Page 47 of Brawler
The real pain, the aching, searing pain was in his groin. God, he wanted her but, fuck, they were in the middle of the jungle. He was actively on a mission. It wasn’t the time or the place or fucking right. But damned if he could find a damn thing wrong with it.
He went under, stayed under, holding his breath, gathering his bearings, working at trying to use his training to corral his need, but his straining cock didn’t seem to be under his control. Emily had it, and he wanted to give it to her in the most basic and savage way.
He trembled with his desire. Finally, he came to the surface and floated on his back, relaxing into the water, one of their elements, liquid, a strong force just like them, their workspace and playground. When he had some modicum of control, he washed his body, dried off with his small but absorbent towel, and dressed. The aroma of cooking meat filled the cave, which was so ideal. It was a barrier between them and the outside world. No one would see the fire, the smoke being carried away as it emerged from the hole.
When he stepped back into the cave, still damp from the pool, the aroma hit him like a gut punch. Roasting meat, sweet fruit, something green and fresh cutting through the heavy scent. It wasn’t just food. It was life, coaxed out of the jungle by a woman who’d been surviving here long before he’d crashed into her world.
Emily crouched by the fire pit she’d dug, her hair loose around her shoulders, cheeks flushed from the heat. The meat sizzled on sharpened sticks, the skin browning, juices dripping into the coals with a hiss. Beside it, fruit wrapped in broadleaves softened and caramelized, giving off a syrupy perfume that curled through the cave.
Spread out on a palm frond was a rough salad of jungle greens, nuts she’d cracked open with a stone, and a scattering of tart red berries. Primitive, yes. But it looked fresh and bright against the backdrop of war.
“Christ,” he muttered, voice low. “You turned the middle of a combat op into a five-star kitchen.”
Her eyes flicked up, sharp and amused. “You expected gruel? I’m not a novice, Brawler. Survival isn’t just about staying alive. It’s about not losing yourself in the process.”
He stared at her, at the effortless competence in the set of her shoulders, the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. In that moment, she wasn’t just the woman who had nearly driven him insane at the pool. She was strong, resourceful, and fiery. His jungle pixie, turning chaos into sustenance.
Damn, he wanted her even more.
The meal was simple, but it tasted like heaven. Smoky, sweet, filling, and Emily hadn’t forgotten Beast. The three of them shared two jungle rodents, roasted golden over the coals, flavored with a fruit glaze, while she wrapped the third to smoke overnight for breakfast. Brawler topped off Beast’s portion with the dense kibble he carried in sealed bags, making sure the dog got the calories he needed. Emily, sly little witch that she was, slipped him more bacon, and Beast’s thumping tail wasn’t disloyalty anymore, it was just an extension of Brawler himself.
His eyes grew heavy as he watched them, Beast sprawled content and Emily leaning into the firelight, hair burnished copper in the glow. He fought it, but exhaustion dragged him under, and before he knew it, he woke with a start.
Emily was goneagain.
He surged upright, pulse spiking, only to freeze when he spotted it. Scratched into the packed earth at his side was a crude arrow, a single word etched beside it.Outside.
A laugh rumbled low in his chest, soft and reluctant. Damn pixie. She was settling even deeper inside him, carving her mark in places he’d sworn were impenetrable.
When she heardhis footsteps crunching softly over the stone, she twisted around. “I’m right here. No shouting required,” she said, lifting her arm in a lazy wave.
God, she couldn’t sit in that cave a moment longer, watching that man sleep. His face had gone soft in slumber, almost boyish in its unguarded lines. But there was nothing boyish about his body, nothing innocent about the way she wanted to crawl over him, measure the breadth of his shoulders, the hard length of muscle, the thickness of what he kept swearing was just adrenaline.
He lowered himself beside her, the heat of him a steady hum at her side. “You drive me insane.”
She chuckled, tipping her head toward him. “I do have that effect on men.”
He went still, a sharp look cutting toward her. “Men…fuck.” His voice roughened. “I never asked if you were seeing someone.”
She turned to face him, laughter bubbling up unchecked. “If I had, do you really think I’d be trying to get to second base with you instead of bringing it up?”
A reluctant grin tugged at his mouth. “Second base. What exactly is that on a man?”
“Don’t you get me started,” she whispered. Talking about Ben was the last thing she wanted. She grasped for anything else, anything lighter, and her mind landed on the absurd exchange she’d overheard days ago. All those lethal operators bickering about Disney princesses while Brawler had stayed silent, stone-faced.
She twisted toward him, lips quirking. “So…who’s your favorite Disney princess?”
Brawler grunted, head turning like he couldn’t believe her. “Seriously, Emily? You think I watch that stuff?”
She leaned into his shoulder, unable to stop herself. He was like a brick wall covered in velvet. “Well, you apparently watchStrawberry Shortcake, so…”
He rubbed the back of his neck, and for once, the mountain of a man looked almost sheepish. The sight made her grin widen. Big, bad Brawler undone by a cartoon reference. Adorable.
“Come on,” she coaxed. “Your secret’s safe with me. Especially from Flash.”
His eyes slid to hers, banked but still smoldering with the echo of that kiss that had lit them both up like halogen in the jungle.
A groan rumbled out of him. “Can I trust you? You’ve lobbed enough barbed wire my way.”
