Page 44 of Secret Mission

She makes a mmmph sound as we hit the water.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” I roll the two of us over to our backs so she’s lying on my front and I’m behind her. For a beat, I just hold her, surprised at the spreading weight inside of my chest where there has only been a hollow feeling.

“Swim!” she says with a choked laugh.

That sweet sound of her happiness tightens my gut and makes my throat sting like I’ve swallowed a shot of lemon.

“Oh, right.” I force a laugh. “I forgot what I was supposed to be doing.”

Holding her against me with one arm lashed around her torso, I side stroke us toward the shore, working to angle us toward shore as the current sweeps us along.

“The boat’s going down,” Ally says as she peeks over our shoulders.

“I liked it. It was crude, but effective. I have fond memories of that bed.”

She groans, wiggling in my hold. “Great, now that we’ve… you know… you went down on me. Is that all you’re going to be able to think about?”

“I’m a guy.”

But truthfully, my mission objective has changed. My sex hormones are pumping like an oil well right now, my head is still a mess, but I have to keep Ally safe in the jungle.

Without a working satellite phone, we’re on our own.

The team will be looking for us, but that could mean hours or days before we get picked up.

All kinds of nightmare scenarios play in my mind.

Dangerous rebels.

Aggressive wildlife.

Poisonous creatures.

I have to stuff my growl down.

Fuck.

This is not good. I’m fine tromping around in the jungle by myself, or with other SEALs, but taking Ally there scares the ever-loving-crap out of me.

“You okay?”

“No. I’m pissed as hell and hungry.” More like hangry. And worried as fuck. And not sure what my next play in this jacked up drama is going to be.

Ally laughs. “Lord, I’d kill for a Big Mac right now.”

Even though I’m a proverbial shitstorm in my head, a laugh bursts out of me. “Now who’s talking about sex?”

“I was talking about a hamburger.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“McMillon is my first name. Reese is the last. Mack is what I was called since I was a kid. Until I got into the teams and someone called me Mack Truck. And that’s how Truck happened.”

With a dramatic groan, she splashes me over her shoulder. “So, now you’ll tell me, I thought you wouldn’t until you were about to be—I can’t even say the testical word…”

I’m thinking about all kinds of dirty things and miss the strainer—the cluster of tangled trees in the water ahead of us, until we’re aiming right for it.

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