Page 47 of Dangerous Mission

Forcing my jaw to relax before the bone breaks, I slice my angry gaze to hers. “You don’t want to know.”

She drops her hands and strides to me, hair swaying, mouth set in a determined line. “Why are you trying to tell me what to think?”

What the hell?I give her a scowl as I clench my teeth. “I’m not.”

“You’ve done that multiple times.”

This woman…I suck in air and blow out a rough sound. “Are you always so challenging?”

Electric silence grows between, thickening the humid Vandemora morning air.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, King Scout, ruler of the world, he who espouses his reasoning upon all. He whose word is the last word.”

What. The. Hell?

Throat tight, I stare at her in disbelief. “Seriously? You’re attacking me right now?”

“Challenging. That’s the word you used. And it doesn’t take a doctorate to know that you’re not used to it and it bothers you.”

“Are you like this with everyone? If you are, now I know why your brother is so hard to get along with.”

She blinks and snaps back with fire. “That was rude!”

“It’s the truth. You and your brother must have the same genetic predisposition for being?—”

She fills the blank. “Spirited.”

I snort.

Her frown deepens and her voice drops low, and husky. “You can’t survive in the world I walk around in without backbone.”

Something about that remark unravels part of my anger.

She’s right. If she deals with dickheads like Brundage all the time…fuck.

“I get it. But you seem to be determined to push all my damned buttons. All the damned time.”

“I am determined.”

I pull my hat off, scratch my head, and slam the ball cap back on. “Oh great. What did I do to deserve this honor?”

After looking me over, she seems to have decided something. “You’re a puzzle and I’m determined to figure out the pieces. Besides, I think you need a friend.”

Ha. Friend?

No. Double hell no.

This is not good. I’ve obviously stepped in it this time getting tangled up with her and need to figure out a way to backtrack fucking pronto. “Get your ass inside the house.”

She gives me one final inspection and walks past me. When she reaches the back door of the house, she looks back at me, her dark brown hair sliding along her shoulders.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, King Scout.” Lifting her chin, she hides all of the other emotions except determination. “I’m doing this because I’m here for a job. And don’t think this conversation is over. I’m not dropping it. So use this time to figure out how you’re going to drop the BS and tell me what just happened. We’ve saved each other’s lives. How many people can say that?”

I don’t reply.

Voice low and coarse, she says, “The least we can do is be honest with each other.”

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