Rebel grumbled a few sentences in gutter French before rolling off the bed and gawking into her overnight bag. "This is a damn good time for everyone to rethink wardrobe choices." After tossing her a pair of shorts and a baggy T-shirt imprinted with the Braneff Brothers logo, he palmed the shaft that wasn't so soft at the V of his crotch, and forced it beneath his briefs. With a matching wince, Rhett did the same.
They all sat back down on the bed-cross-legged this time, a triangle-shaped pow-wow. Brynn's pulse raced with excitement while her heart sang in hope-a mood not matched by the men on either side of her, their faces stamped with grim resignation. Well, shit. She hadn't seen this kind of tension from them in nearly a week, since they'd stood in the Bommers' living room ruling out the horrible possibilities of what could've happened to Zoe. No. This was even worse. Deeper. Perhaps she needed to understand that too. None of this was conjecture anymore. They were formulating a real plan, going down with real logistics, in two hours. For some reason, it felt even more dangerous than before, when she was flying solo.
Perhaps because you were flying totally blind?
So there was something to be said for the blind thing. While she'd been racing around with the "Save Zoe" banner, shields thrown up and rose-colored glasses on, there was no possibility of confronting the truth: that Adler and his gang were very real, very dangerous, shoot-to-kill sons of bitches. Staring at Rhett and Rebel now, as they pulled out a smart pad with the schematic to the Verge building on it, all the Rambo gung-ho and Beetlejuice sarcasm had been ditched in favor of just one element, overriding all others.
Respect.
It spoke more volumes to her than anything else. The men might've hated the bastard with every drop of blood in their bodies, but they still respected the living shit out of him-a lesson she had to soak up as fast as she could, and remember with every step she took into that complex as his cute, redheaded bait.
Because God help her-and Zoe-if she took just one wrong step in front of that man.
Chapter Seventeen
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Rebel scowled. "You think she's okay in there?"
Rhett shrugged, going for a vibe of half-asleep nonchalance. Who the fuck did the ass think he was kidding? Rebel would've called him on the act with a boot in the side of his chiseled jaw, but battling the lust to kiss him again was proving a huger challenge at the moment.
Damn. Those kisses.
Those kisses with that man.
Few things had ever felt so fucking right to Rebel, in a life where so much had gone so piss-poor wrong. He fought the urge to let his eyes slide shut, to let those perfect moments consume his memory again. Those full, forceful lips beneath his. The heat of the mouth beneath. The power that burst in that wet, hard tongue, meeting every thrust he delivered, as if they both knew it was the closest thing to a real fuck they'd ever get.
Now who the hell was he kidding? He didn't have to shut his eyes. The torture was just as vivid with his eyes wide open, glaring across the bustling parking lot of a typical suburban Texas strip mall.
He grunted hard. Groaned low. Readjusted himself in the driver's seat of the SUV. Even the hot little MILF walking by, so cute in a flowery top, tight capris and come-fuck-me heels that should've been on a porn goddess instead, didn't detract from the erection that again swelled for the man just three feet away from him.
Rhett rolled his head from right to left against the passenger's side headrest. Didn't bother to drop his Oakleys, though Rebel detected the eye roll under them. As he'd just catalogued in silent but excruciating detail, the man's mouth alone was very expressive.
"You need to relax." Now Rhett let the sunglasses drop-just by a fraction, so he could lock a visual on the we-sell-everything fashion store they'd found for Brynna to run into. If she appeared at the front gate of the Verge building in her clothes from earlier, Adler's goons would be taking bets on how many pharma offices she'd fucked her way through already. The woman herself had forced them to recognize the fact, something along the lines of Homer Adler preferring to think his dick would be the first inside a woman for the day. After he and Rhett had choked back enough nausea to speak again, they'd reluctantly agreed.
"Relax?" he countered. "So that's the right call for the moment. Sorry; guess I was incapable of figuring that out on my own. Should've observed your stellar example, pal."
Rhett didn't say anything. Just pushed his lips together-an action that obviously, immediately reminded him of how kiss-stung they still were. Though he released the pressure right away, the damage was already dealt to Rebel's dick. He grunted and shifted again.
"Goddammit, Moon. What's your problem?"
"Nothing." He thrust out a pout, too. Complete pussy move-but did he care? Just as he'd known that Rhett would rise to his wanker-ific best and find the biggest carpet under which to shove this afternoon's magic, the ass should've expected the finest quality Cajun brood from him. "Not a damn thing. Everything tidy and clear now? Good. Let's just drop that mike while things are good."
"Just drop that mike." Stunningly, the guy actually punched a snarl beneath the echo-and whoa kids, alert the press-whipped off his sunglasses all the way. The blade of his steel-dark glare impaled Reb's chest with an implacable chill. "That's how you want to handle whatever bullshit this is, when we're about to send Brynna into the lion's den?"
Insult to injury flashed instantly to mind and stuck there. Was the douche actually going there? The king of head-in-the-sand about everything that had happened this week-was now attacking him about trying move on?
Fucker.
Still, he tried for the diplomatic route. He still felt too damn good from this afternoon to give it up now. "Can you trust that I am handling it?" He answered the accusation in Rhett's gaze with a lift of his head. "When have I ever not brought my A game to an op, man?"
Double-Oh jutted his jaw. Arched his brows. "You've never been on an op like this one."
"And you have?"
"There's a lot at stake here, Rebel." He looked toward the store's entrance again. His profile tightened as if expecting the sliding doors to part for a royal princess. "More than what we're used to."
"Yeah." He paused for a long second, seizing the chance to openly stare at the man's bold forehead, noble nose, and high-cut cheeks. "Now we can agree. A hell of a lot."
With vision edged by a fog that thundered with his heart, he reached out. Farther.
Curved his fingers around the hard meat of Rhett's shoulder.
Waited for the flinch. The profane, pissed off utterance. The spell shattered.
Instead, he gazed in awe … as the man's gold-tipped lashes slammed down. Listened as a harsh sigh spilled off those strong lips.
"Fucking hell, Rebel."
There was the profanity, at least. The rest of this-the conflict gripping beautiful face, the tension conquering those broad shoulders-came so unexpectedly, especially after they'd damn near Ozzy Osbourne'd each other's head, that Reb froze, dumbfounded. Him, dumbfounded.
"Yeah." The dull razor of his voice matched the moment so perfectly. He hated every rasp of it. "You're probably right about that, too. Fucking hell."
Rhett's head, following the lead of his lashes, dropped nearly all the way to his chest. But at the same time, his hand lifted. His fingers-just the trembling tips-meshed between Rebel's. Twisted like a drowning man on a life ring. An equally tortured breath stuttered out of him.
"I didn't ask for this, damn it."
Rebel let a growl tear out. "Neither did I."
"I know, man. I know."
Shock still flooded his senses. His brain dog-paddled to keep up. At least that was the excuse he went with for what spilled out of him next. "I guess fate doesn't need clearance orders."
Rhett clearly debated a laugh-but lost to the resignation sneaking over his eyes. He dropped his hand back down to his lap. "Fate or not … you know we can't do this anymore."
Rebel slid away. Parked himself into the corner created by the seat and the car's door. "You mean you won't."
"Fuck." It was little more than a grate-followed by a burst from the other side of the communication spectrum. "Okay, asshole, so tell me how you'd do this. If you were me, would you be banking on Rhett and Rebel Airlines to even clear the goddamn runway, let alone hit the mighty blue for fireworks and champagne?"