Page 21 of Twister

The exercise ended, and Twister walked around, working the burning sensation out of his thighs, butt, and calves.

“Petty Officer Sadie Tompkins,” a sarcastic male voice sounded behind him. He turned around to find a guy and his two buddies walking toward Sadie. She stiffened, her eyes widening in dismay, then she closed her whole expression down, taking a breath before she turned around. His whole being was set to defend innocents against any threat, but in this case, Sadie wasn’t one of those people. She could hold her own.

Didn’t mean he wouldn’t step in if it was necessary.

The man’s eyes flicked to him and his teammates.

“You already got yourself some watchdogs.” The man grinned, and it wasn’t meant to be at all pleasant. “You’re good at that,” he growled under his breath.

“Stop being a jerk,” a guy said next to the jerk. “Sadie doesn’t deserve that.” He was a milquetoast-looking guy with dark hair and blue eyes.

There was a trick to being invisible, and Twister was working it overtime, not moving, barely breathing, listening like hell, but looking off to the side, as if he weren’t completely focused on the conversation.

Dagger’s narrowed look went to the three men, then back to Sadie. “What’s up?” he said, his voice low.

“Not a clue,” Twister said, stretching some more but keeping all his attention focused on the three of them, then he fixated on the speaker.

“Hi, Sadie,” the milquetoast said.

She smiled at him. “Hi, Neil. It’s good to see you again.”

“David,” she said coolly, returning her attention back to him, telling Twister that she did have history with this guy. It was clear he was not her friend, but there was something about him that broadcast to Twister his more than menacing interest in Sadie. When guys wanted a woman and they didn’t get her, some of them went a little nuts—resentment, hostility, unrequited needs all balled up into a hard lump inside them, and they turned into complete and utter assholes.

This David had that vibe about him.

“I don’t need watchdogs. I can take care of myself.” She went to go by him, and the bastard had the nerve to grab her arm. He stiffened, and Dagger set his hand against Twister’s shoulder.

She reacted instantaneously, grabbing his hand, twisting his thumb until he cried out and stepped back. “Don’t you ever touch me,” she said.

He rubbed his thumb. “Dylan’s dead,” he said.

She blinked, and her jaw tightened. “I know that. What happened between us is none of your business, no matter how much you want to make it so. Just do your job, David, and leave me the hell alone.”

She turned and walked away, but David’s glowering gaze followed her. It was clear he had a problem with that statement, and every protective instinct in him rose up. He was here to guard her against terrorists. He didn’t think he’d have to watch her back against one of their own.

“We’ve got to go,” Dagger said, tugging on Twister. “We’re on a timetable, remember?”

Twister relented and followed him out. He was even more keen to talk to Sadie, but any type of in-depth discussion about them or her diver buddy would just have to wait. He took a quick, cool shower, his dick still aching. He dressed in a black polo shirt and a pair of khaki utility pants, lacing up his boots. He had been fast in the shower and had more than enough time for chow.

He stepped out of his room at the exact same time as Sadie did. He turned at the noise, and she stood there drinking him in. She was in a yellow T-shirt and a pair of brown shorts, sandals on her feet.

He was across the hall before she even gestured for him to come to her. She stepped back as he rushed into the room. The moment the door was closed, he had her back against the wall.

“I only have twenty minutes left before the briefing, and I still have to eat.”

“Food, right. Make it fast but good, then,” she said in a breathless voice. “You’re good with mission timelines, right?”

He grinned and brushed his mouth over hers, tempering his aggression for once when it came to this woman. He wanted to savor, not take—okay, that wasn’t right. He wanted to take, but he wanted her to offer it up. Dammit, her mouth. Softest lips ever with a taste that went right to his groin. She made a gorgeous, soft female sound that made waves of desire crash inside him, then she did it. She lifted her chin, offering her mouth to him, her eyes slamming into his.

“You are madness,” she whispered, her voice so hushed, as if her breath was caught somewhere between them.

“I am madness…smoke and trouble,” he said. “It’s you who set the fire.”

He took her breath and her lips, and he wanted so much more as she made another soft sound and turned into his kiss, but not all the way, holding a little back. She wasn’t submitting—and that’s what he wanted, what he needed. Submission. It would be so sweet, and he wanted it from her.

He wasn’t sure about her reticence. Did it have something to do with the dead diver or with the asshole who had confronted her?

Or was she making him work for it, not giving away too much, a tease and a sultry siren who knew exactly how to inflame him.

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