Chapter 5
FIVE
Well, hello! The glittering thong nestled between two lush buns is throwing sparks of light through the air duct.
I should not be grinning, but how can a guy not?
I've seen a lot on missions. A lot of ugliness, a lot of craziness, but what I'm seeing now is truly a first.
"How'd you get stuck?" I ask, smothering the chuckle that's shaking my shoulders.
It's wrong to laugh. We're in the middle of an op.
The woman is in a bad position. And her life, my life, and Truck's life are on the line.
But I'm not immune to irony. As my team can attest, I've been known to laugh at inappropriate times.
A lot.
"How do you think?" A low growl from above accompanies a frustrated curl of some very cute toes. "I fell. And now I'm…I don't know. But I can't move. I'm really, really stuck."
"Oh, I can see that. Every bit of that actually."
When did my voice get so deep?
It takes work, but I refrain from remarking that the view is good. Figure that will earn me a kick to the head too.
"For the love of god," she growls at me. "Give a girl some dignity."
Squeak. Squeak.
Skin tugs against metal, every little motion causing another sound. Her bare ass is plastered to the side of the duct, and every squirm drags her pretty cheeks against cold steel.
"Sorry. I don't mean to be insensitive. Gotta hurt and probably hard on the pride too. Where are your pants?"
"Oh, you have no idea how my dignity is suffering right now and I don't have pants." She says flatly, but then her voice rises to angry. "My skirt is around my waist, you idiot!"
More wiggling and frustrated muttering follows. The metal groans in protest, but holds tight. "Can you get me out of here or are we going to share life stories too?"
"Yeah. I can get you down." Pausing a beat, my grin turns to a frown. "But I'm not gonna lie, it's gonna hurt."
She sighs loudly, her toes clenching, her skin squeaking as she shifts. "Great. That's comforting. Just get it over with. Hurry before I turn into a human shish-kabob or choke to death from smoke inhalation."
Huh? Oh. The smoke alarm.
"There's no fire," I reassure. "It was a false alarm."
I don't tell her that it was human error. As in Beast fucking up when he was futzing around in the security system.
A fact I didn't know until after my heart attack.
"Thank the good lord for something," she says from above me.
I reach for her ankle with my pulse already speeding from just the thought of touching her. "I'm going to grab you now."
A jolt hits me when I get my hand on her skin, just like I expected, but instead of static charge, it's like touching lightning.
Every nerve ending in my palm lights up. My breath catches. The tactical part of my brain—the part that's kept me alive through countless missions—goes completely offline.
My mouth hinges open.
What. Was. That?
And why the hell do I have to keep touching her?
I tighten my hold. Do not think about how warm she is. Or how smooth her skin is, and definitely do not think about how ridiculously delicate she is.
Lord. Her foot is small but strong. Capable and beautiful. The kind that could kick a man and make him thank her for it.
"Alright," I cough. "Let's get this done."
Now I get why some guys have foot fetishes. Only I'm not thinking about feet in general. No, this is about hers specifically.
I shift under the vent, careful to keep my face well out of the danger zone as I brace one boot on the wall.
Oh boy. I need to get this done. Palms tingling, I swallow a couple of times not sure what's going to happen when I get my arms full of woman.
"Okay." I practically choke out, "Pulling now."
"This might not work," she mutters nervously. "I'm a very round peg in a not so round hole."
"I'm excellent at getting things in and out of tight spaces."
Silence. Until she mutters at me, "I'm going to ignore that because it might be the cheesiest thing ever said. Ever."
I wish I could ignore her mind-blowing ass. Professional. Stay professional, you jackass.
"Sorry." Damn, I sound smokey. "Three. Two. One—"
Growling, I heave with my full strength and the entire weight of my 6’5” body.
Muscles tightening from scalp to knees, I pull downward. The metal chute shudders, and all of a sudden she rips free.
SQUEEEEAK.
"Oh my god!" Her scream strangles as she flies out of the opening above my head.
That part's good.
The fact that my foot is still braced on the wall, is the problem. With a grunt, I tumble backward, no time to break the fall.
For a split-second, I'm airborne. And so is she, in a blur of skin, twisted clothes, and flying hair.
The ground comes fast, punching the air out of me as I land on my back. The impact turns us into a heap on the tile. Together.
Serious miscalculation. I thought it would take more than one pull.
My laugh is muffled as I try to catch my breath. Holy shit Batman.
"I freaking love this job."
She smells good.
Womanly. Warm.
A recipe for an erection, especially now that I'm acutely aware that she has the softest breasts I've ever touched and they’re pressed against my face.
Oh god. This is heaven. This is hell. This is definitely getting me slapped.
And they're salty. Just like the ocean. My second favorite place on earth.
My first favorite is rapidly becoming wherever Rosalie Baxter is.
Rosalie makes a squeak and jumps off of me, covering her bare chest frantically, since her bra has also been victim to the grip of the metal walls.
Its new home is up above her nipples.
"Jesus, Mary. God!" she gasps. "I almost killed you."
Flat on my back, I tip my head back to stare at the ceiling, grinning like a fool. "I'm good with dying like that, sweetheart."
She does not laugh.
If anything, the temperature in the room drops about forty degrees. I can practically feel icicles forming in the air between us.
Her anger is a throbbing forcefield filling up the small room.
Okay. Message received. With a shake of my ringing skull, I roll to my feet, and finally get a look at her.
Hello, gorgeous.
Rosalie is much prettier in person, and that's saying a whole lot. The photo was a knockout. This…
Fuuuuckity.
She's a mess and a feast for my eyes.
Her hair is wild, ripped half-free from her ponytail. Shirt torn and skirt still hiked up, the image in front of me is ninety percent bare skin.
God damn, she's hot. Smart-hot. Wild-hot. Mine-to-rescue hot.
For one beat, we just stare at each other. Breathing harder than normal as we occupy the space.
We're just two feet apart in silence that feels as loud as the inside of a steel mill.
Her eyes are the color of honey in sunlight. Or maybe whiskey. Something golden and intoxicating that I shouldn't be noticing when we're in the middle of an extraction.
Something that makes my heart do a weird stutter-step in my chest.
Fuck.
"So," I begin when I find my missing voice.
Only she shocks me once again when she grabs the door handle and bolts into the hallway at a dead sprint.
No. She didn’t.
A few seconds pass before I unstick my boots from the tile.
Those seconds cost me. My brain is still rebooting from the impact, from her scent, from the soft press of her body against mine.
SEALs are trained to compartmentalize, but apparently my dick didn't get the memo.
She's already got a five-second lead when I slam into the corridor after her, my legs finally remembering how to work.
"You forgot your shoes," I call in her wake, patting the cargo pocket where I stuffed them.
She looks back over her shoulder, eyes wide, hair whipping, a squeaky little noise escaping her lips.
"You've gotta be kidding me," I mutter as I chase a half-dressed woman down a hallway with her little black shoes in my cargo pocket.
That's when the building goes completely dark.