Page 17 of Fighting His Fate
“Sorry.”
Heat rushed to her face and down lower, awkwardness mixing with desire, and she chided herself for the reaction. It was John who should make her feel this way, John’s touch that should fill her with a longing so intense she ached to be beneath his body. Yet even in the moments they’d shared on her apartment couch, she hadn’t been as turned on as she was just now from a single touch of Brett’s hand on her thigh.
It wasn’t the man himself she wanted. No way. She just knew how promiscuous he was. Brushing up against a sex machine was bound to make you think about sex, just as walking into the side of an ice cream truck was bound to make you think about ice cream.
And look like a complete idiot.
Yes, if Brett knew what she was thinking, he’d surely think her a fool. Never mind that she’d wanted to touch him long before that turn, wanted to know what it felt like to have his hands on her sensitized skin. What kind of person did that make her? She was about to get engaged, for God’s sake.
Pete’s sake, Grace. Stop cursing, damnit!
He took a second turn far faster than she would, her residual annoyance making her snap, “Can you slow down, please?”
“We’re almost there.”
“And I for one would like to arrive in one piece.” She closed her eyes, willing her heart to stop racing and telling herself it was because of his driving and knowing damn well it was not.
He cursed under his breath. “They made the turn with us.”
They were being followed. There was little doubt now. Stress and fatigue clawed at her.
She shouldn’t even be here. She’d let her sympathy for the children override her good sense, her desire to see them settled and well taken care of outweighing her self-interest. God, how she wanted to get out of this truck. It was like driving around inside of Brett’s mind, unable to escape—his strong, masculine persona represented in every bold line and sensuous curve of metal.
She crossed her arms tightly and stared out her window. A cell phone rang through the truck’s speakers, making her jump. Brett answered it. “You’re on speaker, Moto. I’ve got a friend with me. What did you find out?”
Was that what they were now, friends? Just hearing him call her that made her feel special. She rolled her eyes. Surely it was easier for him to explain her presence with a single word, rather than describe her as his bitchy, all-too-ordinary neighbor with whom he was suddenly and irrevocably stuck.
“I think you need to see this,” said Moto. “Can you come in?”
He pulled to the side of the road and did a U-turn without hesitation, and she could have cried at this impromptu extension of their already long day. His eyes cut to hers. “You up for the trip?”
She nodded despite every bit of evidence to the contrary. How could she tell him no when he was trying to find out what happened to his friends? “Yes.”
“Fucking rush-hour traffic into the city’s going to be a nightmare.” He hummed a flat note. “Moto, is there anyone there who can fly the bird? I’ve got a tail I need to lose anyway.”
“Dire’s here.”
“Good. Have him meet us at the soccer field by my apartment ASAP. He’s picked me up there before.” He hung up. “They’ll come get us in the chopper within the hour. Save us another car ride and a lot of time.”
“A helicopter? You just snap your fingers and a helicopter appears?”
“In this case, yes.”
She lowered her brow. “Who are you?”
“Former Navy SEAL. Now I work in Manhattan for the Hands-on Engagement and Reconnaissance Operations team. It’s a private security firm, but I’m hoping they can help me dig up some information on Joni and Luke that might be helpful. Moto’s working on that license plate that prick at the barracks wouldn’t give us.”
“I doubt he’s allowed to give out that kind of information.”
“He was still a prick.”
She rolled her eyes and stared back out her window. They sat in silence for what seemed an eternity.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Of course not. Why would anything be wrong?”
“I’m not sure, but your posture and your tone of voice tell me something definitely is.”
