Page 4 of Atlanta Heat (Tempting SEALs 6)

“I lost a shoe,” she gasped.

“So lose the other one,” he growled, checking behind them and praying Nathan kept up rather than dropping behind to shed more blood.

That boy was going to end up getting himself killed, if he didn’t end up getting them all killed.

“I’ll put those on your tab,” she informed him, her voice bland despite the breathless quality of it and the fear in her eyes. “You can pay for them later.”

“Sure,” he snarled, jerking her around another crate as the front of the warehouse erupted in curses. “I’ll go right out and buy you a new pair.”

“They’re very hard to find,” she informed him with testy patience as he jerked her low to the floor, within feet of the back entrance, and motioned Nathan to secure the exit.

“Should he be going out there by himself?” she leaned close to his ear and voiced the question. “The bad guys would cover the back, wouldn’t they?”

Nathan gave the all-clear.

“Not this time. Shut up and run.” He pulled her behind him, moving past Nathan as he collected the automatic rifle they had hidden in the back. He followed at Emerson’s back, placing himself between her and any bullets that would have flown through the night.

Lights illuminated the warehouse and the lot in a flood of color, only a millisecond behind their rapid push through the chain-link fence that they had cut earlier. The truck was on the other side of the neighboring lot, less than a quarter of a mile and with plenty of cover. With any luck they were home free.

“I can’t run like this,” Emerson gasped behind him.

God, did he think “luck”? Didn’t he remember that luck didn’t exactly look favorably toward him, even at the best of times?

He looked back and nearly groaned. As she ran, those impressive, make-a-man’s-mouth-water breasts were jiggling, reminding him of more than one night’s worth of erotic dreams that he’d had concerning them.

“We’re almost there.” He pulled her to him, wrapped his arm around her waist, and half carried her as they snaked through the hulking, shadowed crates, equipment and vehicles that filled the industrial warehouse lot they were running through.

Nathan moved quickly ahead of them now, securing the area to the truck as Macey gritted his teeth again. Her left breast was moving against his side, a firm, erotic weight that he should be shot for noticing.

Save the girl first, he reminded himself.

But it wasn’t the breasts that drew him and Macey knew it. It was the woman, and that was what terrified him clear down to his combat boots. The woman could take him down, and he had a feeling he was getting ready to go down hard.

EMERSON DELANEY KNEW SHE was in trouble the minute hard hands jerked her from her bed and pulled her from her home. She had been driven through Atlanta surrounded by hard, cold-eyed terrorists intent on death. There hadn’t been a doubt in her mind that they intended to kill her. Just as there hadn’t been a doubt in her mind that Macey would be sent to rescue her.

Tall, over six feet four inches, perhaps six five, dark brown eyes, long dark hair, and a bad-boy sexy face. He was the rebel, the troublemaker. The man she couldn’t stop thinking about or dreaming about. And the one she knew would come for her.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Macey March tossed her into the backseat of the dual cab pickup, followed in after her, and gave the other man the order to drive. They eased out of the parking lot slowly, lights out, rather than tearing out of it in a scream of tires, which would have surely alerted any terrorists nearby.

The dark vehicle blended in with the shadows of hulking semis and eased out of the warehouse district and into the stream of traffic bordering it. The headlights came on then, and she wondered if it was okay to breathe yet.

She glanced over at Macey, aware that he was watching the traffic with narrow-eyed intent, his weapon held low against his thigh, his hand still pressing her shoulders against the soft leather seat, keeping her hidden from view.

“Could you pull my skirt down? It’s riding up.” There was a demon imp that came out every time she came in contact with the huge, taciturn SEAL. She couldn’t help it. Needling him was her favorite sport.

A large, broad hand smoothed her skirt from high on her thigh back to her knees. And he did it … slowly. As though he were savoring the act. She sure as hell was. She stared up at him in the darkness, aware of the fact that he was apparently unaffected.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” She shifted her legs against his. “Next time I get kidnapped, remind me to wear panties.”

His expression tightened, as did the hand on her knee. “Don’t fuck with me right now.”

“I’m fully dressed, Lieutenant, so ‘fucking’ with you is the least of your worries at the moment.”

He smiled a slow, predatory smile.

“If you don’t shut that smart mouth of yours, I’ll have to shut it for you.”

“How are you going to do that?” she whispered back. Excitement churned inside her as he leaned over her, bringing his face closer, his lips so much closer, making her mouth water.

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