Page 29 of Fire for Effect

“It’s fine, Psycho, but it is worth noting that you’re the reason I caught a bullet.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re making it sound like I shot you.”

“You practically did.”

She snorted. “Bullshit!”

“Come on, you made yourself a damn target, and had no situational awareness!”

Latent anger crawled up from somewhere deep in my gut. A different kind of anger. The one I had felt when I saw her busying herself to set charges for an ambush. She was so focused on her task, she didn’t see a guy taking aim, and ready to put one in her big head.

“I mean, Jesus, what’s rule number one, Guerro?” I couldn’t get myself to shut up. This was not what I wanted to discuss with her right now but I couldn’t keep the words back. “Always have situational awareness. Where the hell was your situational awareness then, huh?” Then another point came to mind. Something benign that suddenly made me livid. “You didn’t even notice that I was sitting there until I said something. I mean, come on, Taz. You get so distracted! It’s going to get you killed.”

I had jumped in front of her and shot the guy down. He hit my leg. I hit his head.

So, I guess that was a win for me.

The memory of the rifle pointed right at her and the fear that she was one trigger pull away from being gone…

Just thinking about a world without Taz Guerro sent anger simmering through my veins again. It wasn’t her fault, but I was angry at her all the same. Angry that I felt this way. Angry she had made me feel this way.

Absolutely livid that she put herself in danger and most of all, I was angry that we didn’t talk about our night five fucking years ago!

Worst of all, I was pissed that she had a target on her back because of me. My work with Cerberus threatened her existence.

“I was busy,” she said, slowly, her eyes hostile, as her jaw ticked with everything she was holding back.

“Yeah, well, don’t do it again, woman.” I needed to backtrack, undo the damage before she pulled away and went to Riley for everything.

I needed to get back on solid ground. To cool off.

And the only thing that could calm me down was the thing that set me off in the first place – her.

I violated her space once more and grabbed the collar of her jacket, opening it up to the inner pocket where she’d put away her pack of cigarettes. I pulled it out, along with the zippo, and lit one up, taking a drag.

The back of my hand grazed against her shirt as I put it all back, the heat off her skin tempting me with that ridiculous magnetism. It was cruel that she could be like that. So perfect, and beautiful. Everything I wanted. Everything I was obsessed with. Down to her scent, her skin, her hair… and everything else that was more than bone deep.

I turned the cigarette in my fingers, offering her the filter side. She pinched it between her index finger and thumb, careful not to let our hands touch, as she put it to her lips.

Her mouth touched where mine had been – it was the closest thing to a kiss that we’d shared since the sinful night.

“Are you here to crash on my couch?” she asked, tilting the filter to me to give the cigarette back.

“You fit a couch in that trailer? Really?” I hoped the answer was no, and I’d have to sleep on her floor. Then I could complain about my leg hurting and weasel my way into her bed.

“You’d be surprised how roomy it is,” she smirked. “Though it’s no Grand Acadaemia, of course.”

The Grand was where my condo was, off the Washington Channel in DC. I had taken her there once, when we’d been called for a Medal of Honor Ceremony. Her, as a representative of the miniscule number of women in the Special Forces, and me, as the son of the Director of the CIA. Her, for her accomplishments. Me, for nepotism.

“The couch is lumpy, and stiff as a board,” she winced. “You should take the bed. I’ll grab the couch.”

“I’m not taking your bed.” Not unless you’re in it.

She shrugged. “I don’t sleep much anyway. Can’t seem to ever shut down.”

“That’s not what I remember.”

She froze.

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