His laugh vanished. Taut lines took over in its place, a blatant expression that hid a thousand messages. "I wouldn't kiss that ape if you paid me, sweetheart-and don't mistake any of that radio chatter for ‘making up'." He unfolded his arms, not erasing an inch of his imprint on the air with the move. But maybe she just thought so because he paced closer again, filling more of her vision with every inch covered. "Finding Zoe is still the first priority on this playing field. Pissing contests and bitch-slap fests belong deep on the sidelines. Reb and I both know that. I promise you that we'll continue to, as well." He stepped fully into her personal space, lifting a hand to the side of her neck … sending instant waves of warmth down her arm and through the nearest breast. "We're going to find her, Brynn. I promise."
She swallowed hard. Battled to ignore the eager puckering of her nipple. Much easier said than done, especially when her other breast decided it didn't want to be neglected. Shit, shit, shit. There was nowhere to move, either. He was so close, so hard, so overpowering-exactly how his "buddy" had made her feel on the plane.
Oh, God. What did this say about her? One day, two men, a thousand tingling nerve endings … all reacting with the exact same sentiment.
Don't stop touching me. Please don't stop.
Safe subject. She needed a much safer subject.
"I-it's-well, I appreciate it." She rasped it as he trailed his knuckles along her collarbone. Wonderful. It felt so damn wonderful. "I-I mean, the fact that you two can behave like grown-ups. I have to admit, I wasn't optimistic by the time Sasquatch stormed out of here." She fought to lift her gaze, despite wanting to cease at the base of his corded neck. Yearning to trace that special bunch of muscles where it blended into the top of his shoulder. Wondering if it was as solid and powerful as she imagined …
"Sasquatch." He laughed again after repeating it. "Well, if he's that hairy bastard, I'm a damn Manticore. Takes an ogre to provoke one properly, yeah?"
For a moment, his words didn't register. She was preoccupied with how the night wind kicked through the room, lifting the red-gold strands from his broad forehead. Even more fascinating were the sweat-dampened spots beneath, reminding her he was truly a man, not some Greek demigod come to life just to taunt her in every tantalizing sense of the word.
And God, was she tantalized. The word was blessing and curse through the next moment … then the next. She needed him to back the hell off. She longed for him to stay. To slide in even closer … to let her inhale him, absorb him, touch him …
She needed a new tactic. Now.
Humor? Oh, hell. She sucked at the stuff, especially when her nerves were jangled like stones in a soda can. But options were dwindling. Fast.
"So … this is a common occurrence? You two skulking around, threatening the forest creatures, promising to tear each other's heads off?"
He didn't laugh. Imagine that. But she hadn't expected more tension to flood over him again-until realizing that this shit was different than before. It was restless and sensual, brought to life by the churning seas in his eyes, the defined friction of his lips, the confident loom of his body.
Go away.
Oh, God … closer.
"No," he murmured. "Not common at all." His eyes gained heavy hoods as those stormy blues slid to her lips. "But we've never disagreed over something like this before, either."
Air finally got to her throat. Three shaky breaths in, three exiting the same way. "Like … what?"
"You mean like who."
Asking him to fill in that blank would've been punching an insult. The intensity of his focus was so potent, like a blowtorch melting iron, that her logic was forced to give way to its truth. But what did she do about its effect on the rest of her body? The sparks in every nerve ending, the lava taking over every bone, the molten need dripping through every inch of her sex? How did she answer those demands? More crucially, how did she reconcile this hot, hurting need with the desire she'd felt for the man's best friend, not even twelve hours ago?
She couldn't contain the thought from twisting her own features. Boom. There was Rhett, still so close, reading all of her thoughts inside three seconds. He pressed in closer, both hands curling around her shoulders, forcing her head back … as his gaze scorched farther into her.
Oh … God.
It was no different than a dance move. She fought to hold onto the thought. She'd been dipped like this more than a thousand times in her life, posed in the ultimate romantic surrender. She'd actually enjoyed every one of those moments, cradled by the strength of her dance partner, able to let go and allow the music to carry her senses.
She didn't feel free now.
She was trapped. Helpless. A slave to his hold, controlled by the force of his stare … and the pulsing pressure it added to every drop of her bloodstream.
"He liked what he did to you today, Brynna." His voice was low, reinforced by hidden concrete. As her breath rushed harder, he pushed his grip in deeper. "Ssshhh. Breathe. He didn't come bragging to me about it. That was how I first knew. To be blunt, he always brags." He tilted his head, adopting that let-me-into-your-head-or-else look. "That also means he's going to try it again."
She obeyed him and inhaled. She also heeded the order he didn't verbalize, continuing to meet his gaze. It wasn't easy. His words brought a storm of conflict. What was she supposed to do with his overture, seemingly well-intentioned-that might've been resentment in disguise? Beneath his "concern", was he just feeling like the weird third wheel and making Rebel the scapegoat? Or was his protectiveness-and his attraction-for real? In which case, she had a much more fragile egg to protect. Feeling like a man cherished her, watched out for her, beyond just tossing his coat over the rain puddle for her … it was her Kryptonite. The golden key to the softest, most vulnerable part of her soul.
It was also a myth. The reason she'd sworn off the tight and cozy with anyone dangling dog tags from their neck-and finally stabilized the keel of her life. At last, she was free from the tears, anguish, and sleepless nights of expecting something she was never going to get … at least not from these kinds of men. She'd finally given the grown-up's response to once upon a time.
She'd marked the difference between Enya's life and hers.
"Okay." She began her response to Rhett with a flippant shrug. "So he'll try it again. Are you uncomfortable with that? Is that what the ogres were worked up about this afternoon?"
A heavy gulp vibrated down his throat. "He's not good for you, Brynna."
She jerked her head back. "That's a hell of a thing to say about your best friend."
"Best friend?" He chuffed. "That hardly covers it. He's my brother in arms. I'd die for him. But he's still not good for you."
"And I suppose you are?"
He pushed out air through his nose. "Remember all the shit Shay spat at Reb last night? It wasn't empty accusation." An expression took over his face that was either constipation or deep worry. "Rebel's idea of ‘long-term' is buying a subbie a drink after an extra-long session in the dungeon. He's a firework: intense and pretty and perfect until the show's over." His hand rose back to her face. The other followed, until he palmed both of her cheeks. "He's an amazing man. One of the boldest, bravest, gutsiest heroes I've ever met. And sure, he's damn beautiful to look at-"
"But?" She filled in the blank before he got there.
"But he's screwed up when it comes to relationships. Shittiest thing is, it isn't even his fault." The sorrow behind the words was tangible in the tightened pads of his fingers. "I wish that truth were different, so goddamn badly. I want to see him happy, fulfilled, and simply loved for the man he is-but he can't separate that from the child he was." He shook his head. "When a guy can't even remember his mother, and has been raised by the asshole sperm donor who nicknamed him ‘slut spawn', a psychological mess isn't a tough leap."
Brynn's head dropped. "Shit." Her rasp resonated with shock, though it wore off fast. Sadly, Rhett's disclosure made a lot of sense, when joined to thoughts of the man she'd flown here with. Rebel's cobalt gaze exposed so little … his Cajun drawl seemed to hide so much.