Page 11 of Covert Mission
Once I know she will not go ape-shit on my head again, I pick up my pace and jog down the trail. She keeps her cursing in a low voice that only I can hear.
Colorful. Creative curses. Full of her southern twang.
A laugh builds in my gut.
Shit.She’s a spitfire.
A foolish spitfire with a tight, round ass and a pair of peach-pink lips that undoubtedly put her in the center of many men’s fantasies.
Definitely. Not. Me.
By the time we hit the small clearing where the team is gathered, my molars are in serious danger.
I drop her to her feet. This time, I’m the one that lunges back. I’ve got to get the hell away from her before I devolve into an animal. “Turn around, woman.”
For a beat, I wonder if she’s going to try to make good on the telegraphed threat that she’s going to claw my eyes out. But she remains locked in place, cheeks flushed, hair slipping from her ponytail, panting at me.
An alarm sounds deep inside my head.
D.A.N.G.E.R.
My thinking brain is throwing out all the stops. Because that’s followed by RUN.
Smart.
Since I can’t do that, the first thing I have to do is get those luminous eyes off of me. A man can only take so much. “Look behind you.”
She does. But barely. Keeping one eye on me, she angles to look where I’m now pointing.
Recognition hits. Her body sags with relief. “Oh, thank god.”
My team managed to get all her people safe.
This time, when she looks at me, her eyes are full of questions. They rove over me in a quick, displeased assessment. “Who are you, besides a giant, chauvinistic caveman?”
“I’m the man that just saved you. Beyond that, ma’am, who I am is not important. It’s need-to-know information.”
Her brow goes up after an almost eye roll. “Now he’s all polite.”
“It’s an act.”
That earns me another narrow-eyed glare. Then a huff. “Guess I owe you a thank you, Mr. Mysterious.”
“Yo, Beast!” Evan calls as he trots over.
So much for mystery.
She’s smirking at me this time. “Beast, huh? It fits.”
I don’t confirm nor deny. Instead, I make it known I’m not happy by showing her a scowl. The one that makes people leap into action. “Get your team ready to evacuate. I’ve got zero time to babysit. I’ve got a job to do.”
Guess that was the wrong thing to say.
The air crackles. Her cheeks burn hot with color. But her whole face tells a story. I’m about to get the wrath of an angry redhead.
“Babysit!?”
Her brows go up, then down. Her mouth does something interesting too. First, it narrows, then it goes flat. Her arms cross, and she announces through clenched teeth, “We’re not leaving. You’re not the only one with a job to do.”