Page 46 of Brawler
Emily sat up, lips swollen, eyes dazed.
“We need to get back to the cave,” he muttered, voice rough.
She searched his face, something unspoken passing between them, then nodded. “Okay. Let me gather this up.”
He stood, waiting while she tied the makeshift cloth bag again, then herded her back toward the waterfall, his body still burning, his dick aching, his heart compromised. Fucked up and gone.
Beast padded beside him, tail wagging once, that look in his amber eyes unnervingly soft.
Then it hit him.
It wasn’t the dog who had fallen for her. It was him. His cues, his heartbeat, his restless obsession had bled into Beast from the start. His partner hadn’t chosen Emily first. He had.
Long before he was ready to admit it, long before he’d even realized it himself, Christian Beckett had already started to fall.
When they reached the cave, Emily brushed the damp hair back from her temple and said, “Why don’t you clean up, and I’ll make us something to eat.”
They’d been awake since before dawn yesterday, so it did feel like they had been moving for thirty hours straight. It had been necessary to put distance between him, Emily, and thosebastards chasing them. Then he’d had to do a perimeter check that took him a couple of hours. He was sweaty and muddy, and he hadn’t washed in the pool, just tried to cool off after that kiss. They were both exhausted, and it was no wonder their tempers had flared back there. He looked at her, his mouth tightening. “I’d tell you not to leave this spot, but I’d be wasting my breath.” His wry tone made her eyes flash. God, he loved her spunk.
She stepped closer, laid her palm against his chest. The steady thud beneath her hand betrayed him as much as the catch in his breath. “I won’t go anywhere. I promise. You take some time and maybe find a little peace, my green giant. That pool is magical.”
He covered her hand, his heart lurching at the sound of the hated nickname spoken so softly. “You’re not trying to lull me into a pixie coma, are you? I’m on to you.”
Her smile warmed. She shook her head. “I think we have some things to talk about, and we’re both tired and hungry. Let’s call a truce. White flag?”
He gave her fingers a squeeze. “SEALs never surrender, but in your case, I’ll make an exception.”
She shook her head. “Don’t think of it as mission failure, just a reframing of the parameters.”
“So now I have to deal with a pixie tactician.”
Her smirk curved sharply. “I was always a pixie tactician,” she added when he lifted a brow. “You were yelling too much to notice.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Fair enough.” He turned, but her voice stopped him.
“Wait.” She motioned at his vest. “How do you get this thing off?”
He reached for the Velcro, but she batted his hands away. “Let me. Please, Christian.”
His chest filled. He didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded and dropped to one knee.
Her breath caught as she peeled back the lower section of his vest, then shifted to lift it. She let out a hard exhale. “My God, this weighs as much as a small child. You’ve been hauling this and your pack through the jungle?”
He shrugged, trying not to notice the awe in her eyes. “All part and parcel of the SEAL experience. Great cosmic power, fucking heavy equipment.”
Her laughter chimed through him like shards of sunlight, tinkling in places he hadn’t felt alive in years. He finally shouldered it off himself, muscles rippling with the effort.
“Muscles for days,” she whispered before she could stop herself. Then she waved him toward the pool. “Get going, big man, before I forget that humans have to eat.”
He chuckled, stripping down to his compression shorts, folding every piece of gear with the same precision he used in the field, boots lined neatly beside the pile. From his pack he drew a clean T-shirt, black shorts, and his kit.
She hadn’t looked away. Her eyes tracked the broad span of his torso, lingering, then slid lower to the bulge stretching the thin fabric. Heat flared in her cheeks, and she dragged in a sharp breath before she could stop herself.
As he turned toward the wall of stone that hid the cascade, a raw ache clawed through him. He’d never wanted to fuck a woman more. But damn him, what he wanted even more was to know her, every scar, every truth, every hidden place she’d never let anyone touch.
Her gaze clung for another heartbeat, soft and unguarded, before she tore it away with a sigh and bent to gather her catch, red hair falling forward like a curtain between them. His last words before he disappeared from her view were, “Beast, guard.”
At the pool, he stripped off his shorts, waded in and let the coolness of the water soothe his sweaty, aching skin and body. The water stung his cuts all over again, but he barely felt the pain.
