Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
DEAN
“Lovebirds? In his dreams,” she retorts.
June throws my men a self-satisfied smile, like a cat who’s gotten the cream and the canary. But a blush blooms on her cheeks, and I bite back a grin of my own.
Thorne and Thompson laugh quietly, sharing an amused glance. I still can’t quite bring myself to believe how quickly June managed to turn the tables on me.
“She’s sure got your number, Evans. We’ll rendezvous with supplies at the drop point.” Thorne pauses, eyebrows rising. “Once you find out what that is, of course. Here’s your sat phone, try not to blow it up this time.” He lobs the black satellite phone, and I catch it one handed before clipping it onto a beltloop.
June grins, her eyelashes batting, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Oof, Evans, I can stay here if you’d rather go into port.” Thompson claps his hands over his chest, as though he’s been struck.
My chest tightens, and I swallow against the sudden envy, counting down from ten on reflex.
“Easy, boss. We’ll be back. Just send us the coordinates.” Thorne shifts, taking up the wheel, shooting me a warning look. I must look as pissed as I feel.
Thompson, however, grins like a shark, unwrapping the ties from the boat cleats and shoving off.
Employees, she pegged that one right.
Insubordinate employees .
She’s even smarter than I imagined, much quicker on the uptake than the DEA analysts gave her credit for in the sparse bio. A bio I must’ve done a shit job reading, considering her shipwreck hunt—no, obsession—hadn’t even registered.
But how did she miss her dad’s involvement with the smugglers?
“Hmmph.” The innocuous noise speaks volumes.
Smugness rolls from her skin.
I don’t need to look down to see June’s self-satisfied expression.
She might’ve won this battle, but she won’t win the war.
The thought tugs at me. Everything with my ex—with Fiona—was a constant battle. Especially when I found out she was under deep cover. Nothing more than a honey trap. A high-value target, that’s what the government pulling her strings told her I was, and she played her part well.
My stomach turns, and I close my eyes.
Nothing was real with her, our instant chemistry, the way she said my name… even her own name. All just some minor battle in an information war that cost me my military credibility and confidence. My heart races, the memories needling me, and I flex my hands, looking at the water. Foam forms on the crests of rolling waves, and I take a deep breath.
June is not Fiona. June is not out to get me, out to use me in any way. I know that. No matter how much my learned distrust nags at me—it lies.
I trust June.
Mostly.
Not that it matters, since I’m not in a relationship with her.
Haha . I can almost hear my therapist telling me to celebrate the small victory. Score one for team trust. The small progress surprises me.
That June Legarde, PhD and princess, is the one to elicit such a feeling— that surprises me more.
“You okay?” June looks up at me, her full lips quirking in a smile as she tosses her ponytail over a shoulder.
I exhale, counting down. “Yeah, I think I am.”
“Ready to go to the beach?”
“Let’s do it.” A corner of my mouth kicks up.
The props of the other boat spin to life, sending a white capped wake behind it as they maneuver back towards mainland Texas.
“Well?” She pokes me in the chest, challenge in her gaze. “You just going to stare at me all day, or are we going to get moving?”
Grunting noncommittally, a bizarre, unwelcome emotion courses through me. Off-kilter . Having my men around should make me feel better . But the way they looked at June, especially Thompson with his wolfish grin, irritated me. Made me… jealous.
“What’s the name of your little man-squad? Where’re your female employees?” Her finger taps against my pec again. I really shouldn’t like it so much—shouldn’t want her to keep touching me.
“They’re not a man-squad,” I say. I catch her hand, and her eyes widen. “And there are female employees.”
I just don’t want to tell her who, exactly.
June’s eyes narrow, and she tugs her hand from mine.
My fingers flex as if searching for her again.
“What, you don’t trust a woman to get the job done? Is that why she’s not here? Is that why you gave me your little ‘jump when I say jump’ macho-man bull?” Her voice drops an octave, and she holds her arms out at her sides like a monkey. “And the ‘hide when I say hide’ speech? Gotta have man parts to hang tough?” A wave splashes against the side of the boat, and her lips press together.
“No.” My voice is short, the syllable clipped.
“Well, what’s the company name?”
“That’s not what I look like. Where is this coming from?”
No way am I going to fess up to my trust issues with women. Fiona is off the table.
“Man parts?” I repeat, my brain catching up. “Princess, what the hell are you talking about? You’re thinking about my man parts?”
I grin at her, full of mischief.
Her eyes go wide, and then narrow. “How dare you.”
“You brought it up. And you kissed me, too.”
“It was a diversionary tactic,” she barks.
A laugh hurtles out of me, and she just glares. It’s not tough, though. No, she looks fucking adorable. Delicious.
“Lemme guess, your company name is probably something really toxic and masculine.” She purses her lips, tapping the same finger that was just on my bare skin against her chin. “Guns and Money, Inc.”
I press my lips together.
“Is that a no? How about Hired Muscle, LLC, is that it?” She wears a mock serious expression, but her eyes glitter with humor.
At my expense.
I love it.
“Bodyguards R Us?”
“That’s the one.”
“You want me to trust you, but you won’t even tell me the name of your company?” She makes a noise of mock distress, shaking her head.
“You’re having such a good time making fun of me, I didn’t want to ruin it for you.” Overhead, a seagull squawks before winging low over the water.
“Well?”
I grunt.
“Alright, wouldn’t have guessed that, but I can see the appeal. Grunts For Hire. Got it.” She winks and tilts her head, her long ponytail sliding over a shoulder, and I want to catch it. Wrap my fingers in the silky strands. Pull her head back, press against her hot body and?—
“Can you focus?” It comes out feral, nearly a growl. So much for my anger management. “Where is the beach?”
And just like that, the hint of humor in her expression disappears. “You don’t have to be such a jerk. I was just teasing. Who hurt you?”
Fiona. With her petite curves, her easy smiles, the way she seemed to know just what to say and do to soften me up. To get me to relax. And when I found out who she was, who she worked for?—
“Dean…” Soft fingers press against my arm. “Dean, are you okay?”
I shake myself, clearing my head. “Let’s go.” The words bark out, an order.
June holds her hands up, backing away from me. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
I close my eyes. This infatuation with June will pass. It has to.
Over the swell of water on fiberglass, I register the squeak of skin on vinyl, a switch being flipped, and the sound of the boat revving to life.
I count again, backwards from ten, though maybe I should start at a hundred around June. The metal railing is hot under my hand, and I grip it tight as the boat roars to life. Ignoring the burn, welcoming the distraction.
June’s back is ramrod straight, her hair whipping behind her like a banner.
She doesn’t deserve me yelling at her.
Disappointment wells in me, fierce and furious. Why can’t I just be normal around her? Being so careful, so on guard all the time—it’s exhausting.
The boat slams into a wave and I jerk my head up. June glances over her shoulder at me, a wicked smile curving her face.
“You still hanging on back there?” She shouts to be heard over the noise of the motors and the wind roaring across the deck.
I grit my teeth as the boat slams across the waves. A few crabs bounce out of the mesh bag, claws pinching at nothing. Slowly, I avoid them, making my way to the captain’s chair, where June wears an all-out grin.
“Sorry,” I manage, holding onto the back of the chair as the boat slams over another wave.
“What’s that?” June cups an ear. “I can’t hear you.”
“I said, I’m sorry,” I yell.
“You should be,” she shouts, then pulls back on the throttle, slowing the boat.
It takes everything I have not to sigh in relief.
“I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you.”
“You shouldn’t have,” she agrees. The boat hits another wave. “Why did you?”
“Stress.” It’s not quite a lie.
“Mmhmm,” is all she says, and I can tell she’s not fully buying it. Of course she isn’t.
“How far is it?”
“We need gas first.”
“Shit.” I ignore the pain as the burn on my shoulder pulls. “I don’t want you to be seen.”
She looks up at me. “Okay.”
“What?” My eyes narrow in suspicion. “That was too easy.”
“Listen, if you wanna pay to gas dear, sweet Betty up,” she pats the console affectionately, “I’m not going to stop you.”
“Fair enough, princess.” I roll my eyes, though, and laughter peals out of June like a bell.
Something tight in my chest loosens, just a bit.