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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.
“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.”
chapter 2
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 stiff upper lips 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 learned 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.”
