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Heat flashed through her, just like that, and she huffed out a breath, unable to hide the way her body responded to him. “Maybe I can send a whole damn orchard? Can you give a girl a minute?”
He chuckled, a low, knowing sound, and before she could react, his hand smoothed up the curve of her body over her breast, pinching her nipple, slow and possessive, his palm warm against her still-flushed skin.
“Didn’t hear you complaining earlier.”
She felt the smirk in his words, and her stomach fluttered, a dangerous, beautiful kind of sensation.
Quinn met his gaze. There was teasing in his expression, but something else too. Something that made her heart beat harder.
Because this wasn’t just about the way he touched her.
Or how he made her feel.
It was about this.
As he started to move inside of her, this stolen, breathless moment between them, where nothing else existed, where she wasn’t grieving, and he wasn’t guarded. Where it was just them. That? That was terrifying.
Because for the first time since her breakdown… She wasn’t thinking about Brian. She was thinking about Dagger.
She didn’t want to stop.
She had spent years pushing him away, drowning in blame and grief, convincing herself that her hatred of him was justified. That rage had burned itself out, leaving something raw and terrifying in its place.
Because it wasn’t just anger she’d been hiding behind. It was fear.
Fear of what he meant to her. Fear of how much she needed him. Fear that if she let him in, truly let him in, there would be no going back.
God help her, he was more than irresistible. He was so strong. So giving. So devastatingly real. He said what he meant and meant what he said. His integrity was off the charts, undeniable, unshakable, powerful.
How could she keep resisting him now… when her eyes were finally opening to the truth?
12
The jungle pressedin on them, thick with damp heat, the scent of loamy earth and rain-soaked leaves heavy in the air. Every breath tasted of moss and something faintly metallic, like the promise of a coming storm. The compound lay ahead, a squat, reinforced structure carved into the landscape like a tumor that nature hadn’t yet reclaimed.
Lechuza crouched behind a tangle of roots, her night vision sweeping over the perimeter. Herrera was inside.
So close.
Her grip on her suppressed rifle tightened. It would be so easy to slip through the shadows, find him in whatever gilded hole he thought kept him safe, and slit his throat.
Next to her, Bagh’s fingers twitched over the grip of his kukri, his signature blade, a Gurkha’s weapon of choice. He was coiled, ready, as if he could already feel the resistance of flesh beneath his edge. His shaggy black hair was damp with sweat, curling over his forehead, and when he exhaled, it came out slow and deep, like a war drum building in his chest.
Across from them, Ryu shifted slightly, calm, still, measured, like a blade held in reserve. His profile was sharp, his samuraiancestry etched into the high cheekbones and dark, assessing eyes. Even in the oppressive heat, he was composed. The only movement was the slow, rhythmic flex of his fingers against his MP7’s foregrip.
"Blow him up," Ryu said quietly, breaking the silence. "Cleaner. No risk. No mess."
Bagh scoffed, adjusting the kukri across his knee. "If he’s not inside? If he gets clear?" His voice, deep and edged with Nepalese grit, dropped lower. "I want his blood, not debris."
"Spoken like a man who lets his emotions lead," Ryu murmured. "That’s how people die."
Lechuza rolled her shoulders, eyes still locked on the compound. "The drone strike is unreliable. If it kills him, we won’t know for sure. If we don’t confirm the kill, it means we’ll never stop hunting him. No body, no end."
Bagh tipped his head, that killer smile flashing. "Exactly. We go in."
Ryu exhaled, his patience as slow and deliberate as the rest of him. "You’re both predictable. One of you because he fights like an avalanche, reckless, impossible to stop once he starts moving. The other?" He flicked his gaze to Lechuza, a glint of something amused there. "Because she’s got a personal grudge. Warriors with grudges are dangerous." Lechuza shot him a look, but Ryu wasn’t finished. "Still, I can’t blame Bagh. I’d follow that pretty little owl into hell, too."
She turned her head so slowly it should have been warning enough.