Page 25 of Secret Mission

I fight to inhale. Force an exhale.

Down, boy. Down.

“Truck.” Her hands land on my thighs. “Who is it?”

My gaze drops to her.

I have to unwire my jaw after dragging in a few more unsteady breaths that feel more like a fire-breathing act. “Shhh. Quiet.”

Trying to seem casual, I grab onto one of the pieces of colorful fabric that was lying on the bench when I…um…borrowedthe boat. Tugging up my pants legs above my calves, I lash it around my hips, covering my cargos in a kind of skirt like the local men sometimes wear.

My boots are lying next to the bed, so I don’t have to worry about that wardrobe faux-pas.

But even with that extra layer of fabric, Ally’s too close to my over-sensitized groin.

Sweethell.

I stifle a rumbling groan.

She’s eye level with my cock, her pink lips damp from her licking them nervously. It’s her habit, and I fucking love the way they glisten in the light.

This isn’t a stolen boat, it’s a one-way ticket to purgatory.

I force my eyes away, but they boomerang back.

Shiiiiit.

And this time, she’s looking right at my throbbing erection, an angry knot between her eyebrows.

Breath sputters out of her. “You jerk. I just realized you just wanted me to have to stare at your crotch.”

“It was sort of accidental.” I keep my mouth mostly closed in case anyone on the approaching boat is watching with binoculars.

This isn’t going to work.

I’m going to be bent over in pain any second. Anyone who takes a close look at me is going to think I’m about to rupture something.

Any man with half his wits about him will know it’s a nut.

“Stay quiet,” I growl at her… at myself. At my fucking racing thoughts.

The engine on the other boat grows louder as it chugs upriver toward us. The sound pulses in my ears, making the blood that is dropping to my cock turn to ice.

The last thing we need right now is a run-in with rebels. Or worse—someone hunting her.

Dread builds inside my chest like a black vine spreading to all the corners as two men come into view.

One is on the bow of the small boat, wearing a fitted black polo and a black baseball cap. The other man at the helm is in dark sunglasses and tight black T-shirt. Both have on gray tactical pants. Definitely not dressed like locals.

Keepgoing.Nothing to see here.

That’s right. Just keep right on going.

But they don’t listen to my silent demands, the boat turns toward us.

Goddammit.

“Stay down, don’t make a sound,” I say through tight lips. “They’re coming over this way.”

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