Page 20 of Brawler
Brawler swallowed, throat dry despite the humidity pressing down like wet cloth. He nodded once, but inside, everything was buzzing: her impact, the order, the weight of Tex’s trust. The jungle around them seemed to lean in, thick with heat and shadow, as if waiting to see whether he’d hold the line or burn himself alive.
They moved with quiet efficiency as dusk thickened, the team carving out a temporary camp from the press of jungle. Weapons checked, gear sorted, a low circle of rest taking shape under thecanopy. The air was heavy with damp earth and insect whine, the smell of sweat and cordite still clinging to Brawler’s skin.
He volunteered for first watch, for perimeter. Sleep wasn’t in the cards anyway, not with his head buzzing and the weight of responsibility coiled tight in his chest. He brought his rifle up, finger sliding along the trigger guard, and started to step into the gloom.
A shift in the air, that citrus scent jolted him, and he twisted just in time to see her hand lift toward him. Normally, that kind of reach set his nerves sparking. He always needed to be prepared for any advance toward him. He hated when hands came at his face. Too intimate, too unpredictable, the kind of touch that shorted his circuits. It wasn’t casual for him. It was something earned. In the back room of that bar, he’d intercepted the move, deflecting it the way he would any unwanted advance.
But Emily didn’t go for his cheek and, inexplicably, he craved that so deeply, he trembled. Her fingers brushed his forearm, small and sure, her palm callused, warm, sweet, and for reasons he didn’t understand, the dormant urge struck like a spark against powder, detonating through him, making the place she touched come alive. Makinghimcome alive.
Her features were soft for the first time since they’d met, the fight drained out of her expression. Ah, fuck…this Emily. He couldn’t fight her; his sensations and emotions were so strong, they swamped him.
“I know I hurt you on that path,” she said quietly. “But I was scared, and I thought you were going to hurt me.” Her voice wove into her apology like a balm, husky, a whispered cadence that cut through the noise in his head. Her eyes flicked away, her voice dropping lower. “I’m glad you and Beast were there to save my life. I was lucky to…ah…literally run into you.” The hint of humor only made those words worse.
For a second, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Gratitude from civilians never meant much to him. He was trained for it, and he expected it, brushed it off. But from her, whispering into the dark while her delicate, devastating hand lingered on his arm, it hit differently. Too close. Too sharp. It crawled under his skin and stayed.
He wanted to tell her not to thank him, that it was just the job. But the words jammed in his throat, because the sound of her gratitude lit up something raw inside him he didn’t have language for. He shifted, anchoring himself on Beast at his side, on the night air cooling against his sweat.
“I’ll say this for you, you know how to down a man, and that’s a goddamned good thing.” But Christ, it was bad for him too.
Her eyes widened, and he had to wonder if she got his double meaning or if it was wishful thinking.
“Kick ass, then sort out the names later? That’s you, isn’t it?” she asked with a catch in her voice, as if the ground had slipped beneath her… Or was that him? He turned away, his eyes closing for a moment. It hit like a jab, sharp in his ribs. Christ, she was blowing him away here.Seeing him.“Not entirely Neanderthal, huh?” She nudged his arm with her elbow, playful, grounding the moment.
He drew in a breath and looked back at her. Her eyes sparked with the shared joke, and for a heartbeat, it felt like they were the only two people in the jungle.
“Stay close,” he managed, voice low, rougher than he meant. Tex had pegged it perfectly. For a moment, he didn’t want to leave her, but his brothers would protect her with their lives. She wasn’t in his hands, but she might as well be.
He pulled away gently and slipped into the shadows, the jungle swallowing him. But her words, her humor…she…came with him, echoing under his skin as steady as the pulse of the forest.
Emily just became a freaking intriguing puzzle. He didn’t know what the hell he was dealing with here. Attraction, sure. He’d have to be dead not to feel the spark in her touch. But there was more threaded through it. Respect for not holding a grudge when she’d tried to drop him to his knees. Playfulness, too—that maddening streak that made her fun to fight with—and something else, something he didn’t dare touch, because if he named it, he’d havenodefense left at all.
5
The team movedwith the quiet efficiency of men who’d done this a hundred times. Packs cinched, weapons checked, water rationed out. The air pressed close and wet, insects starting their shrill chorus in the canopy above in a world that was almost too alive.
Brawler adjusted the strap on his ruck, fatigue biting sharp behind his eyes, sweat already sheening his skin. He should’ve slept harder, but his body refused to settle, keyed up with the weight of responsibility and with the lingering ghost of a touch. Her hand on his arm. Small. Warm. Steady in a way he hadn’t expected. Her palm had been a little rough, a rasp of grit against his skin that stuck with him longer than it should have.
Now, sitting cross-legged on her pack like she owned the jungle floor, the firecracker was feeding his war dog bacon jerky from a torn ration packet. Beast was practically melting, big head in her lap, tail smacking the dirt in bliss while she scribbled notes in her weather-beaten journal.
Something twisted in his chest, irritation for sure, but there was more threaded in. Something softer.
She’d thanked him last night, her palm brushing his arm in a way that had lit his skin like a live wire. He hadn’t known what to do with it then, and he sure as hell didn’t know what to do with it now, watching her turn Beast into a spoiled prince. He lived in a world where contact was restraint, control, violence. When it came without force, when it came with intent and gentleness, it wasn’t under his control.
Usually, unexpected touch set his nerves screaming. A woman leaning too close in a bar, fingers sliding where he didn’t want them, that kind of contact brought up defenses, his body primed to shove back, to reclaim his space. But Emily’s hand hadn’t rattled him. It had steadied him, anchoring instead of jarring.
That scared the hell out of him. It wasn’t just touch that had caught him off guard. It washertouch.One brush of her hand and she’d affected him in a way no one ever had, and now every nerve in his body was tuned to her without his permission.
His gaze caught on the curve of her wrist as she wrote, the swing of red hair slipping loose against her cheek, the easy curve of her mouth when Beast nudged her for more. All of it tugged at him, sharp and relentless, like his body had already decided what his mind refused to allow.
God, he’d thought he understood attraction: stacked blonde, soft body, a swelled dick, and fucking until the pressure released. Simple. Controlled. That was what he knew. That was what worked. Brawler realized he’d narrowed his world down by design, built his life around privacy, around protecting himself, but more than that, protecting his brother. Anything beyond it was risk. Shewasrisk, already throwing him off balance hours after meeting her.
But this was alien, unnerving. It hit him in places that he didn’t know could react this way.More than a pulse low in his body, it surged in his chest, in his gut, in the raw center of him.She made him want to go deeper, past skin, past climax. Not just to take, not just to burn it off, but to soothe everything all at once. To ease the jagged edges inside him in a way no one ever had.
Her pen stilled mid-word. Slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes weren’t polite green or pretty green. They were alive, flecked with amber fire, and the way they locked onto him made his chest ache.For a breath, she didn’t smirk or fire off some smart-ass line. She just looked at him, wide open like she’d felt the weight of his stare all along, as if the jungle had fallen away and there was only this pull between them. Her mouth parted, the smallest catch of breath breaking the silence, and it hit him like another live wire, raw, real, and just as dangerous.
He felt helpless, and fuck, he hated that shit. This shortcake pixie was making him want more than that narrowed world, pushing him to feel, to reach for things he’d denied himself. His gut told him she was different from anyone he’d ever met. She could become…important. Hell, who was he kidding? She already was. His body knew it, his senses knew it, and deep down, his stubborn, locked-down mind was afraid she carried the key to it all.
Brawler grunted and bent to snap the final clip on his ruck, trying to breathe around her presence. This diminutive woman, who felt more like a giant. Pretended not to care. Pretended he didn’t notice the way the others were already smirking, waiting for the implosion.
