Page 6 of Stealth Mission

“This is a great ride by the way. I love these old Toyotas.”

“Are you making small talk right now?”

His head tilts, his eyes fill with humor. “I don’t know. I’ve never been a small talker.”

I blink slowly and make an unhappy sound in my throat. He is gigantic. If his height is what he means. Not that I care about the size ofthateither. I’mnotattracted to him.

The devil on my shoulder laughs. Hysterically.

With my frustration making beads of sweat tickle between my breasts, I lift my chin.

“What you are is infuriating.” I try to tug my door out of his hold. “I need to get going.”

No movement. Only penetration from his cool gray eyes.

I almost smack my forehead.

Penetration?

God. I need to get out of here. At least I didn’t say the p-word out loud. That would have been truly mortifying.

But he’s in no hurry to move on. Nope, he’s looking at me with something between curiosity and frustration behind his gaze.

“Excuse me. I want to close my door, since I’ve already hit you in the head today?—”

“And punched me in the gut.”

I grimace.Um. He’s right.

My hand twitches at the memory of touching his defined abs through his shirt. Gulp.

“Well, what can I say? I’m a woman of action. So, if you want your jewels to remain in place since those are the only things I can reach from here, you might want to get out of the way.”

He glances away, pressing his lips tight, but there’s a short rumble of laughter in his chest.

“Looks like I might have pissed the wrong woman off.”

Yep. And I’m quickly losing patience with this totally unnecessary conversation. I try to give him a withering glare. “Look, Mister, I’ve got a business and a lot of work to do.”

He ducks his chin slightly, the humor disappearing from his expression. “Right. Sorry. I’ve got…some sightseeing to do. It’s been a pleasure.”

Maybe I make a tiny eye roll. His proximity is warping my brain. “A pleasure? Ha. Hardly. I’ve had a crap day and it’s not even ten. Now I’ve got to go, some of us arenoton vacation.”

As he moves back, all those crazy muscles in his arms flex and twist and catch the light, momentarily dazing me.

What was I doing?

Key.Right. That’s the first thing.

Firing on half my cylinders, I have to talk myself through the steps to drive.

Press the Clutch. Start the truck. Shift gears. Release clutch, apply gas.

I don’t know who the man is, but I’m just glad he’s not going to be around Karma long.

I can’t afford a distraction that looks like he does, talks in a voice that rivals dark chocolate, and smells like a lonely girl’s ruin.

When I pull away, I refuse to let myself look in the mirror.

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