Page 78 of Elite Metal: Warriors

“Yes.”

“Then quit teasing me or these pancakes will go the way of the Rudolf.”

She glanced at the fireplace, where their skewers still lay, half in and half out of the hearth. The marshmallow treats were nothing but charred remains. She quirked a brow. “Is that a threat?”

“That is a promise. And Michelle?”

“Yes, Ben?”

He shivered at the sound of his name—his real name—on her lips. “That’s something you need to know about me. I always keep my promises.”

Their gazes locked and a message passed between them, something ephemeral and profound.

“So do I,” she whispered.

His secure cell phone buzzed just then and he had to look away, though he hated looking away from her. He pulled it out, tapped in his security code and read the text from his boss.

Extraction imminent.

Shit.

“Get dressed,” he said. “Company’s coming.” He didn’t mean for his tone to be so sharp, but she seemed to understand his angst and scuttled to comply. Their time together, alone, was over.

Damn it all. He’d hoped to have her, hold her, love her one more time.

Just one more time.

He flipped the pancakes and let them cook—no doubt the extraction team wouldn’t think to bring them takeout—while he gathered his things, pulled on his shirt and flak jacket.

When he was done, he turned the pancakes onto a plate and held it out to her. “Eat.”

She wrinkled her nose and muttered, “Bossy,” but took one of the steaming cakes.

“How is it?” he asked as he took one for himself.

“Okay.”

He frowned. “Just okay?”

“It would be better with blueberries”

He grunted.

“Or bacon.”

He waved at the stockpile on the shelf. “We have jerky.”

The face she made was adorable. “Oh, please.”

He opened his mouth to respond, something pithy and clever, something that might make her laugh, but before he could think of something, the door flew open and three men, dressed in black and holding rifles, burst in.

His first thought was that it was the Elite Metal team and he was going to bust their asses for not knocking, but then he realized…

It wasn’t.

It took a second for the awareness of peril to hit him. A second for him to appreciate that his weapon was on the table on the other side of the room, out of reach. A second to comprehend the fullness of his failure.

A second too long.