Chapter 42 #4
Breakneck just met her fire with steel. “You’re the ballsiest woman I have ever met.
Dangerous. Sexy. Hot.” He stepped in, just enough that their gear brushed, his proximity a jolt of electricity.
He lowered his voice so only she could hear.
“You got some medieval knights in your ancestry?” he asked, his voice rough silk.
“Because girl…you ride like valor’s in your blood. Like war remembers your name.”
Her breath caught, a hitch she couldn't control. He leaned closer, his eyes dragging over her face like a sniper sighting center mass. “If we weren’t on duty…surrounded by my pain-in-the-ass teammates…” His voice dropped to a near growl. “I might fucking kiss you.”
She shoved him. Not hard, but enough to feel him, enough to show she wasn’t rattled, not that rattled.
“A real sniper would’ve taken the shot.” She smirked, then she stepped back, cool on the outside, but inside?
She was a riot. She’d faced down armed men, raging bikers, and the disappointment of a family that measured love in trophies and silence.
But Kelly “Breakneck” Gatlin? He was the most dangerous, most beautiful, most sex-dripping threat she’d ever faced, and he knew he had her.
He grinned, slow, cocky, devastating. “My goddamn focus is off, sassy.”
She walked away, not looking back, but she was listening.
From the bird, Skull leaned against the side, arms crossed, that smug bastard grin already in place. “Hey, Slick,” he drawled loud enough for Blair to hear. “How’s it feel to be out-verbalized by a delicate ballerina?”
She stopped and turned, her hands going to her hips. Oh, he was about to get razzed, and she wasn’t leaving.
Hazard chuckled. “She danced all over your ass, man. That was brutal. Graceful, but brutal.”
Boomer shifted. “Somebody pass the popcorn. Our resident smartass just met his match.”
Preacher, deadpan, added, “In the beginning was the word, and the word kicked his cocky sniper ass.”
Breakneck just stood there, jaw clenched, arms crossed, watching Blair with an intensity that made her skin prickle. “You finished?” he asked, voice bone-dry.
Skull shook his head. “Not even close. We’re just getting warmed up, Shakespeare.”
Boomer chuckled. “Careful, she might write a sonnet about how bad you got burned.”
Breakneck muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Fuck all of you” under his breath.
Hazard grinned. “See? He’s already inspired.”
“Wait. Goddammit.” She turned, unable to resist. His eyes raked over her.
Breakneck was still staring at her when Iceman said, not even breaking stride as he approached the group. “You might need some help from those famous Wranglers, Junior.”
Breakneck’s brow twitched. “What?”
Iceman folded his arms, calm as ever. “To rein her in.” He looked at Blair. “Or hold on when she rides you like a stolen Mustang.”
Boomer choked. Skull howled. Hazard wheezed, “Permission to die, Master Chief?”
Iceman just climbed into the chopper, unbothered. “Better get a grip, boys. This one’s about to be bucked bareback through his feelings.”
Blair watched him, and she backed up a step as that fire flared in Breakneck’s eyes. He shoved his long gun into Skull’s gut, the man’s “oof” audible. “Take care of that for me,” he growled.
Without another word, he stalked toward her. When he got to her, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” he said, that smile deadly as his mouth slammed down on hers.
He kissed her like he was starving, like he was claiming, like he didn't give a damn who was watching. He kissed her in front of his teammates and the helicopter pilots, a raw, desperate, public claiming that left no room for doubt.
She kissed him back with the same kind of fire, a desperate, consuming heat that made the rest of the world disappear. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, and without a word, he walked to Jet.
The guys went silent. Boomer gawked. Skull's eyes went wide. Boomer choked on his own spit, and Hazard just shook his head in disbelief. GQ let out a low whistle, and Kodiak looked like he thought Break was going to need his med kit.
Breakneck mounted Blair’s man-hating horse like it was a docile pony, swinging into the saddle with an easy, fluid grace.
Jet’s coat rippled, a shiver of outrage running through his powerful frame, and he let out a warning snort, his ears pinned flat.
Break just set a steady hand against the horse's neck, murmuring something too low to hear, and the big horse… settled.
Blair gaped, her mouth literally dropping open. No man had ever gotten close enough to him to matter. Jet had downright hated Darrow on sight, a visceral, immediate judgment. But with Breakneck, there was a silent understanding, a meeting of two unbreakable spirits.
Iceman, watching from the chopper door, said dryly, "Looks like you're set for your ride back."
Break extended a hand to her, his eyes burning with an intensity that stole her breath. "You coming, woman?"
She approached, and he pulled her up behind him in one smooth, powerful motion.
The rotors started spinning as the guys loaded up, their catcalls and whistles a dull roar in the background.
She wrapped her arms around Breakneck's waist, nuzzling against the warm skin of his neck, smelling sweat, gunpowder, and him.
"You are a piece of work, you know that, Kelly."
He huffed a laugh, a deep, rumbling sound she felt in his chest. "Yeah, I do. Right back at you, beautiful."
Then he kicked Jet into motion, and they rode away from the wreckage, a single, united force against the setting sun.