Page 16 of Brawler
Emily tore her gaze away before she got caught staring. Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating. The last thing she needed was to notice those delicious biceps. She wasn’t about to fall prey to the Neanderthal’s ridiculous shoulders, unfair jawline, and husky voice.
“I’m a Zoology grad student,” she said quickly, sitting up, straightening her spine as if her title could defend her dignity. “I’m here studying jaguars. I’m almost done with my dissertation. When it’s finished, I’ll get my PhD.”
Her gaze flicked traitorously to Brawler.
He caught it instantly, eyes narrowing, bristling like she’d insulted him. “Why are you looking at me when you say that? I know what a PhD is, soon-to-be doc.” He yanked the strap of his helmet free and removed it, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
Emily sniffed, folding her arms tight across her chest, trying not to look at all that he revealed, giving her more a picture of the man instead of the enemy. “I didn’t say you didn’t.”
He looked away with a low huff, frown etching lines between his brows. Damn it, the sight snagged her. Those small, adorable creases above his nose, the rough cut of his profile were…stunning, in that rugged, impossible way.
His scowl drew attention to eyes the color of storm clouds before a summer downpour, steel gray rimmed darker at the edges, sharp enough to cut right through her. His lashes were thick, darker than she expected against the sun-browned skin stretched over high cheekbones and a square jaw that looked carved to withstand fists and fire alike.
A faint scar tugged at the edge of his brow, small and white, leading her eyes up his temple and his beautifully shaped head, big ears, the hair above them short at the sides but long enough on top to look perpetually tousled as if the jungle itself had claimed it. Strands clung damply just below his hairline, gleaming like wet, dark chocolate under the filtered light.
Then there was his mouth, full, stubborn, a slash of defiance against the hard planes of his boyish face. The kind of mouth made for growling orders…and, her treacherous brain supplied, for kissing. That rough shadow darkening his jawline, stubble, coarse and unshaven, brushed across his skin in a way that looked equal parts careless and deliberate. The kind of rasp that would scrape her fingers, or her mouth, bringing her right back to dangerous ground, downright reckless if she was stupid enough to test it.
God, he was unfair. He looked exactly like the kind of man her aunt had warned her about…the ones who chewed up good sense and spit it out with a grin.
She dragged her eyes away, furious with herself. The last thing she needed in this jungle of heat, humidity, and gunmen was to find her pulse tripping over the Neanderthal who’d duct taped her mouth shut.
4
Emily becameaware of the rest of them watching her. Eight men, all armed to the teeth, sweat-darkened camo blending into the jungle like they belonged here in a way she never could.
“Let’s take a breath and get you acquainted with the rest of the team. Tex went around the group. His Texas drawl was as crisp as his bearing, the kind of voice that bent a battlefield to his will.
“Bondo,” the bald guy said, the biggest wall of muscle she’d ever seen, broad shoulders rolling as he shifted his rifle. His dark gaze was calm and steady, the kind that looked like it could carry weight for anyone who needed it.
The next man gave her a quick once-over, eyes sharp with professional concern. His grin was crooked but his tone was serious, that odd mix of troublemaker and caretaker. “Twister. I’m the medic. You hurt?”
She shook her head. “Just a little manhandled.” She shot Brawler a look. He just stared at her.
Behind him, a man with black curls and an easy smile lifted a hand in greeting. “Easy.” His voice was smooth, relaxed, like trouble slid off his back before it could stick.
A shadow lingered near the edge, watchful and silent until she realized he was younger than the others, though no less intimidating. “Dagger.” His voice was flat, clipped, a man of few words.
Another man crouched with his rifle braced against one knee, gaze sharp but softened by a half-smile. “Shark.”
Then the last one, eyes bright with mischief, a grin already tugging at his mouth. “Flash. You’ll like me best. Everyone does.”
“Don’t count on it,” Tex cut in dryly.
Emily’s nerves flared, but so did her stubborn streak. She crossed her arms, glancing from one man to the next. “Callsigns, huh?”
Tex nodded. “That’s what we use in the field.”
“Special Forces?”
“We’rerealspecial all right,” Flash said.
Nice way for him to sidestep the question. So, they didn’t want to reveal exactly who they were.
“What’s your dog’s name?” Emily asked, bending over and stroking the red-gold fur.
Brawler started a warning, but it cut off when the animal all but purred under her hand. She shot the giant standing too close a sidelong look, lips quirking. Beast leaned into her touch, tail thumping, eyes blissful as if he’d forgotten he was a weapon. That’s what he was, not a pet, not by a long shot. He was a militarized weapon, trained for war, Brawler’s partner in combat. That made it even better. She dropped her voice into a deliberate syrupy coo, knowing exactly what she was doing.
“What is it? Buttercup? Fluffems?” She smiled sweetly, ruffling the dog’s ears, cupping his sleek, tapered head like he was a teddy bear. “Who’s the cutest guy on the planet?”
