Read Online The Shaughnessey Accord by Alison Kent - Free Book Online
Authors: Alison Kent
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its back. But if this siege was indeed Glory's Last Stand, he owed her as much of the truth as he could reasonably share.
So when she prodded him with a softly uttered, "Tripp?" he shrugged, and said, "It's no big deal really."
And then she butted him with her shoulder. "You are so full of crap."
A firecracker. A pistol. She was one of a kind and made it really hard for him not to smile. "Now, what makes you say that? You have your own training to compare what's a big deal and what isn't?"
"No, but if you're relying on basic stuff, then Brighton's is a kosher deli."
She wasn't going to let him bullshit his way out of anything, was she, perceptive little wench. "Hmm. I do seem to recall a lot of ham being ordered up on sandwiches."
"Exactly." She butted him again, but this time she settled close, rubbing her cheek against his chest when she was done. "You're thinking on your feet. You're making decisions on the fly, using familiar skills, not ones stored in your memory banks."
"Hmm," he mused again because humming was easier than burying the truth beneath a smooth bundle of lies—lies she'd never believe anyway.
He swore then and there that no other woman had ever seen him so clearly. And then he swore for being way too pleased that she did.
So when she said, "Tripp?" in a voice that was all sugar and spice, one he knew would be matched by a dreamy soft look in her doe-bright eyes, he couldn't help it. He gave in and looked down.
And she either wasn't as frightened as she'd been claiming to be or she really thought he could save her.
Tripp sighed. It was bloody damned hell having a woman look at you like that. Like you were the hero she'd been waiting for.
He pretended that he needed to clear his throat. "Thing is, Glory, I'm not exactly an engineering project consultant."
She nodded with way too much know-it-all enthusiasm— which made her such an easy target to tease.
"I leap tall buildings in single bounds. I spin webs in any size. You know," he added, struggling to keep a straight face. "To catch thieves. Like they were flies."
" Dammit , Shaughnessey . I'm going to have to hurt you now."
He braced himself for the attack, nose scrunched, eyes screwed up. So he was totally unprepared for her to kiss him. And that was exactly what she did.
Her lips moved lightly over his, trembling as she murmured his name, and plea after plea to help her, to talk to her, to tell her that they'd both be okay.
He didn't have the use of his hands, goddamn it, and could only shift around until he was sitting sideways and could press her skull to the wall.
He silenced her murmurs with a bruising, punishing kiss. She had no idea what she was asking. How he had sworn never to make promises to anyone again.
But she tasted like fine spun cotton candy, like all the good things a man wanted in his life. And he knew that long-ago oath wasn't worth the air he'd written it on that first night spent on his belly crawling through Colombia's rain forest with cocaine on his fingertips and a bullet in his thigh.
He kissed her anyway, because it was better than thinking, than talking, and because she just plain knew how to kiss. So few women did, or even knew what a kiss did to a man. How nothing but the feel of soft lips and compliance could bring him to his knees.
Glory's kiss did it all, which was why he had to pull away, ease away, set her away and give her the truth. "I trained in Special Ops and spent more than a few years as a sniper."
"A sniper?" she asked, her voice low and awed. "Like with a gun?"
"No," he replied, wanting none of her awe. "With my dick."
She glared deeply into his eyes. "You, Shaughnessey , are cruisin ' for a bruisin '."
"Maybe so," he admitted, lightening up the mood. "But at least I'm cruisin ' faster than a speeding bullet."
She silently studied his face for a moment before she asked, "Have you killed people?"
He nodded, added, "No one who didn't deserve it."
"You're comfortable making that
So when she prodded him with a softly uttered, "Tripp?" he shrugged, and said, "It's no big deal really."
And then she butted him with her shoulder. "You are so full of crap."
A firecracker. A pistol. She was one of a kind and made it really hard for him not to smile. "Now, what makes you say that? You have your own training to compare what's a big deal and what isn't?"
"No, but if you're relying on basic stuff, then Brighton's is a kosher deli."
She wasn't going to let him bullshit his way out of anything, was she, perceptive little wench. "Hmm. I do seem to recall a lot of ham being ordered up on sandwiches."
"Exactly." She butted him again, but this time she settled close, rubbing her cheek against his chest when she was done. "You're thinking on your feet. You're making decisions on the fly, using familiar skills, not ones stored in your memory banks."
"Hmm," he mused again because humming was easier than burying the truth beneath a smooth bundle of lies—lies she'd never believe anyway.
He swore then and there that no other woman had ever seen him so clearly. And then he swore for being way too pleased that she did.
So when she said, "Tripp?" in a voice that was all sugar and spice, one he knew would be matched by a dreamy soft look in her doe-bright eyes, he couldn't help it. He gave in and looked down.
And she either wasn't as frightened as she'd been claiming to be or she really thought he could save her.
Tripp sighed. It was bloody damned hell having a woman look at you like that. Like you were the hero she'd been waiting for.
He pretended that he needed to clear his throat. "Thing is, Glory, I'm not exactly an engineering project consultant."
She nodded with way too much know-it-all enthusiasm— which made her such an easy target to tease.
"I leap tall buildings in single bounds. I spin webs in any size. You know," he added, struggling to keep a straight face. "To catch thieves. Like they were flies."
" Dammit , Shaughnessey . I'm going to have to hurt you now."
He braced himself for the attack, nose scrunched, eyes screwed up. So he was totally unprepared for her to kiss him. And that was exactly what she did.
Her lips moved lightly over his, trembling as she murmured his name, and plea after plea to help her, to talk to her, to tell her that they'd both be okay.
He didn't have the use of his hands, goddamn it, and could only shift around until he was sitting sideways and could press her skull to the wall.
He silenced her murmurs with a bruising, punishing kiss. She had no idea what she was asking. How he had sworn never to make promises to anyone again.
But she tasted like fine spun cotton candy, like all the good things a man wanted in his life. And he knew that long-ago oath wasn't worth the air he'd written it on that first night spent on his belly crawling through Colombia's rain forest with cocaine on his fingertips and a bullet in his thigh.
He kissed her anyway, because it was better than thinking, than talking, and because she just plain knew how to kiss. So few women did, or even knew what a kiss did to a man. How nothing but the feel of soft lips and compliance could bring him to his knees.
Glory's kiss did it all, which was why he had to pull away, ease away, set her away and give her the truth. "I trained in Special Ops and spent more than a few years as a sniper."
"A sniper?" she asked, her voice low and awed. "Like with a gun?"
"No," he replied, wanting none of her awe. "With my dick."
She glared deeply into his eyes. "You, Shaughnessey , are cruisin ' for a bruisin '."
"Maybe so," he admitted, lightening up the mood. "But at least I'm cruisin ' faster than a speeding bullet."
She silently studied his face for a moment before she asked, "Have you killed people?"
He nodded, added, "No one who didn't deserve it."
"You're comfortable making that
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