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They continued on toward the main ballroom, but Buck couldn’t take his eyes off Chiara. D-Day threw an arm around his neck. “Man, she’s way out of your league. Never mind. Forget I said that,” he added at Buck’s sarcastic look. “When has that ever stopped you?”
Yeah, when has that ever stopped me?She was worth a kick in the teeth, worth rejection ten times over. Who cared about class? Not him. He was just a rooting-tooting cowboy, and he was going to give himself free rein to rope Chiara in.
* * *
Thirty minutes into the party,Bree had dismissed the asshole who had disrespected Buck. She was too busy fuming about Geneve Bonnet, CEO of H2Omni and participant in the G5 Sahel Conference
Bree was a strong, independent woman, and she didn’t give in to the kinds of petty things other women fell for, but if Geneve touched Blitz’s arm one more time, she was going to break it.Okay.Geez. She wasn’t going to actually, physically break it. It was a figure of speech.Mostly.
She just wanted her to stop touching him.
His forearm to be precise.She couldn’t explain it. But there was something innately sexy about a special forces guy and his forearms. When they were tacked up, yes, some more sexy stuff to swoon over, there was very little skin showing, except for those strong, bare forearms. But most of the SEALs on the team rolled up those sleeves, whether it was to help with the heat, or to show that some shit was going down because when this team went outside the wire, some serious shit was definitely going down. Not one of the eight-man team played around out in the field, except for some good-natured ribbing before the action, but it was all focus, all the time.
It was also sexy to watch them move in that crouched, fast walk, guns to shoulders, eyes glued to their scope, watching each other’s backs as they got the job done. They communicated quietly and nonverbally like they were one entity instead of eight parts of a greater whole. Not to mention the way their wrists bent to stay near the trigger for immediate direct-action engagement. A shiver went over her skin, puckering her nipples against her cocktail dress and eliciting a tumble of excitement in the pit of her belly at the thought of direct-action engagement with Callen “Blitz” Berenger.
Obviously, there was way more to Blitz than his forearms. She wasn’t shallow, for God’s sake. Personality was at the top of the list, and it was everything. Geneve might say that she saw him first, but that wasn’t true. Bree had seen him first because she’d gone to the same school where he’d lettered in PAC-12 football—Oregon State University. She’d had a front-row seat to his character when she’d attended a frat party, and he was there. He was a protector, gentleman, and stand-up guy through and through. Look at what he had done—traded a football for a semi-automatic, a grid-iron uniform for Uncle Sam’s camouflage, a lucrative, multi-million-dollar contract for a modest wage, and constant, extreme danger. He shrugged off fame and fortune, for hidden, heroic deeds that most people would never know he’d performed.
It was strange. There was all this warrior stuff jacking up the tension between them, but she sensed a gentle soul there, too. Make no mistake—this man killed bad guys when he had to and didn’t lose a wink of sleep about it. But she sensed there was some kind of damage to his heart, maybe his soul.
He hadn’t changed at all.
He was still compelling, still quiet and thoughtful, with a brooding quality that only made him more appealing. The worst was the regret that she hadn’t done something back then when she’d had a chance, but she’d been committed to her high school boyfriend who hadn’t lasted after college because he was adamant she wasn’t going into the FBI. So much for her damn loyalty. Bree had to cut him loose. The FBI was nonnegotiable. There was baggage there, pain, shame, terrible grief from a tragic episode in her life. She wondered if she would ever get over it.
So, was it fate that brought them back together in the deserts of Niger with a common mission? Was this a second chance at seeing what the hubbub was about?
Maybe. She might not want to admit that the pining was the worst. She longed for Blitz, for his touch, for the sound of his voice, a gravelly tone rasping against the eardrums and sending undulating waves of shivers through her in a way she wouldn’t have thought possible. It was unbearably needy and embarrassing of her to want a complete stranger so much, all the time. She wanted to kiss him, breathe him in, be with him. It was completely grounded in her fantasy of the man. Reality would probably disappoint her.
That didn’t stop her from enjoying him. His face was right up there with his personality and his forearms.
It was clear from working with the team on deployments and in close quarters as they pursued Achebe that Blitz was a respected and integral part of a kick-ass team. Achebe and the Russians were also still gunning for Isabelle. Bree had an inkling there was something going on between that big, beautiful Cajun and the glamorous, kick-ass interim ambassador. The terrorist held a grudge against her because she had used his daughter as leverage. As a result, he had stepped up his activities to battle against the US and their allies.
Their deployments to the field had been ongoing and exhausting, and now they had to split their time between the G5 Sahel Conference and Achebe. The Nigeriens were working security along with the SEALs and the FBI Fly Team.
Isabelle had requested that they all stay, especially her. That’s what her boss Gavin Foster told her. That had given Bree a great boost of confidence to know that Isabelle, who was much more than she seemed, had requested Bree to remain in Niger.
Yeah, she was in control. Yeah, Geneve looked like a fragile French cream puff. Girly where Bree wasn’t, long and lean where Bree had some heft to her muscles. She bet she had nighttime skin routines with creams and gels. Who was Bree kidding? She outdid her on the female meter. Damn. Was that a pang of jealousy clenching her stomach? She feared it was, and she’d never, ever been the jealous type. It wasn’t a good look on anyone.
Speaking of looks. Damn the woman was stunning and she dressed to accentuate not only her powerful presence but her beauty.
Damn her.
She’d also heard a nasty rumor that Blitz had slept with Geneve long before the Fly Team had dropped into Niger.
“What are you staring at so intently,” asked Harley Quill, Isabelle’s personal assistant as she sidled up to Bree. When Bree didn’t answer, her searching eyes settled on Blitz. “Aw, our handsome Navy SEAL. He is worth ogling.” Harley frowned. “What’s this? You have competition?”
“She’s not competition,” Bree said.
“Nice confidence.”
“He’s probably better left to her, Harley. I don’t think mixing combat and pleasure is a good idea.”
“Damn, are you crazy? That’s the best sex. Adrenaline. My nipples get hard just thinking about it.”
Bree chuckled, licking her lips, trying with all her might to just let it go, but when Geneve touched him again, she felt her hackles rise.
“She’s staking a claim, but he keeps glancing at you.”
Bree was going to lose it and go over there and forcefully remove that woman’s hand off her—man. Damn, she had already lost it. She turned away. “I need a drink.”
