Page 64 of Bound

He cupped her shoulders hard enough to snag the words in her throat. His touch was far from gruff but also nothing like the way he had held her just an hour ago. “We’ll have to back burner this for now, okay?” He eyed the checklist with a deepening frown. “There’s still a lot to get done here, and if Carris is hitching a fast ride from Paris, there’ll be human fallout from his touchdown point sooner than later.”

“Of…course.”

Jayd twisted her lips. But what to do with them then? An understanding smile felt as far away as their connection in her suite. And in some ways—all right, many ways—her heart shivered worse than the minutes after his rebuff in the infirmary.

Which, right away, she kicked herself for. Down to the last silly, selfish drop of emotion.

Damn it.

Was she truly serious about this? About him? About proving herself a worthy woman for him to take a chance on, not a girl besotted by her rampaging hormones?

“Yes.” She answered it aloud because she could. Because while Brickham knew not the affirmation it truly represented, she needed him to hear it—and to know she meant it. “Of course,” she said again, engraving it more firmly with her nod. “What do you need me to do first?”

Before Brickham could render an answer, Oz sauntered back over.

This time, the Aussie was wearing a Kevlar vest along with thigh armor and knee pads. A black tactical helmet was tucked beneath one of his arms, and a compact rifle was secured across his chest.

“Yippee-ki-yay,” the guy quipped, readjusting one of his thigh pads. “Time to roll. So you’re all apples here?” He ticked a nod in Brickham’s direction, seemingly oblivious to how his friend nodded and frowned at the same time. “Beauty. Check you out on the other side, hot stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah. Have fun storming the castle, asshole.”

Jayd struggled to glom a little chuckle onto Oz’s but never found the right internal plug for it. Was she the only one who heard the conflict past Brickham’s sarcasm? That past the casual sneer, there was a conflicted warrior? That he was tapping tense fingers against his thighs because he longed to be strapping bulletproof gear onto them too?

As soon as Ozias had paced out of earshot, she pivoted to Brick with new determination. If she could lend just a sliver of empathy to his world…to be the person who made his day a little better this time…

“Brickham.” She went all-in on the risk, pressing her hand against his. “I want you to know…we appreciate you being here. Right here.”

He swooped his gaze down at her. His lips were still twisted in that conflicted scowl, but the rest of his features mellowed a little. “I know, P—” He slammed his lips together again. “I know, princess.”

Princess.

It was better than Highness. She tried telling herself that, at least twenty times over, while gritting her teeth to maintain her diplomatic smile.

What, in the Creator’s name, had Evrest said to him?

And how much bodily harm could a woman inflict on her big brother short of assassination?

But there was not a spare moment for wallowing in that stew. She had no time for simmering, not when her frustration was nearly at a boiling point.

That left only a few viable options for going forward.

One: evaporate every shred of sustenance in the figurative pot.

Two: let the damn thing get too hot and then explode.

Three: add good intentions and turn this mess into a half-palatable soup.

“All right,” she said, figuring he could interpret her heavy sigh whatever way he wished. By now, it was clear the man wished to be sailing clear of emotional waters anyhow. “Where do we need to start?”

Hell on earth.

It wasn’t a term that daunted Brick anymore. He’d already been on that cruise more times than he wanted to remember. Danced until dawn with starvation, deprivation, and fear. Been to every station of the torture chamber buffet. Sang the sole song on the menu in the karaoke bar: “Just Kill Me and Get It Over With.”

He didn’t feel like warming up the pipes for that custom ditty just yet—but God fucking help him, he’d come damn close in the last two and a half hours.

Like every worthy stint on the persecution rack, things were easy enough at first. Every word from Evrest had still resounded in his mind, such aching reminders of how he’d already let things with Jayd go too far.

So. Damn. Far.