Mastered By The Mavericks (18 page)

Though she ended it with a more pronounced giggle, he didn’t miss how her lips faltered
when mentioning her friend. On top of his post-sex high, she struck him with a fresh
jolt of awe. She was pretty fucking astounding, having left everything behind to help
save Zoe. As a soldier, it was his job to do this all the time: his life got dropped,
often with just a few hours of notice, for the sake of missions. But she was a civilian,
with a job, a home, and college classes, perhaps even a pet and family nearby.
Damn
.

Against every protest of his logic, he adored her a little deeper. Sealed the deal
by leaning back over her, dipping his lips to hers in a long, wet, lingering kiss
that had them both breathing hard by the time they pulled apart. “You’re a pretty
juicy lollipop yourself, Miss Monet,” he drawled. “And damn if I don’t want another
lick already.”

“Mmmm.” She lazed back with a come-hither smile. “Don’t think I wouldn’t take you
up on that offer, Sergeant—if we didn’t have a teammate to support in another hour.”

He couldn’t ignore issuing the obvious comeback. “You think it would take an
hour
?”

Her eyebrows arched. “I wouldn’t put it past you, Rhett Lange.” A new giggle spilled
out as soon as he puffed out his chest. “
Now
do you feel better about the big Cajun elephant?”

He rolled her to the side, just enough to retaliate by soundly smacking one of her
delectable ass cheeks. Brynn squealed and scrambled away, making it easy to counter
with a laugh—all perfect disguises for the actual answer to her charge.

He didn’t feel better about the Cajun at all.

And the fresh twitches in his cock weren’t about to let him forget.

‡

H
e’s fucked her.

Rebel was certain of the fact almost the second he walked back into Dax’s house, wearily
plunking his pack onto the entrance foyer’s terra-cotta tiles.

It had started as a tickle in his ear during the mission, niggling him in the Rhett
Lange subtext he knew better than anyone else. Unlike the overplayed Brit slang that
had defined their earlier comm check, Double-Oh checked in with him for the op itself
with a tone that was all talk show host congeniality, even when relaying the “fun”
little tidbit that the Verge complex had sprouted a pair of guard dogs for the night.
Thank fuck for the animal tranq syringes they’d added to the just-in-case pocket of
the mission pack. A pair of well-aimed shots ensured the pooches napped during the
rest of the time it took for him to disable the three yard cameras, hotwire the loading
dock security panel, and set the camera inside the main building.

He’d barely broken a sweat—until that moment.

Right after Rhett’s all-clear for the camera, confirming the device was powered and
working correctly, alarms honked all over the complex. Somebody inside hadn’t been
happy about him murdering the yard cameras, so quickly informed fifty of his dearest
buddies. A smoke canister had already been at his fingertips. While setting it off
provided the diversion he needed, it also sent the guards running toward the hole
he’d carefully snipped in the back fence in order to get
into
the place. He’d groaned softly then barked at Rhett to punch the proper buttons in
order to make Plan B happen.

Plan B.
Fuck.

He hadn’t expected it to be a shred of fun. And damn it if he hadn’t learned to peg
most of his life expectations just about right.

As he straightened from dropping the pack, the verification of his accuracy bled from
him—literally. The second Rhett doused the power grid the Verge complex belonged to,
he’d handed Reb a ticking time clock. Only thirty seconds until the backup generators
revved to life. Half a minute to sprint for another section of the fence and hurl
all the way over—between the lines of vertical barbed wire at the top.

“Oh, thank God. You made it!” Brynn rushed across the living room, arms stretched
toward him. Like the wrung-out idiot he was, Reb stuck up both thumbs—deterring her
from fully embracing him. That seemed just fine by her.

Surprise, surprise
.

“Welcome back, partner.” Rhett drawled it in an awful twang as he moved up behind
her, though his gaze conveyed genuine affection. Could that have had
anything
to do with the hand he pressed to the small of Brynna’s back, the dude’s version
of draping a letterman’s jacket over her shoulders? Of course, Double-Oh hadn’t worn
anything other than Gucci or Burberry before he’d accepted his commission—not that
Brynn wouldn’t be content with those, either. She accepted his contact without a flinch,
settling in with ease, as if knowing she’d be thoroughly cherished in that embrace.

Surprise
fucking
surprise.

The words resounded through him, their echoes stained in bitterness. He didn’t like
any of this—what Rhett had pulled
or
his reaction—and showed it with a dark scowl that matched the twelves places he was
really bleeding.

He had no right to the anger. More importantly,
it
had no right to
him
. If Saul Stafford had taught him anything in life, it was the pitfalls of attachment,
devotion, and caring too much. They all led to nowhere but life with a hooch bottle
for a best friend, gazing at a swamp full of gators with a heart full of heartbreak.
Hadn’t this afternoon’s
misere
in the kitchen proved as much? He’d tried, damn it. For the first time in a
very
long time, he’d ventured out on a cliff of risk and invited Rhett to join him, to
fly from the ledge together. And he’d expected something other than the bastard’s
shut-down…why?

That answer didn’t matter.

The truth was…he hadn’t expected this.

Despite his fight, more frustration flew in. Anger joined it. They settled on his
shoulders and camped there like a pair of cemetery crows.

Fine, assholes. You want to hang out? Be my guests.

The beady fuckers turned into his best
amis
, as he fixed a dismal stare on Rhett. “Good to be back,
partner
.” He glanced lazily at Double-Oh’s possessive hand, now winding around Brynn’s waist.
“Anything…interesting happen while I was gone?”

At least he could look forward to Rhett’s squirm. Even if it was just for a few seconds,
he’d revel in it like—

It never happened.

“Holy
crap
.” Brynn lunged forward, yanking on both his arms. “That shit on the fence didn’t
just slice apart your clothes!”

This wasn’t helping. God
damn
, no. She wasn’t supposed to be affecting him like this, simply with the concern in
her touch. And the anxiety in her eyes. And the frenzy of her cute little tongue,
all over her berry-dark lips.

Lips significantly more swollen between this afternoon and now.

He jerked back. Clenched his hands at his sides. “It was barbed wire, Brynna. I’m
fine. They’re surface scratches.”

“Scratches?” she retorted. “You’re bleeding!”

“It happens.” Or so he’d heard. Since he was the guy called to light or defuse the
fireworks, he usually strutted in after perimeters had been cleared and barbed wire
chopped. That didn’t make him a stranger to his own blood; the shit just usually wasn’t
painting zig-zag doodles down his arms and legs.

“Yeah? Well, infections happen too.” She snapped it while grabbing him by a wrist
and hauling him around the corner, into the kitchen. He didn’t—well, couldn’t—say
a word as she planted him in the middle of the floor, using her other hand to retrieve
a bowl and fill it from the faucet. As she started rifling through cabinets, she pointed
a finger, sweeping from his head to his toes, ordering, “Off. All of it. Now.”

He frowned. “All of what?”

“Clothes,” she clarified. “Anything that’ll get in the way of my cleaning and treating
those cuts—which means you probably get to keep the briefs. Unless you’re commando?”

“Unless I’m—” He could only blame shock for why it came out as a scandalized splutter.
But a swamp rat from the land of voodoo and Mardi Gras usually wasn’t stunned for
long, especially when a beautiful redhead wanted him to strip.

Especially when an equally beautiful man hovered in the doorway, looking on with a
heated, hooded stare.

“Well.” Reb quirked one side of his mouth. “Whatever I can do to make your job…easier.”

Brynna rolled her eyes while plopping a big first aid kit on the chopping block. “Behave,
raunch dog.” She smacked the surface next to the kit. “But if you really want to help,
park your ass up here. I can get to you better that way.”

“Getting to me. Yeah, that’s important.” He chuckled despite her smack to his chest—though
never let the mirth climb to his stare. He reserved that for the evidence of what
this moment was really doing to him…of the weight in his blood, the electricity in
his skin, and the crackle in his senses—his body unable to mask its reaction to being
near-naked in front of the two people with whom he yearned to be
more
bare. Ironically, the clinical setting didn’t help. All the kitchen’s pristine surfaces
only gave him ideas of accessibility lines for licking and sucking, of perfect angles
for bending…and fucking.

He stuffed the thoughts away. The heavy silence that descended over the air didn’t
help. He considered humming but all the songs that came to mind were from the soundtrack
he’d played in the car on his way back in from Austin: Creole tunes in husky French,
most evoking images of the nastiness he struggled to silence.

Damn it
.

As Brynna started dabbing at the final cut on his right arm, he couldn’t help at least
one teasing murmur. “That’s the way,
cher.
Get me allll clean.”

As he’d hoped, she spurted a little laugh. As he’d expected, still no reaction from
the brooder in the doorway.

“Allllll clean?” Brynn’s teasing echo carried mystery laced with warmth. The woman
should’ve really considered screwing the psych degree and just setting up shop in
a tent with some tarot cards. “You realize, Sergeant, that’s like a leopard asking
for stripes?”

He smirked. This time, he did let the humor reach his eyes. “Would you expect any
less,
minette
?”

She soaked some fresh gauze in alcohol and bent over his leg. “If you shut up now,
I won’t make this hurt—much.”

True to her word, she dabbed at his thigh with gentle care. As Reb stared at the top
of her head, it was impossible to fight off the new erotic images, heartless with
their invasion. Fantasies about how she’d look in just about that position…taking
his cock into her mouth. And damn, he’d make her take it deep. And hard. Maybe he’d
even make her gag, but an irrevocable instinct told him she’d like that, too…a certainty
he hadn’t even had this afternoon. No, this was a new revelation about her. A new
element exposed
in
her.

A part of her that Rhett had awakened.

Well, that sealed the deal. The bastard had fucked her, all right. And yeah, that
still rankled, in its eerie way…just not as much when he imagined himself in the picture,
too.
Fuck.
What would happen if he and Double-Oh ever shared a woman? No, not just any woman.
It’d have to be
this
woman. Would Brynn let them command her like that? If he saw Rhett naked with her,
would he be able to keep his hands, let alone his thoughts, in all the “right” places?
What if Rhett restrained her, spanked her?

What if he already had?

“So do you always talk about pain with a smile,
cher
?”

Her head jerked up, eyes popping as if he’d asked if she bit the heads off chickens.
Astonishment and bewilderment, then rage and repulsion, flashed across her face. “Do
you
?”

He thought about apologizing, but wasn’t sure what for. He chose to hold his stare
steady, keeping hers locked to it. “Depends on who’s asking. And exactly what’s…hurting.”
He drifted his regard downward with the last of it.

She set down the gauze and alcohol with careful control. The same caution now defined
her quiet glare. “Well, I don’t do ‘hurting’.”

He inched his lips up a little more. Her mien didn’t change by an inch—and it was
sexy as fuck. He’d always wanted to play frosty nurse and bad boy patient. “Oh, I
think you do, lady. Maybe you should just…take your temperature, and find out.”

She answered by stepping completely away. Her face tightened and pinched, as if she
distilled her emotions into one terse vial of emotion.

“I think I’m done here. You can clean the rest up yourself, Sergeant.”

Her retreating steps sounded across the living room, toward the office. During the
minute it took for the angry thumps to fade, he felt Rhett’s scrutiny on him. A look
up, twining his gaze with his friend’s, told him what he already knew. The double
meaning of her words hadn’t been lost on the guy—not a single accusing drop.

Hell
.