Read Online Justice (Bad Boys of X-Ops Book 2) by Rie Warren - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rie Warren
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arm.
“’Night . . . Tilly.”
Her breath caught before she disappeared into the blue-black shadows beyond.
One intimate moment in a life lacking so many—in a completely incongruous and increasingly complicated situation.
Tilly Lawless.
Chapter Nine
Hooked and Gaffed
NOTHING HAD COME OF the voices in the tunnel that night. I’d escorted Tilly to her room, watched as she’d closed the door.
I’d stood outside for four countless seconds while sharp longing lifted the poison of the past from my veins.
My hand had stroked down the door, and I heard soft shuffling inside. I’d bent my forehead to the frame, curling my fingers against the wood.
I wanted things I couldn’t have. Always had.
Marching back two steps, I’d rounded on my feet and strode back to the bunker.
I didn’t hear the voices again. But that was little comfort. We were trapped. And I needed to find a safe way out.
I’d woken Storm to take over an hour before dawn lit the sky we couldn’t see. He’d rolled up, instantly awake, fight or flight in his eyes, wary tension winding through his muscles.
Patting his arm, I’d reassured him then warned him about the possible tunnel situation. Alert within seconds, he’d dressed for combat and carried his weapons out of the room.
With Storm on rounds, I’d parked myself on the floor beside Walker and Bane—both of them sleeping hard—and forgot the day, the night, the explosions. The danger, the worry, this FUBAR situation.
I didn’t forget Tilly, because she was unforgettable. Her image lined the insides of my eyelids when I shut them, and the often-missed comfort of a woman came fast with her in my mind. Sleep wafted down like a warm blanket, a fine mist of first memories: her anger, her stubbornness, her freckles. Her flirtation. Her capability. Her loneliness that called to mine.
Her body.
I was dredged from slumber only once, when Bane and Walker rustled up and dressed and gathered their weapons.
Sinking back, I dreamed of good things.
I dreamed of Tilly.
****
Hours later, I rolled from my pallet to my feet. I scratched at the stubble on my jaw and switched from the form-fitting combat gear I’d sacked out in earlier in the day into clothes that weren’t exactly mission-oriented. Loose nylon shorts and a sleeveless black muscle shirt.
Heavy from sleep, I performed a quick check of the area, soundlessly stealing through the rooms and looking in. Everyone was present and accounted for, and I spent less time glancing at Tilly, who drifted around the otherwise empty gym, than I did ascertaining the whereabouts of my men and Ambassador Lawless.
I gave myself props for that.
Under any other circumstances I’d have been tempted to kiss her last night before she returned to bed. Kiss her and much, much more.
That couldn’t happen.
In the deserted kitchen, I helped myself to a large mug of coffee that was aromatic and thick enough to sprout new hairs on my chest. Lowering into a chair at the table, I ground my way through a packet of trail mix and a cup of yogurt that looked about as big as a thimble in my hand. I ate robotically to fill some of the hole in my stomach, dreaming about the big farmer-style breakfast I’d have once this op was over. Fluffy eggs—maybe six of them—sunnyside up with runny yokes I could mop of up with warm, flaky biscuits.
I briefly wondered if Tilly knew how to make buttermilk biscuits from scratch, southern woman and all that. I might be a misplaced city man, but I had a country boy’s endless appetite for all things, and that included days filled with fresh unclouded air and nights sweltering with hot passionate sex.
Sex.
And I thought more on Tilly, chewing slowly.
A body like hers, she was probably wild as a lioness in the sack. Unleashed, I bet she could use me up all night long and still come back for more.
Beg for more.
I stopped eating altogether. Food was the farthest thing from my mind. A hot heavy sensation dragged to
“’Night . . . Tilly.”
Her breath caught before she disappeared into the blue-black shadows beyond.
One intimate moment in a life lacking so many—in a completely incongruous and increasingly complicated situation.
Tilly Lawless.
Chapter Nine
Hooked and Gaffed
NOTHING HAD COME OF the voices in the tunnel that night. I’d escorted Tilly to her room, watched as she’d closed the door.
I’d stood outside for four countless seconds while sharp longing lifted the poison of the past from my veins.
My hand had stroked down the door, and I heard soft shuffling inside. I’d bent my forehead to the frame, curling my fingers against the wood.
I wanted things I couldn’t have. Always had.
Marching back two steps, I’d rounded on my feet and strode back to the bunker.
I didn’t hear the voices again. But that was little comfort. We were trapped. And I needed to find a safe way out.
I’d woken Storm to take over an hour before dawn lit the sky we couldn’t see. He’d rolled up, instantly awake, fight or flight in his eyes, wary tension winding through his muscles.
Patting his arm, I’d reassured him then warned him about the possible tunnel situation. Alert within seconds, he’d dressed for combat and carried his weapons out of the room.
With Storm on rounds, I’d parked myself on the floor beside Walker and Bane—both of them sleeping hard—and forgot the day, the night, the explosions. The danger, the worry, this FUBAR situation.
I didn’t forget Tilly, because she was unforgettable. Her image lined the insides of my eyelids when I shut them, and the often-missed comfort of a woman came fast with her in my mind. Sleep wafted down like a warm blanket, a fine mist of first memories: her anger, her stubbornness, her freckles. Her flirtation. Her capability. Her loneliness that called to mine.
Her body.
I was dredged from slumber only once, when Bane and Walker rustled up and dressed and gathered their weapons.
Sinking back, I dreamed of good things.
I dreamed of Tilly.
****
Hours later, I rolled from my pallet to my feet. I scratched at the stubble on my jaw and switched from the form-fitting combat gear I’d sacked out in earlier in the day into clothes that weren’t exactly mission-oriented. Loose nylon shorts and a sleeveless black muscle shirt.
Heavy from sleep, I performed a quick check of the area, soundlessly stealing through the rooms and looking in. Everyone was present and accounted for, and I spent less time glancing at Tilly, who drifted around the otherwise empty gym, than I did ascertaining the whereabouts of my men and Ambassador Lawless.
I gave myself props for that.
Under any other circumstances I’d have been tempted to kiss her last night before she returned to bed. Kiss her and much, much more.
That couldn’t happen.
In the deserted kitchen, I helped myself to a large mug of coffee that was aromatic and thick enough to sprout new hairs on my chest. Lowering into a chair at the table, I ground my way through a packet of trail mix and a cup of yogurt that looked about as big as a thimble in my hand. I ate robotically to fill some of the hole in my stomach, dreaming about the big farmer-style breakfast I’d have once this op was over. Fluffy eggs—maybe six of them—sunnyside up with runny yokes I could mop of up with warm, flaky biscuits.
I briefly wondered if Tilly knew how to make buttermilk biscuits from scratch, southern woman and all that. I might be a misplaced city man, but I had a country boy’s endless appetite for all things, and that included days filled with fresh unclouded air and nights sweltering with hot passionate sex.
Sex.
And I thought more on Tilly, chewing slowly.
A body like hers, she was probably wild as a lioness in the sack. Unleashed, I bet she could use me up all night long and still come back for more.
Beg for more.
I stopped eating altogether. Food was the farthest thing from my mind. A hot heavy sensation dragged to
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