Page 8 of Secret Mission

I’m blinking at the sky as raindrops hit my face when his words brush against my cheek. “It’s okay. Just stay put.”

It’s not okay! Someone just shot at me.

This is a shout inside my head, but I’m now frozen and catatonic, and I’m not sure if my mouth will ever move again.

And he wants me to stay put?

Like I could get up anyway with him laying on me.

He’s a living, breathing slab of granite smooshing me into the mud.

Bang. Bang. Bang… Bang.

A volley of shots echoes in the steep jungle valley. Birds scatter above us and for a second, high-pitched squawking covers the hell-bent pounding of my pulse.

He leans closer, teasing my cheek with the warmth of his breath. “That round was our guys returning fire.”

“G-good,” I rasp.

Or at least, I think I speak. But I’m so breathless, so stunned, I’m not sure any actual sound comes out.

I’m also being smashed.

Seriously, how much does this guy weigh?

Why am I having such a random thought when there are two threats against my life: gunfire and fighting for my breath?

“Air…” I wheeze as the pouring rain stings my face. “Move over.”

He merely shifts enough to allow me to eek in a breath but settles his frame against me in a different place.

A recklessly suggestive place.

Holy hotcakes. We are straight up in missionary right now.

The width of his pelvis is forcing my legs really wide.

My shock fading, replaced by morbid humor, I mutter, “Shouldn’t I know your name if you’re going to do that?”

He’s dead still for a second, then chuckles. Brief, deep, and shockingly rough, the masculine noise vibrates against my clit.

“Truck.”

Maybe I hit my head, because that confuses me. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s my name.”

Not Alex or Max or Sam, no. This guy’s name is Truck.

Figures.

Why do I care? I’m about to die. But alas, my whirring brain is intrigued.

Would a mom really name their son Truck?

But all thought ceases as another shot cracks. Every muscle I possess flinches violently.

But he doesn’t tense. He’s like a calm-weighted blanket pressing down on me. The only reaction is to tilt his head toward the sound, his rock-hard body pressing me deeper into the ground. Grinding me into the sodden earth.

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