looked anything but standard. The bright yellow stripe ran down the curve of her leg like a spotlight, guiding his eyes along the powerful line of her thigh down to those polished black boots, heavy leather, the heel clicking against the floor with every sharp, controlled step.
Breakneck had always noticed feet first, footwork showed training, danger, confidence. Blair walked like a woman who’d never once considered she might need permission, and the thought of those legs wrapped around him made him sweat, and hate himself for reacting to her like this, here, now.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, but a few strands had slipped free, brushing her cheekbones, framing her face with an effortless sort of beauty that pissed him off because it hit too deep. Then there were her eyes, those impossible green eyes, flicking over the room, taking in alphas, SEALs, and the carnage like she was assessing terrain.
The vest…geezus.
WILD’s tac vest rode snug against her torso, molded to her shape, no bulk, no unnecessary straps, a field modification she’d done herself. He noticed the custom stitching along the shoulder, the reinforced knife sheath, the second radio clip.
She didn’t just wear gear. She optimized it. She wasn’t a cop. She was a commander.
Breakneck swallowed once, jaw tightening.
She looked like the kind of woman a man didn’t touch unless he meant it. She looked like the kind of woman a man ruined himself over. He was absolutely not going to ruin himself in Canada.
He forced his gaze back to the far wall.
Didn’t help.
Blair Brown in that uniform, navy, yellow, leather, authority, was more dangerous to him than the cartel ever had been, and she didn’t even know it. He closed his eyes, but the memory of her burned behind his lids. He swore. He could drop into dreams about her standing up. His dick stirred. Inconvenient, stupid, hormonal, goddamned involuntary male response.
His spatial awareness flared, and he knew it was her near him. He swore he could feel the heat of her body, the ghost of every feminine curve of her. Was she staring at him again? Yeah, he noticed. How could he miss it? For a split second he thought she was staring at the surface of him, the way everyone always did…until he saw her eyes sharpen, assessing him, not his face or his body. Him. It twisted his identity crisis on its head, grounding him for a breath, and made him crave more of it.
He kept his eyes closed. “Haven’t you mapped every damn inch of my body and face yet?” He knew he was being a jerk, but it was the only defense he had that he hoped would counteract this vise hold she was clamping down on him.
“You are good to look at, and you know it,” she said, leaning right into his asshole behavior. “I’m only human.” He sputtered a laugh. Fuck if she wasn’t going to drive even more under his skin. “Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?”
He opened his eyes, praying that the attraction he felt for her would have just disappeared. He fell into her instead, that concern in her voice as clear as the look in those eyes.
“Nope. I’m good.”
She nodded, nudging her chin toward the open Interrogation Two doorway. “You are in many ways, but everyone needs a little TLC, tough guy, eh? Why don’t you indulge me, then?”
Something hard and sweet slammed into his heart at those words, backed up with that husky tone to her voice. Was she trying to kill him, bring him to his knees? Fucking TLC? He’d show her his brand of TLC, and it had nothing to do with first aid.
His dick swelled and barely had anywhere to go in these jeans.
He had no business reacting to a woman.
“Come on. I’m sure even cocky, special operators do too, at least every once in a while.” Then she had to go and do it. She smiled, and every damn part of his body tightened under that kind of beauty. It went all the way up to her eyes, then lit them from within. “Let’s go.” The palm of her hand landed on the side of his shoulder, and she shoved him, crowding him into the room, and he got overwhelmed by her presence.
His chest tightened, his breathing turned ragged, his arms tingled.
What the hell was this?
Panic?
He pushed back instinctively, making her stumble, and catching her against him out of necessity, everything drew tight in him, the unexpected alarm, his craving, his longing, his goddamned vulnerability. Blair was a seasoned RCMP officer, she recognized the fear response in people because it was her job.
Her face softened, and she went pliant in his arms, her eyes widening. He let her go like she’d burned him to ashes. His muscles flexed under her palms where she’d grabbed his shoulders after losing her balance, and her breath caught. He swallowed, working this inexplicable problem, and at the same time loving her response and hating it. Interestingly, even when she was stable and standing on her own, she didn’t remove her hands.
