Mastered By The Mavericks(60)

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





‡


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?"