Page 5 of Atlanta Heat (Tempting SEALs 6)

“By cutting out your tongue. I’ll blame it on the terrorists.”

She sighed with dejection. “Damn. There goes that tongue ring I was going to invest in.”

A rough chuckle sounded from the driver as Macey’s eyes narrowed in contemplation.

“Give me trouble, Em, and you’ll regret it.”

“Give me lip, Macey, and I’ll bite it.” She snapped her teeth back at him and was rewarded with a flare of lust in his gaze. Unfortunately, the lust came with more than she expected. It came with a wolf’s grin and a knowing smirk.

“Be careful, Emerson, because I’ve been known to bite back.”

TWO

EMERSON JENNIFER DELANEY WAS shaking. At least on the inside. She’d be damned if she would let Macey, the big, tough, larger-than-life Navy SEAL she’d always lusted over, see her shake on the outside. She wouldn’t let anyone see her shake on the outside if she could help it. It wasn’t acceptable. Good Navy children had a stiff upper lip and kept their fears to themselves. They weren’t whiny babies or wimps, and if they made the mistake of being one in her family, then they learned fast the error of their ways.

So she let herself shake inside. All through the ride, while her legs remained draped over his, his large hand occasionally cupping her knees as he flicked a heated look at her.

Otherwise, he watched the traffic, kept a careful check through the back window, and talked to Nathan Malone in SEAL jargon that Emerson had only halfway le

arned to translate throughout her life of dealing with Navy SEALs, admirals, and various officers. Even her mother was an officer, as were her aunts on her father’s side, various uncles, and cousins. Out of her entire family on her father’s side, in three generations, Emerson was the only one to buck tradition and make a life and a career outside that hallowed institution.

So, translating SEAL talk wasn’t easy.

She knew they were driving aimlessly around Atlanta to make certain there were no tails. Then, Lieutenant Malone was going to drop them off and report to the admiral. After that, there was something about hiding her in a cave. She hoped that was a joke, because, well, caves had bugs and bats and stuff, and she did not do bugs and bats and stuff.

“All’s clear,” Macey finally murmured after watching the back window for what seemed like hours. “Take us to the drop-off then head out. Clint will be straggling back into the States around daylight. Catch up with him and let him know what’s going on. Kell and Reno are OOC for a few more days.”

OOC. Okay, she could handle that one. Out of Country. “Admiral’s gonna wanna know your location,” Nathan reminded him. His ruined voice was harsh, but there was just a hint, the slightest flavor of Ireland sneaking through. She bet his voice had been a panty-wetter before he was tortured by Sorrell and his associates.

“You don’t know,” Macey reminded him. “Clint doesn’t know. Until I know we’re secure, Nathan, I trust no one. Not even the admiral.”

It was too important. Emerson was too important. And the hairs at the nape of his neck tingled at the thought of letting the location out to even the admiral.

Nathan nodded sharply as the inner city streetlights became further apart and the dimmer, more distant lights of the residential areas threw longer, darker shadows into the truck.

“Can I sit up now?” She was tired of laying on her back and staring at Macey or the ceiling. Not that Macey wasn’t a fine thing to look at, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her, so it made the discomfort a bit more noticeable.

“Not yet.” His hand tightened on her knee again and gave her a thrill. She was pathetic, really. Creaming her panties for a shift of fingers against her knee. How low could a woman sink?

“This is uncomfortable, Macey.”

“So is death.” Clipped and impersonal. She hated that voice.

“Do you believe death is uncomfortable? I’d think you’d be unaware—”

“You’re going to be gagged if you don’t shut up.” He glowered down at her.

Emerson twitched her nose. The imp inside her was shaking in fear and staying quiet wouldn’t be easy. If she wasn’t talking, goading or taunting, then she was going to start crying. And she really hated crying.

“Here we go.” Macey jerked the door open, jumped out and grabbed her legs, pulling her across the leather seat as she jerked up in response.

“Let’s go,” he ordered as he gripped her waist and set her down on the sidewalk of a less than reputable residential area.

“I don’t have shoes,” she reminded him.

He began dragging her through a row of scraggly hedges as the pickup pulled away from the curb and drove off.

She was nearly hysterical with fear, well aware of the fact that she was in a bit of trouble. After all, terrorists didn’t drag you out of a bed on the spur of the moment unless they had very bad plans for you.

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