Page 32 of Command and Control: GHOST Operative

"I am an asshole."

Julieanne’s full lips tilt in a lopsided smile. "You're not an asshole." This time when her hand reaches across the console to touch my arm, it stays, resting against my forearm in a point of contact that I don’t know how to react to. "You just want everyone to think you are."

12

IS SILVER FOX A BRAND?

JULIEANNE

JERKING AWAKE, I suck in a sharp breath as I jolt in the seat.

"It's okay, Angel Face." Vincent's voice cuts through the panicked haze making my heart race. "We’re almost there."

I rub at my eyes, trying to wipe away the blearyness that remains. "Almost where?"

"The airport." He changes lanes, moving to the right-hand side of the highway. "We'll wait there until the plane arrives."

My hands go from rubbing my eyes to swiping at my hair, attempting to expend the nervous energy still coursing through my system. The shaking of my limbs has me jittery and honestly, a little confused. "I don’t understand how I fell asleep."

"You haven’t been asleep long. It was probably just your adrenaline crashing." Something flexes against my leg and my gaze drops to where Vincent's hand is wrapped across my thigh.

I stare at it for a few beats, waiting to see if my previously over interested libido takes notice, but nothing happens. Apparently my desire for excitement and scariness has limits, and maybe committing murder is one of them.

I glance at where Vincent sits in the driver's seat, looking surprisingly agitated. This kind of shit is normal for him, happens in his everyday life, so I didn't expect it to faze him. "Are you okay?"

"No, Jules. I'm not okay." He takes the next exit, but still doesn't look my way.

I think he might be mad at me, especially since he only calls me Jules when he's genuinely pissed about something I've done. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I just didn't know where else to—"

The hand on my thigh grips tight, sealing off my words with a squeak. "I know you're not about to fucking apologize for coming to me when you were in trouble."

"I just…” I take a hitching breath, the catch a lingering result of the crying fit I had earlier. “I know you came here to get rid of me and not to get into whatever this mess is and—"

"Julieanne." There's a warning in the way he says my name, and it makes it clear we’ve leveled up from Jules on the pissy-ometer.

It also brings my lower half back to life, confirming my earlier suspicions. I don't like danger and excitement in general. I like a very specific brand of excitement and danger.

And the brand is six feet four inches of silver fox.

But my libido needs to calm her shit because we’reabout to be stuffed into a tiny plane with zero privacy. So, while the distraction of rubbing myself all over him would be amazingly useful right now, there won’t really be the opportunity. I’m going to have to deal with reality, which sucks. My head falls back against the seat as I blow out a breath. "Where are we flying to?" He’s probably already told me, but for the life of me I can’t remember.

"Alaska."

His one-word answer sends me sitting up straight in my seat, attention snapping his way. "But you said I couldn’t work—"

"Oh, I'm not hiring you, Angel Face. Don't get this confused." His hand still hasn't left my thigh, but I could swear it slides the tiniest bit higher. "But I obviously can't fucking leave you here since you don't know how to act right. So, until we figure out who that was and why they showed up in the middle of the night, you’re under house arrest."

I bark out a laugh at how ridiculous that sounds. "House arrest? Whose house?"

Vincent's eyes finally come my way, pinning me in place with a gaze so intense I swear I feel it all the way to my still soggy toes. "Mine."

I should probably argue. It can’t be a good idea to let the guy who just killed three people fly you out of state and lock you up in his house, but this is Vincent. I've never been particularly rational where he's concerned. Right from the very beginning.

Sure, I approached other companies similar to his, but when they weren't interested, I moved on. I didn't really move on from GHOST. From Vincent.

I should have—I know. I just... Couldn't.

I blow out another breath, slumping in my seat. "You better have good Internet."

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