Page 45

Rebeka

BRENTON MUST HAVE SENSEDmy foul mood, as not a word was spoken while we packed up the supplies and coolers in the Gator before heading out a little over thirty minutes ago. The last of the sun’s rays had dipped beneath the horizon, cloaking the property in the unending darkness. Dark clouds sprinkled the sky, but a few patches of stars still shone through.

Sliding a hand off the wheel, I cradled my growling stomach. Skipping dinner in exchange for the time to take a shower was not the brightest idea I’d ever had. But a tiny piece of me hoped Brenton would make good on his promise from earlier, so a shower was the priority over food just in case. Having his gorgeous face between my thighs would make this never-ending day a lot less awful.

To the east, flashes of light sparked across the sky, amplified by the billowing thunderheads. The weather channel reported the storms would stay east of us by a few counties, so we would be okay—if they were right for once.

“Is it as pretty up there as it seems it would be?” I asked, breaking our comfortable silence and nodding to the sky. “Not sure how it would be possible.”

He sighed and leaned back to perch his new boot on the dash. “Hard to believe, but yeah, it is. At sunset, it's almost like you can reach out and run your fingers through the colors pouring through the clouds.”

“Do you like it? The flying?”

“I like the control and sense of accomplishment it provides, plus the pride in serving my country. Every deployment, every successful mission... I can't describe the feeling. It just feels fucking fantastic, like nothing can touch me. It's how I used to feel at the height of a high.”

My grip tightened on the steering wheel to maneuver the deep hog ruts in the makeshift road. “So you traded one high for another.”

“I guess, but this one isn't illegal or harmful.”

I lifted a shoulder in noncommittal agreement. “Maybe. Depends on what you have to keep doing to get to that high. How many more times will you reenlist? What will happen if you can't?”

His lack of response told me he’d never thought of it that way.

“You mentioned you like control,” I mused.

“I don’t like control. I need it.”

“Why?”

“Because I remember what it’s like to have none, and I won’t let that happen again.”

“I can see that. Wonder if maybe Caleb's death left you feeling helpless because you couldn't stop it, couldn’t control the outcome. Not only that, but you weren't there when it happened, which made you feel even more impotent.”

“Choose a different damn word.”

The Gator bounced down the temporary road, shifting us side to side. Our thighs brushed, sending a jolt of warmth to spread. Damn, I was so on edge that if he just kissed me, I might explode.

“Fine,” I said with a grin. “That could be it, but there's only one way to find out, and I have an idea.”

He groaned and let his head fall back against the hard seat. “I don't know if I can take any more revelations from you today.”

My growing smile fell.

If he only knew.

“Hey.” Reaching over, he grabbed my upper thigh and gave it a tight squeeze. “I didn't mean that. You can tell me anything. I'm dramatic.”

“Can I get that on record?” I chuckled. “Fancy pants and dramatic. You've been in Dallas too long.”

Instead of pulling his hand away, he inched it higher and slid his fingers inward to tuck them between my pressed thighs.

Hell.

“How can we test this theory of yours?”

The tip of my ponytail swiped across my shoulders as I shook my head and pointed ahead. “We're almost there. Let’s set up, eat something before I gnaw my arm off, and then we can test my theory.”

I parked the Gator at the edge of the herd we'd been with earlier and slid out to get the gun set up.