Page 6 of Going Rogue
Appears so.
At her brushoff, a frown creased his forehead. He didn’t get how she could be so unaffected when his whole body came alive whenever she drew near. Enough that, he began to wonder if what he felt for her was more than merely attraction.
Acknowledging the effect she had on him upped its potency, and an ache rocked his chest like a sliver of ice bored into it. The cold straightened his spine, and he backed up to lean against the adjacent wall. If she could be all business, so could he. “Yeah.”
Without the plane his contact promised, they needed another mode of transportation because trekking across the desert on foot was suicide. If the environment didn’t kill them, there were bound to be trigger-happy militants who would.
“Any ideas?” She crossed her arms and barked.
Right. Because it washisfault they were in this mess. At least, that’s the message she broadcasted. But she’d asked the question with enough frost to make him wonder if shehadn’t been so unaffected by the kiss after all.
Saving it to ponder later, he answered, “We could steal one of their dirt bikes or a truck.”
Her mouth pursed in thought, but she asked, “And what’s to keep them from coming after us?”
A risky plan popped in Crane’s head. Then a feral grin twisted his lips in response as he pointedly glanced at the door to the container. “We put the fertilizer to good use.”
CHAPTER 3
Rogue
What the fuck wasthatabout?
Rogue tried her damnedest not to pick apart the kiss with Crane, but it wasn’t in her makeup to let it go. Of course, she couldn’t havehimknowing that. Fuming over the whole debacle, she shot a glare in his direction. They traversed the compound, staying out of the meager glow cast by the lights gracing the camp. Barely more than a handful of rudimentary poles held electrical bulbs, which penetrated the dark, moonless night.
At least her frustration kept her warm in the cool night air. The summer sun had finally made its descent, dropping thetemperature to a brisk 80 degrees. After acclimating to the hundred-plus temps during the day, eighty actually felt cold especially when she wore only a black tank top and cargo pants. When she’d been locked up, the militants had taken her jacket, vest, and the weapons stored in it.
Pushing the memory away, she suppressed a shiver as a breeze kicked dust into her face. As soon as they’d had the cover of darkness, they’d started positioning the explosives they’d fashioned from the fertilizer, some diesel they’d commandeered, and Crane’s remaining C-4. Once they had everything in place, it’d be time to light them and get the hell off this compound.
Though she couldn’t see Crane clearly, she felt him hulking a few feet in front of her. His presence wasn’t unwelcome even if his kiss had been.
Hadn’t it?
Rogue cursed herself for letting it distract her. While her hands were busy with her task, her mind kept examining their liplock. You’d think she’d never been kissed before the way she couldn’t stop thinking about hismouth on hers. She had, of course, but none had ever lingered in her thoughts like this.
She’d be lying if she said it hadn’t affected her. Her lips still tingled when she replayed it.
Because his gentleness had surprised her.
Crane was a Marine in the best possible way. Still, all that ego and testosterone meant she hadn’t expected anything but a bruising crush of lips. The fact it hadn’t been made her wonder what more he might be capable of. Which was a dangerous fucking turn of her thoughts.
At 27, she remained a virgin. She hadn’t intentionally avoided relationships, but she’d never sought them out, either. Somehow, she’d always been working; before then, studying had been the excuse she used too often in college.
Her friends had fallen in love and then moped when their hearts were broken. She’d known they all thought of her as a frosty bitch. It had been unfair, but she let it stand. It was easier that way because she had to keep her heart safe from ever crossing theline into love.
An uncomfortable weight settled around her chest and pulled like an invisible rope, tightening with each breath.
She’d become a champion at pushing people away.
If you never let them get too close, they couldn’t disappoint you . . . Her dad had taught her that. At age eleven, her parents divorced, but it hadn’t been solely her mother that her father didn’t want anymore; it had been his daughter, too.
Focus, Rogue.
She scolded herself as she crouched under a militant’s truck, shaking off her line of thinking. It only ever led to bitterness, and she had more important things to stew over than her absent father. Like Crane’s kiss.
Distracted, she smashed her finger between the ground and two bags of fertilizer. Something sharp cut into her hand, and she silently cursed. When she freed her hand from underneath the bags, blood dripped from a small puncture on her ring finger’s tip. She must’ve managed to stab herself with a rock.
Hoping she didn’t leave a trail, she clutched her palm into a fist and prayed it clotted soon. She didn’t have time to stop and tend to it. Not with the whole compound on high alert after her breakout. The gate proved heavily guarded as if they knew their escapee would make a run for it at some point. That’s why several bags of fertilizer wound up at the guard shack by the entrance.
