“You’re damn determined to get frisked.” The stranger called Bulldogger by the soldiers standing next to him held his hands loose but ready at his sides.
“And you’re determined to lose a part of your manhood.” Cara glared.
Bulldogger stepped into the line of the lasers dotting her stomach. His angry green gaze left her and found his cohorts. He raised his index finger and whirled it. She looked back long enough to see the two men frown and then give her their backs. “You too,” he barked. Luck and Rin balked. “Now.”
When they turned, Cara faced the cowboy. “What about you?”
“So you can sever my spine? I don’t think so.” His nod was slow, his eyes steady.
He’d demanded more privacy for her than she had reason to expect, and they’d wasted enough time. Cara unbuttoned the snap of her slim fitting tact pants, freed the zipper, and pushed them over her hips. Gravity made quick work, plunging them to her ankles and giving her access to all her weapons. Too bad they didn’t work anymore. The black lace of her bra hadn’t enticed him. She doubted the matching boy shorts could. At forty-five, she’d officially lost her touch.
Ever the gentleman, the stranger didn’t leer, but then again, his gaze didn’t leave her body either. Probably scared of losing a ball. And rightly so.
She unbuckled the double straps from her taut thigh and tossed the sheath and two small knives to the floor. Cara hitched her shirt, unwound that strap from her middle, and tossed it and the single blade down with the others.
Cara glared a hole through his forehead. He whirled that index finger again, while his neutral visage maintained a clinical interest. Still, it felt too intimate to be standing before only him in an open room full of people and guns. She slapped her long blond ponytail over her shoulder and swiveled on her heels, determined not to make anything of her unusual vulnerability. When her gaze lost his, and the mostly bare ass cheeks leveled on him, the humid air inside the old warehouse condensed on her back once more, threatening to give her away. Her feet shifted to complete the 360 with her pants around her ankles. The sooner, the better.
“Stop,” he ordered.
“I charge by the minute,” she growled.
“Huh.” The rumble of his harrumph rattled its way across the shell of her ear from mere inches away. Her ruffled ponytail shot over her shoulder and smacked her collarbone. Heat centered her spine as the back of his hand clamped the dagger strapped to the clasp of her bra, running up the center of her back.
“I charge by the inch.” The rumble of his growl reverberated against her cheek. He dragged the hot metal from its sheath, pulling the damp material away from her skin. Gooseflesh spread across her shoulder blades. The sharp point skimmed along her spine.
A shiver zipped every which way, except the way it should’ve…which was no-damn-where.
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