Mastered By The Mavericks(29)

A new plan. Brynna darted a glance outside and wondered if Rhett had  done the same. It was almost six o'clock. Dawn was already here;  daybreak wouldn't be far behind. If "a new plan" included the safer  cloak of night, they were screwed for about thirteen hours.

Rebel's barking laugh conveyed his understanding of that fact, so she  bit her thoughts into silence as he confronted Rhett with a narrow  glare. "I'd state the obvious, but clearly, Sergeant Lange, you're into  ignoring the obvious lately."

The corners of Rhett's eyes tightened. Other than that, he hardly moved.  "I'm well aware of our present challenges. I just choose to look at  them differently." He nodded toward the patio. "This gives us a window  to gather intel and form strategy."

Brynn released a resigned breath. "He's right. We can whine about the setback or embrace the opportunity."

"How very Zen of him." Rebel snorted softly before parting his lips,  revealing a clenched smile. "On the other hand, who can't be Mr. Zen  when they're pumping a load into the world's most perfect redhead every  night?"

And there went her dilemma about remaining polite and silent. "Excuse  the hell out of me?" Followed, weirdly and wildly, by the world's most  inappropriate follow-up thought. The world's most perfect redhead? He  really thinks that?

Now was not the time for giddy and stupid-unless they were discussing  Rebel's idiocy. Rhett was all over it. He lunged two steps forward and  snarled, "You want to reconsider that, Sir Douchebag, before I beat that  three tons of bullshit out of you?"

Rebel shoved away from the wall. His chest ended up an inch from  Rhett's. Brynna winced, instantly recognizing the irony. In any other  situation, the sight of them like that, matched nearly  muscle-for-muscle, would have her squirming and wet. Right now, she  didn't know whether to scream or bawl.

"You want to tell me it's not true?" Rebel slung back.

"It's not true!" But her outcry might have been a damn dog whistle.  Neither of them heeded it, despite reminding her of a Doberman and a  Pitbull in a growl-off.

"You want to tell me you didn't jump on her during the plane ride, just to tick me off by getting there first?"

"You want to tell me I didn't?"

"Oh my God," Brynn blurted.

Rhett pushed forward. Rammed Rebel hard enough to make him stumble back.  He began to follow but stopped as if an invisible rope caught him  short. His balled fists were yanked back; his heaving chest was thrust  up. "You disgust me," he seethed. "She's a woman, not a pawn in your  twisted game with me!"

Rebel straightened. Smacked his hands together in mocking claps. "Nice,  man. Real nice. Pretty speech. Now do you understand all of it? She is a  woman. A woman-not an angel in human form, not a goddess without a  pedestal, certainly not the hole-filler for all the shit your parents  didn't get right." He stopped, too. Leaned over, dipping one shoulder  and arching both brows. "How does that play on your little chess board?"                       
       
           



       

Rhett blew out air like a bull about to charge. "You really going there  with the Freudian baggage, asshole? Oh, wait. They don't know what  luggage is in the swamp, do they? Hold for a mike while I find that sack  on your stick."

Rebel, already poised to pounce, took two seconds to twist his hand into  Rhett's shirt. Shockingly-or maybe not-Rhett leaned into the hold. The  pair snarled at each other, though almost seemed to smile about it,  leaving Brynna's bloodstream to fend on its own in a mix of fear and  fascination. There was no denying the effects of the charged  testosterone on the air. As horrified as her mind might be, her pussy  was a pure zing of heat.

What the hell is wrong with you?

What the hell is wrong with them?

"Ha fucking ha. I'm so offended now, couillon. You going to make a joke  about the voodoo priestess who popped my cherry now, too? I have a  thousand chicken sacrifice jokes that'll go well with that."

"Imagine that," Rhett rebutted. "Jokes. From you. Best coping mechanism  there is-especially if anyone starts to mention real feelings. And you  wonder why I keep my distance?"

Rebel colored. At least she thought he did. His skin, perpetually  tanned, turned the shade of coffee beans. "Your ‘distance' has nothing  to do with my jokes."

"But everything to do with what I deserve." He jerked his head toward  Brynna. "And what she deserves, too. Which is better than your damn  jokes."

"And you're the better, is that it? She's better off with your glass tower over my swamp and sack?"

"Enough!" Brynn's throat hurt from the violence of it. The effort was  worth it. She stunned the hulks so thoroughly, she was able to push  between them. Both only budged back by a step, but it was a start.  "First, she is right here, you baboons." She ziplined her glare back and  forth between them. A much-needed moment of levity came from imagining  them both with bare red asses, chomping on fleas from their own fur.  "Secondly, she isn't anyone's damn playing piece!"

Rebel's skin darkened again. Thank God she was more pissed at than  attracted to him at the moment, because the richer mocha brew beneath  his skin was a finer-than-fine compliment to his thick black hair, full  pirate lips, and delicious cinnamon scent. "I didn't mean-"

"Shut up. I don't care what you meant. This is about what I meant." She  curled a hand into his shirt, feeling a little heady when his pupils  dilated, his forehead clenched, and his nostrils flared. "I appreciated  what you did for me on the plane, but don't think I bought your lame  little excuse of ‘distracting' me from the take-off. I've faced scarier  shit than that flight in the last year of my life alone, Moonstormer."  Dear God, how he fulfilled that call-sign so perfectly-at some times  more than others. Like now. His gaze was a thousand shades, all of them  deep as ocean waters under moon-drenched skies. "I wanted you as badly  as you wanted me." She tugged him closer. "Wanted, not needed. Got  that?"

His focus dropped to her mouth. His stubbled jaw gained new angles of tension. "Yes … ma'am."

They stared at each other through long seconds, marked only by her pulse  in her ears, perfectly synched to the thrums in her feminine flesh. Oh  God, how swiftly he could make her wet …

She breathed hard, fully expecting Rhett's snicker to cut in anytime. He  was still back there; she could feel him. Hovering? Waiting? No way  would he let this chance for a gloat pass by, especially after all the  venom the two of them had spat.

Finally, her curiosity relentless, she released Rebel's shirt and turned around.

Double-Oh hadn't moved. Or, it seemed, blinked. Immediately, she was  enthralled by his thrall, his stare taking in Rebel and her like a newb  in his first strip club. And yeah, she knew what she was talking about. A  dancer in Vegas, even employed by the shows that required her to cover  up, had been to a few skin joints in her time. Dumbstruck was as  irresistible on him as the blush was on Moonstormer. His normal  shit's-all-together scowl was replaced by a lost boy parting of his  sinfully full lips.

A pout she couldn't help kissing.

Just a short buss, but more than enough to charge the air all over again  with his essence, sage and sea and all man, that was solely his. God,  she'd missed that smell.

"For the record, and just in case you've forgotten,"-she stabbed a  censuring look at Rebel over her shoulder-"and because nothing's  happened since-what went down between you and me was just as  consensual." She set him free then moved back, making sure her vision  could include them both. "Let's get something straight, gentlemen. There  are no ‘pawns' or ‘playing pieces' here. As you've both astutely noted,  I'm a woman-but not one of the submissive things you usually like  playing with, so I'll cut you some slack for not getting a clue before  now. That being said, listen carefully." She angled up her chin and  cocked a hand to a hip. "I know how to identify what I want and with  whom I want it. I also possess the full capacity to understand the  expectations-or not-that are involved in that choice. I enjoyed the  times I spent with both of you, got it?"                       
       
           



       

The demand opened the pause she needed for regaining composure. Enjoyed  was a damn huge understatement of how both these men had deep-fried her  blood, fondue-dipped her heart, and hot-wired her libido. Only four days  with them, and she almost couldn't imagine life without them. And no,  it wasn't because they'd both opened this whole rodeo with their unique  versions of warrior sex. Correction: unique and incredible warrior sex.  That hadn't hurt, but it wasn't everything. Not by far.