Page 31 of Wyoming Cowboy Undercover

He stared down at her with such intensity, his eyes burning into hers, and moved closer. A little step that didn’t feel little at all. She looked at the pulse beating along the line of his throat, at his chest rising and falling with quickened breaths.

“Mercy,” he said, her whispered name sounding like a question on his lips, and an echo in her heart.

He caressed her face, his fingertips diving into her hair that was still pinned up, and bent his head, setting his mouth to hers.

She dissolved on the spot as she kissed him back.

Would she end up in the fiery hell her father preached about for this intimacy with a nonbeliever?

All she knew for certain was that it felt like heaven.

So she silenced the conflicted voice in her head and sank into Rocco. When he parted her lips with his own and slid his tongue inside her mouth, she made a quiet noise of pleasure that was just shy of a moan.

He tugged her even closer, putting a hand at the small of her back. No longer waiting for this delicious moment that seemed as though it would never happen, she put her arms around his neck and pressed her whole body against the muscular landscape of his. All at once, hunger and heat rushed through her. She fisted the back of his T-shirt, pushing up onto her toes, welcoming the sweet slide of his tongue, the heady taste of him filling her senses. He tasted like mint and coffee. He tasted like happiness, and she could not get enough of it. Couldn’t get over how he kissed her, as if he were consuming her in such desperate, frantic urgency.

Nipping at his lower lip, she rolled her hips against the hardness bulging between his thighs, unable to stop herself. As though she had been untethered and set free. She didn’t want to stop there, at a kiss, and if circumstances were different, she’d get her hands and mouth all over him.

On a groan, he clutched the mass of her hair bundled at her nape and tipped her head back, making her gasp.

“God,”she muttered, excitement running in wild molten rivulets through her.

His head whipped to the side as if he’d heard something. Then she caught it—the sound of approaching footfalls in the bunker. Dangerously close. Almost on top of them.

“Go.” She shoved him toward the tunnel and her heart cracked like glass splintering in her chest.

“Come with me.”

Her breath hitched, blood roaring in her ears. Had she misheard him? “What’d you say?”

“Come with me,” he repeated, this time taking her hand and pulling her close.

The footsteps grew louder. At least three or four men. Any second they’d enter the restricted area and see them.

If she stayed on the compound, there’d be horrendous consequences. And if she left with Rocco, there would be uncharted terrain and obstacles and cliffs ahead.

She’d never been so conflicted, so torn in her life.

Alex and three others charged into the enclosed space.

Pop! Pop!

Gunshots boomed, bullets biting into the concrete wall near her head. Rocco moved her out of the line of fire.

“Don’t shoot!” Alex ordered. “Mercy’s not to be hurt.”

Time was up. Her gaze flew to Rocco’s hard stare, and she knew that taking this leap of faith would be worth it.

That he was worth it.

All hesitation evaporated, and she gave him her wordless answer. Mercy shielded Rocco with her body—Alex could hit a melon the size of a human head with a single shot from fifteen yards day or night—and scurried backward, getting them both across the threshold into the tunnel.

Alex stopped running and took aim, but Rocco returned fire, forcing the men to take cover.

She met Alex’s eyes for a split second, saw the horror and anger contort across his face right before she slammed the door closed.

Rocco shoved the wooden wedge under the lip of the door. Using his foot, he rammed it tight.

He grabbed her hand, and they took off down the tunnel. Along the way, he shot out each light that flashed on, shattering the bulb. Once Alex and the others eventually got the door open, they wouldn’t be able to open fire into the darkness without risking hitting her.

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