Page 59 of Hit Man

The tension between us is wreaking havoc on an already screwed-beyond-repair situation. And I can’t wait to get the fuck off this mountainside.

She tumbles then curses. “Shit.” To give credit where credit’s due, besides fucking up my entire operation and slowing me down, I’m proud of how she’s managing to keep up.

What a dumb-asspendejothat I am. A turtle could keep up with me in these freaking shoes.

We’re almost to the base when I hear her curse again.

“Holy crap. How the hell are we getting down from here?”

I turn and scowl at her. We’re standing on the bluff of the final obstacle, a six-foot drop. A baby drop in comparison to the steep ledge I scaled earlier. Yet it’d be a much easier descent if I’d kept the rope, which now lies somewhere in the boulder field we’d crossed.

Without answering her, I shake off the flip-flops and give them a swift kick over the ledge. With great satisfaction, I watch them hit the unpaved roadway below. Sitting down, I turn my body, my toes finding stable footholds and my hands doing likewise, my mountain climber’s experienced fingertips holding me steady and in place as my feet do all the work.

Easy work—I’m down in no time.

“Are you planning on leaving me here?” she shouts.

I press my finger to my lips. Mendoza could have men positioned around the base of this mountain for all I know. Though it’s unlikely he’ll find us, it’s too large an area to search. Still, I detest surprises and I’ve had my quota of them today.

I brace my feet apart and wave at her. “Jump.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Yeah, I am. I should have left your ass back a ways. Come on, Aubrey. Stop wasting time.”

“I don’t like heights.”

“I don’t like getting shot at. Or dying. I’ll catch you. Do it.”

She glares down at me, her hands on her hips. Even with her cheeks rose-colored from exertion and the smudge of dirt on her cheek, she’s a stunningly beautiful woman.

But that attitude, the disobedience, has to go.

“Jump or I’m leaving you here.”

That does it. Before I can suck in a breath, she’s airborne. Surprise, surprise. Afraid or not, she’s willing to take risks. Being a master risk-taker myself, I admire that in a person.

Shit. The uranium.

I quickly snap the belt on my bag and lower it to the ground with one hand then straighten and brace myself.

She hits me full-frontal, grabbing wildly onto my bicep and shoulder. Hooking her fingers into the holes on the shit excuse for a sweatshirt. We fall backward as the material rips apart beneath her fingers.

I fold an arm beneath her ass and bounce her in the air. Using my free hand, I pull her in tight. As much as I’d love to drop her for singlehandedly obliterating my cover, I’m not that big of an asshole.

She settles into my arms, and the angry tension between us . . . changes.

Her tits press into my chest. Her body fits perfectly against mine. She smells like the damn daisies on her flip-flops mixed with the sexy, earthly scent of sweat.

She blinks and stares. Disbelieving I actually caught her? Or maybe she likes the way her nipples feel like two rock-hard pebbles rubbing against me? Maybe she feels this change of energy that’s got my cock hardening within my damp shorts.

“You can put me down now.”

I like sex. I probably like it more than most men, meaning I fucking love it. But there’s a time and place for everything.

I drop her onto her feet rather abruptly, like she’s suddenly caught fire.

No way should I want to fuck a woman who’s ruined a year of hard work, my patient struggle to get inside Mendoza’s inner circle, my working my way into a position to gather information on his prick of a father.