Mastered By The Mavericks(27)

"Unless I'm-" He could only blame shock for why it came out as a  scandalized splutter. But a swamp rat from the land of voodoo and Mardi  Gras usually wasn't stunned for long, especially when a beautiful  redhead wanted him to strip.

Especially when an equally beautiful man hovered in the doorway, looking on with a heated, hooded stare.

"Well." Reb quirked one side of his mouth. "Whatever I can do to make your job … easier."

Brynna rolled her eyes while plopping a big first aid kit on the  chopping block. "Behave, raunch dog." She smacked the surface next to  the kit. "But if you really want to help, park your ass up here. I can  get to you better that way."

"Getting to me. Yeah, that's important." He chuckled despite her smack  to his chest-though never let the mirth climb to his stare. He reserved  that for the evidence of what this moment was really doing to him … of the  weight in his blood, the electricity in his skin, and the crackle in  his senses-his body unable to mask its reaction to being near-naked in  front of the two people with whom he yearned to be more bare.  Ironically, the clinical setting didn't help. All the kitchen's pristine  surfaces only gave him ideas of accessibility lines for licking and  sucking, of perfect angles for bending … and fucking.

He stuffed the thoughts away. The heavy silence that descended over the  air didn't help. He considered humming but all the songs that came to  mind were from the soundtrack he'd played in the car on his way back in  from Austin: Creole tunes in husky French, most evoking images of the  nastiness he struggled to silence.                       
       
           



       

Damn it.

As Brynna started dabbing at the final cut on his right arm, he couldn't  help at least one teasing murmur. "That's the way, cher. Get me allll  clean."

As he'd hoped, she spurted a little laugh. As he'd expected, still no reaction from the brooder in the doorway.

"Allllll clean?" Brynn's teasing echo carried mystery laced with warmth.  The woman should've really considered screwing the psych degree and  just setting up shop in a tent with some tarot cards. "You realize,  Sergeant, that's like a leopard asking for stripes?"

He smirked. This time, he did let the humor reach his eyes. "Would you expect any less, minette?"

She soaked some fresh gauze in alcohol and bent over his leg. "If you shut up now, I won't make this hurt-much."

True to her word, she dabbed at his thigh with gentle care. As Reb  stared at the top of her head, it was impossible to fight off the new  erotic images, heartless with their invasion. Fantasies about how she'd  look in just about that position … taking his cock into her mouth. And  damn, he'd make her take it deep. And hard. Maybe he'd even make her  gag, but an irrevocable instinct told him she'd like that, too … a  certainty he hadn't even had this afternoon. No, this was a new  revelation about her. A new element exposed in her.

A part of her that Rhett had awakened.

Well, that sealed the deal. The bastard had fucked her, all right. And  yeah, that still rankled, in its eerie way … just not as much when he  imagined himself in the picture, too. Fuck. What would happen if he and  Double-Oh ever shared a woman? No, not just any woman. It'd have to be  this woman. Would Brynn let them command her like that? If he saw Rhett  naked with her, would he be able to keep his hands, let alone his  thoughts, in all the "right" places? What if Rhett restrained her,  spanked her?

What if he already had?

"So do you always talk about pain with a smile, cher?"

Her head jerked up, eyes popping as if he'd asked if she bit the heads  off chickens. Astonishment and bewilderment, then rage and repulsion,  flashed across her face. "Do you?"

He thought about apologizing, but wasn't sure what for. He chose to hold  his stare steady, keeping hers locked to it. "Depends on who's asking.  And exactly what's … hurting." He drifted his regard downward with the  last of it.

She set down the gauze and alcohol with careful control. The same  caution now defined her quiet glare. "Well, I don't do ‘hurting'."

He inched his lips up a little more. Her mien didn't change by an  inch-and it was sexy as fuck. He'd always wanted to play frosty nurse  and bad boy patient. "Oh, I think you do, lady. Maybe you should  just … take your temperature, and find out."

She answered by stepping completely away. Her face tightened and  pinched, as if she distilled her emotions into one terse vial of  emotion.

"I think I'm done here. You can clean the rest up yourself, Sergeant."

Her retreating steps sounded across the living room, toward the office.  During the minute it took for the angry thumps to fade, he felt Rhett's  scrutiny on him. A look up, twining his gaze with his friend's, told him  what he already knew. The double meaning of her words hadn't been lost  on the guy-not a single accusing drop.

Hell.

He normally laughed this crap off. Wasn't like Rhett had never given him  that glare before. Christ, if he had a buck for every time the man had  dragged out that combination of sadness, indictment, and confusion, he'd  have enough flow for a mansion in the Garden District. He made it  easier on them both by rowing his boat right on by, enjoying the scenery  on his way to easier waters, letting Rhett wallow in his muck of  holier-than-thou.

He didn't feel like rowing right now. Didn't feel like pretending that  Rhett's walls were just as high and ugly as his, just because the fils  de putain chose not to escape his emptiness in diving for pussy.

Only this time, that was exactly what he'd done.

Because Rhett hadn't been escaping the emptiness.

Rhett had been escaping him.

The moments in the kitchen had shaken him so deeply, he'd coped by  getting his dick into a female as soon as possible. Trouble was, she  wasn't just any female. She was Brynna Monet. Sexy, funny, whip-smart,  open-hearted Brynna-a woman who deserved honesty and openness in return,  not mooning stares and hints at "forever" when they all knew damn well  that this was the craziest set of circumstances from which to expect a  forever.

Nope. No rowing by this time. Rhett had sure as hell not played fair, and neither would he.                       
       
           



       

Nothing like that to lend the resolve to lean back, hands braced behind  him, displaying his spread-out body for the attention of anyone who  cared to look. And yeah, Rhett looked. And looked some more.

Reb smiled. Leisurely. Knowingly. If Rhett wasn't going to acknowledge  the electricity between them, he'd sure as hell handle it for them both.

"I still need cleaning up, Double-Oh."

The man didn't move. Just filled the doorway with that hard tension on his lips, that palpable need in his presence-

That was suddenly too much for the narrow space of the arch.

His energy spilled through the room, hitting Rebel with its full force of fury-and lust.

Immediately, Reb hissed from the impact.

Instantly, his cock punched against his briefs.

Violently, Rhett stumbled backward. From his new position, he hurled a  glare back into the kitchen, stabbing the air like spears of ice. "You  heard what the lady said. Do it yourself."





Chapter Eight





‡


Brynn zoomed from fast asleep to wide awake in three seconds. After  silencing the alarm on her phone, she ran a hand through her hair and  blinked in confusion. Where was she, and why had she set her alarm for  the middle of the night?

A gasp took over as the answers surged in. She was in one of the guest  bedrooms at Dax Blake's ranch, and it wasn't the middle of the night. It  was five-thirty a.m., the beginning of the day. In half an hour, she'd  join Rhett and Rebel for a check-in with Say and El, then start her  shift at the mouse cam console. Already she prayed it wouldn't be  another six hours of looking at nothing but live feeds of halls, doors,  and feet. Lots and lots of feet.

Rhett, Rebel, and she had followed those feet everywhere inside that  damn building-for three days now. Breaking up the days and nights into  rotating shifts of six hours each, none of them had left the mouse cam  alone for a second. Rhett had trained Rebel and her on the basic  maneuvering techniques for the device but if they encountered a special  circumstance like stairs, elevators, or ramps, the protocol was to fetch  him for help. Because of that, Rhett slept on the pull-out futon in the  small den next to the office. In a strange display of solidarity,  especially in light of the continued friction between the two, Rebel  also slept close by, making his bed out of a couple of blankets and a  pillow on the living room couch.

Whatever.