Page 26 of Rescued By the Operative

“But it’ll tell me how you feel about me.”

I look back at him. God, why does he have to be so cute?

“I don’t feel any kind of way about you, Jake.”

“You’re lying. I can tell.”

If only he knew I’ve been trained to tell when someone’s lying, as well as to not give anything away with my face or body language.

But shit, he’s right about one thing.

I do need to let off some steam. And I do like the way he makes me feel.

Glancing over my shoulder, I come face-to-face with his hard traps. They are so close, I am ready to bite them. I just want to bite and scratch and use this man.

“You’re not ready for me to destroy you just for kicks. Not really.”

“Girl, I got protection in my pocket that says otherwise.”

Oh, damn.

My turn at the counter is next.

“What am I supposed to do with that? I can’t do it in a dirty bathroom.”

“Baby girl, we did things to each other in a filthy mineshaft. Who knows what we’ve been exposed to down there.”

I’m entitled to selective germaphobia.”

“Fine. Come on,” he says. And then he walks out the door.

No subterfuge. No “follow me to the bathroom in five minutes.” None of that.

“Can I take your order?” Without turning to the barista, I say, “I forgot something! Be right back!”

I head outside and look to my left, then to my right. There’s no sign of him anywhere. I take five steps down the sidewalk when a hand reaches out from the alleyway and snatches me off the street.

I don’t question it or cry out when he takes me behind a stack of empty pallets and into the closed courtyard full of empty high-top tables behind the cowboy bar.

Jake lifts me onto one of the tall chairs and towers over me. Neither of us says a word. We don’t need to.

I keep my eyes on his as he undoes his belt, the rattle of the buckle making my inner muscles tight in anticipation.

Using the tabletop as leverage, I hitch myself up enough to undo my jeans and slide them down to my knees. For one second, I look away, glancing around the courtyard, worried someone will see us.

“Bar’s closed, baby. There’s no one back here but us cats in heat. Don’t worry.”

I hear the crinkle of a foil wrapper and let my eyes wander up to his angled face. I can see so much more of it out here in broad daylight. There’s a certain sweetness and innocence in Jake’s face I didn’t see before.

“Worry? No. What do I have to worry about? Other than someone else discovering a giant hole in the wall…”

“Sorry about that, Blondie. I really am. Just tell them it was a sinkhole or something.”

“You know that’s not how sinkholes work.”

His eyes are full of that mischievous sparkle that does me in every time with men. I don’t waste my time with guys who give me nothing, who are dead in the eyes. But guys like Jake? Waste my time, please. Just not while I’m on an assignment.

This…relationship? Situationship? It could make me lose focus.