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“Neither was you getting shot at,” he counters. “You get a license plate?”
“Rental,” Ouray grunts. “Red plate, barcode sticker on the back window. 493-XBL. Black Lexus LX.”
“Good man.” Damian grins at him, although for the life of me I can’t figure out why.
“Are you kidding me? He blew my cover.”
“You were getting shot at!” Ouray yells. “I’d say your cover was good and blown already. Jesus, Luna.”
“How’d you know where I was anyway?” I snap at him, holding onto my snit, even though I have to concede he probably didn’t make things worse than they already were.
“Well, that’s my cue to leave,” Damian announces, backing out of the ambulance.
“Thanks for leaving me hanging, asshole,” Ouray yells after him before he turns to the EMTs. “We done here? Good.” He turns to me and grabs my hand. “You’re coming with me.”
“What the hell, Ouray?”
He doesn’t stop, just drags me along behind him, his hand firmly around my wrist until we get to his Traverse. There he opens the door, picks me up, and dumps me in the passenger seat before jogging around the front and climbing in behind the wheel.
“You done manhandling me?”
I scowl at him and he’s glaring right back. Looks like we’re going another round.
“We’re gonna talk,” he says, starting the vehicle and pulling out into the street, passing the damaged rental car, which is being hooked onto a tow truck.
Damian is standing on the sidewalk beside it, lifting two jaunty fingers when we pass. I have a good idea how Ouray knew where to find me, and I’ll be dealing with my boss later.
“So talk.” I fix my eyes on the road and cross my arms over my chest.
“We’re gonna do it properly, which is not in the car,” he rumbles, turning onto Highway 160, only to pull off again half a mile down, straight into the parking lot of the Hampton Inn.
“Ouray…”
He’s out of the car before I can ask him what the hell we’re doing here. My door is yanked open and he leans in to unclip my buckle, lifting me out of my seat like I weigh no more than a bag of flour.
“What…”
That thought doesn’t get any further either, because his mouth is on mine for a hard kiss.
“Hush. You gonna come willingly, or do I need to throw you over my shoulder?” he grumbles.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I protest, despite the ripple of excitement starting low in my belly.
“Test me,” he snaps before grabbing my hand again.
The young woman behind the desk breaks out a big smile when we march into the hotel.
“Good afternoon, welcome to the Hamp—”
“Room.”
The poor woman visibly startles at Ouray’s bark. “Certainly, let me see what we have available.”
He lets go of my hand long enough to slap a credit card on the counter. “King size.”
She looks from him to me and back. “Of course. Would you like a mountain view?”
“I don’t care.”
