Page 16 of Fury

"Then by all means lead the way."

He looked over at the parking lot. "We should probably grab a vehicle. It's not far, but probably too far for those shoes."

She looked down to find him pointing at her sensible heels. They were a far cry from his comfortable leather hiking boots, but they weren't impractical four-inch stripper heels either. They were reasonable two inch heels in sedate black and were practically issued by the FBI since all the other female agents had at least one pair of these in their closets.

"You don't like my shoes?"

He looked her up and down nice and slow, taking in more than simply her shoes before returning to the footwear now in question.

To her shock that simple perusal made her nipples stiff and her body flushed and overheated. Official or not, this stupid dark suit was not appropriate island attire. What she wouldn't give for a pair of shorts and a simple tank top right about now.

"Well, they do go with the pant suit." He enunciated the words “pant suit” as if it tasted bad in his mouth.

Her mouth dropped open. Was he serious?

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "What? You asked."

"Just because a woman doesn't dress like she's looking to get laid, doesn't make her anything other than what she is. And in my case, I dress for the job. Or maybe you don't understand that because you don't appear to have much of a J.O.B. these days. Your brain has obviously been clouded by your island vacation. You don't see a woman hobbling around on heels with her vagina playing peek a boo in an impossibly short skirt and what? She's not worth your time?"

Penelope sucked in a sharp breath before slapping her hand over her mouth. Oh hell.

What was wrong with her? Something about him made her defensive and apparently stupid based on the words that kept slipping out of her mouth before her brain could stop them. She had no business getting so worked up over a silly comment about shoes, but there it was. Although rubbing it in about the loss of his job was a total dick move on her part.

Sawyer crossed his arms and leaned against a tree right behind him. "You about done sassing me or should I get more comfortable?"

She opened her mouth to blast him yet again. Sassing? Seriously? Thankfully a second before any words could escape she remembered who and where she was. Antagonizing a witness had definitely not been on the agenda for today. Now that the damage was done, she needed to get her act together, stay focused on the job and begin some damage control. She could not screw this one up. Something she shouldn’t have to keep reminding herself.

She swallowed thickly before she started. "I'm sorry," she cleared her throat and continued. "I don't know what happened just then. Maybe all this fresh air is getting to me. Or not…” She looked down. “Although as overpriced as these shoes are, I had hoped they didn't look as bad as I suspected."

He shrugged, giving her an easy smile. "No worries. I can take it. Besides, I was just yanking your chain. They look fine. No one expects a killer wardrobe from an agent of the FBI. Although I have to admit, you pull off standard issue black better than any other law man I’ve seen."

She looked at him with a blank stare, unable to focus on the words when he turned on the charm. Starting with that megawatt smile he kept throwing around like an aphrodisiac on crack. Didn’t take much to imagine the killer effect it had on all the ladies he encountered.

"How about instead of yanking me around then, you and I call a truce and go get that drink. I've got my car right there." She tipped her head in the direction of a dark sedan that could be any make or model for all anyone cared. It was meant to disappear into the background and not stand out in any way, shape, or form.

Except she always thought those stupid government issued vehicles might as well come with a flashing neon sign indicating law enforcement because they stuck out like a sore thumb amidst today's million SUVs and now thanks to the escalating gas prices over recent years, the current wave of slightly better gas mileage crossovers. Or worse the little electric cars made in factories overseas where they raped the earth's resources to create a vehicle designed to save the planet. Irony at its best.

"I'll drive then." He walked over to her and held out his hand.

She nearly laughed. As if she was going to hand over her keys to a virtual-- She paused. A virtual what? Stranger? He no longer felt like a stranger to her. Not after the emotional retelling of his near death experience. Then there was the fact he pulled at her in a variety of ways and somehow managed to make her both comfortable and flustered all at the same time.

The man had a gift. Not that he would be allowed to drive her car just because he had her body's full attention. Screw that noise.

"Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “Dream on, island boy." She shouldered past him, barely able to keep from gasping when they connected again. A jolt of sensation buzzed across her arm and chest, warming her even more.

Damnnn... Had it been so long since someone male had touched her that he so easily had this effect on her?

She dared to lift her gaze and meet his to see if he felt it too. Judging by the return of intensity in his eyes, she dared to say yes.

Penelope took a slow, hopefully calming breath while never taking her gaze off him. In fact, neither of them looked away.

"Maybe next time," she said a little too breathlessly.

He reached up and brushed her cheek with two fingers and it took every ounce of restraint not to lean into his touch. "I like that you assume there will be a next time."

She nearly choked. "Well, I mean—if we—I'll have to—"

He covered her lips with his fingers, silencing her. "Too late, Agent Bishop. You can't take it back now. Next time I'll definitely be driving."

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