Page 22 of Brawler
She tore her gaze away, rolled her eyes at herself, and muttered something under her breath, anything to puncture the silence. A barb, a deflection, as though mocking him could cover the fact that she was rattled. That he rattled her.
Which shouldn’t have been possible. She’d just broken up with Ben…days ago. She should be reeling from that emotional overload, but there was nothing there but a hollow emptiness, telling her that she was feeling more for a man she’d just met than she had for the boyfriend she’d been with for a year, had planned a future with. She told herself she was just in shock, that it had to be misfired adrenaline, or loneliness in the middle of a green hell.
But she couldn’t shake all the other bad romances that cluttered up her mind. Abusive Jeremy, distant Evan, indifferent Charlie. All of them collected into a miasma of the wrong man with a capital W. She wasn’t exactly sure why she kept doing that, and that this time it might be different. It felt different. So, Brawler was bold, brash, pushy, commanding, and gorgeous. Gorgeous? Okay, where did that come from? She looked at him again and, grudgingly, had to agree with her stupid self. He was the Big Bad to her Red Riding Hood, and if she ever got into trouble—ah…moretrouble—he would be there to take care of the situation with whatever means necessary. Distracted, she tripped over a root, headed right for an Astrocaryum plant,palms with needle-like spines that were hard, thick, and if struck could break off under the skin, causing painful infections.
Brawler moved with lightning speed, snagging her in mid-fall, snatching her against his chest, and halting the whole line behind them.
For a moment she was so close to his face, his mouth, the curve of his stubbled jaw made her lose even more breath. He took her air, just sucked it up. Her eyes went to that mouth, tracing the curl of it, the arched bow, and a craving so deep opened up, the kind of craving she’d never had before, a need to know what those lips would feel like against hers. Brawler stared down at her, and goddamn him, he didn’t miss a fucking thing—observant and compelling in so many ways. Those thick-lashed eyes swept over her face with the same kind of craving.
His eyes snapped, and he stiffened. “Jesus, woman. Watch where you’re stepping. Those could have hurt you.”
Embarrassed by her ogling of what had morphed into an ogre, she snapped, “Slowed you down, right? I’ll be more careful,” she bit out. She pushed at his thick biceps, his skin so smooth, like velvet over steel. It only made her struggle harder to get away. He let her go so quickly, she stumbled again, but she dodged his help, whirling on him. “If you weren’t so damn big and blocking the trail like a boulder with legs, I might have seen the root.”
“Me? You’re blaming your stumbling inattention on me?”
Tex’s deep voice, dry as sandpaper interrupted. “Seems like you’re caught between some hard barbs and a hard Brawler. He might be a slab of granite, but he’s fast.”
The guys chuckled.
Emily snapped her mouth shut, cheeks hot. She death-stared at Brawler, her body betraying her…again. Tex’s hard Brawler comment hitting her right in the ovaries, prompting her to scribble a mental note to keep her hormones in check.
Beast brushed against her leg, pressing close. Was that him or some unspoken cue from Brawler? She couldn’t tell, and the not-knowing unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. She’d always been good with animals, but this wasn’t some rescue mutt or zoo cat. This was a military working dog, bonded to his handler in ways she couldn’t begin to understand. Beast shouldn’t have been hers to reach. Maybe the dog wasn’t the one in charge.
She could feel Brawler’s glare like a knife at her back. Great. Now she’d managed to annoy the man, ogle him, and win his dog’s loyalty in the span of five minutes.
They started moving again. The team fanned out, the silent sweep of men who knew how to cover ground without wasting a step. Boots pressed into damp ground cover, shoulders brushed leaves still dripping from an earlier rain. A howler monkey’s bellow rolled faintly through the canopy, answered by the sharp chatter of smaller troops somewhere ahead. Macaws flashed above in a burst of crimson and cobalt, their harsh cries scattering the stillness before it folded back into silence. The air hung heavy, almost breathless, as if the jungle were listening too.
Emily adjusted her pack, forcing her focus forward. But the weight of Brawler’s glance lingered, pressing as close as the heat, impossible to shake.
Emily had never seen anything like it. One moment they were just men, broad and loud with their teasing, and the next they fanned out into the jungle with a silent, predatory grace that made her breath catch. They didn’t waste steps, didn’t trip over roots or slap branches aside like she did. They flowed. Every sweep of their rifles, every shift of their shoulders was part of some unspoken choreography she couldn’t begin to understand.
The humid air clung heavy to skin and gear, thick with the buzz of insects and the sweet-rot of fallen fruit. Their presencebent the forest around them, disciplined, efficient, a human current cutting through the wild.
Her heart hammered, partly from the memory of running for her life, partly because…well, seriously? Did they all come off the same recruiting flier? Not a single dud in the bunch. They were tall, muscled, tanned, all smoldering danger and impossible jawlines, like the forest had spat out its own cast of action figures. Even the quiet ones radiated something sharp-edged and magnetic.
Emily ducked under a branch, muttering under her breath. “Unfair. Absolutely unfair. The attractive quotient here is off the charts.” She knew she should be terrified, should be keeping her head down, but instead she was cataloging them like a lineup of overachieving Ken dolls, only these carried real guns, and God help her, moved like panthers.
“What was that, pixie dust?” Flash asked. Of course he would pick up on her wayward thoughts.
“Were you all poster boys for recruiting. What is it? America’s Navy. Forged by handsome bastards?”
Bondo snorted. Tex said, “Well, hell.” Shark and Easy exchanged amused glances. Dagger shook his head.
Flash smirked and said, “Hear that, Brawler? She thinks we’re pretty. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the prettiest operator of them all? Could that be one dubbed as Beauty?”
“Wrong movie,” Bondo said with a snort.
“Seriously?” Easy said. “You watchedSnow White?”
“Yeah,” Bondo said. “You will, too, when you have a daughter—know all the princesses by heart and be able to have a conversation about each one like you drew each of them yourself.”
“Like what?” Flash asked.
Bondo sighed. “You’re going there. Goddammit.” He gave Flash a hard glare. “Remember that mag?”
“I’ll take my chances,” Flash said.
Bondo’s mouth tightened. “Ariel is a mermaid and her father’s the typical patriarch. A SEAL with an actual trident. I like him. Snow White’s killer was a good guy, and he spared her life. Reminds me of us. We’d never kill an innocent woman. I’m not touching that she lived with seven small men.”
