Mastered By The Mavericks (6 page)

“Please,” she repeated, “I have to do what I can. You have to let me help get Zoe
back—somehow!”

‡

“A
re you insane?”

Rebel might as well have thrown tacks at her instead of words. But the regret didn’t
stop his dick from
its
primal need, twitching against his camos after two seconds of impact from her huge,
pleading eyes.

Her eyes
.

Fuck
.

From the moment Rhett and he had arrived to the sight of her on the couch with a desolate
Shay, he’d prayed her gaze wouldn’t be as huge and stunning and mesmerizing as he
remembered—that he’d overly embellished things since seeing her at Shay and Zoe’s
wedding last August. He’d deliberately steered clear of her that day, knowing she
was still hot and heavy with Dan Colton. The less he was around her, the easier it’d
be to ignore how breathtaking she’d be once her turn at the altar came—as Colton’s
bride. Dan wasn’t a stupid guy. He was probably just being polite about things, waiting
for Shay and Zoe to have their special day before announcing he and Brynna would be
celebrating theirs.

Or so Reb had thought.

Colton had been a dumb shit, after all. Had let a treasure like her slip through his
fingers.

But now, Rebel Masterston Stafford was going to be just as big a
couillon
.

Uh-uh.

This was
not
the same.

He
wasn’t letting her go as a friend and lover. He was simply informing the insane beauty
that as sweet as it was, her noble gesture wasn’t going to end up like some gal-pals
retreat. No champagne breakfasts and pony rides, even if they did find Zoe.

And that was a big fucking
if
.

They were, in all meanings of the word except a few—like having the government’s official
blessing and even a shred of advanced intel—embarking on a covert operation. That
meant risk. Lots of it. And danger. Lots of
it
. And if combining the two, the very real possibility that at least one of them wouldn’t
leave Texas alive.

If that shit went down for either Rhett or him, procedures were easy. He and Double-Oh
had bent or broken the rules so many times, they’d memorized each other’s wishes for
what would happen after the formalities were taken care of, like making sure the world
was told they’d been in an “accident” while on “vacation” then notifying all the pertinent
people for each other.

Ironically, the first half of those instructions was the harder part. Rhett’s family
was thrown to three corners of the world—his mom, dad, and brother lived in New York,
London, and Shang Hai respectively.

Then there was the issue of Reb’s “pertinent people”.

On paper, it all seemed easy. There was just Father, after all. But “second shack
to the right, one mile into Terrebonne Swamp” wasn’t an address one openly shared.
Still, after a close call in Cambodia had slammed his mortality down his throat last
year, he’d sucked it up and dragged Rhett on that dismal excursion. He’d barely cut
the motor of their rented skiff, letting Rhett look his fill as they drifted by the
place: two rooms beneath a tin roof on stilts that rose from mud oozing duckweed,
mosquitoes, and a shitload of bitter memories. He hadn’t offered to take Rhett inside.
Nor had Rhett asked for it.

Reb had been grateful for the tact, but braced for the questions to come later. They’d
never come. Rhett had simply known, in ways as mysterious as the bayou they’d just
journeyed from, that parts of Rebel would always be like the mossy shadows of the
place. Left behind and forgotten.

Things with Rhett had always been like that. Intimate but accepting. Hard but easy.

Brynn Monet was
not
easy.

She was ethereal and beautiful, generous and adorable—but at the edges of her composure,
in places she fought to hide, she was wild, too. He’d never bought the voodoo tales
about the
rougarous
who shifted from human to wolf, or the
feu follet
, dragonflies turned into mischievous fairies, but this woman gave him pause for thought—especially
now, with the craziness that had just spilled from her delectable mouth.

And continued to, as well.

“Insane?” she echoed. “About wanting to help get my best friend back here safely?”

Rebel forced down a calm breath. Damn it. She wasn’t making this easy, with those
copper flames in her eyes and the queenly flare of her nose. “Helping is an awesome
idea.” Unbelievably, he kept his tone reasonable. “Just not in the middle of Texas
hill country with Double-Oh and me.”

Her brows formed a pair of dark ginger arcs—the perfect invitation for him to throw
back with a heavy hand on the haughty. Instead, he shifted from foot to foot, wondering
why his adrenal system had kick-started a soul-deep tangle usually saved for the shittiest
parts of missions. What the hell? How was she turning his senses into sawdust and
his equilibrium into a goddamn teeter-totter?

“You think I just want in on the adventure, is that it?” she charged. “That I’m just
one of Zo’s old dancing buddies who feels ‘left out of the fun’ and doesn’t understand
the risks of what you’re doing?”

He had a retort for that—but damn him if the words just jammed in his fucking throat.
It had to be her eyes—again. It had to be how they took on an unearthly sheen, framed
by those gold-tipped lashes, pulling every piece of reasoning out of his goddamn head.

“Do you know
anything
about me, Sergeant Stafford?” She swiveled her head back, combo’ing a nod and a shake,
which should’ve given her a bitch-poser vibe. Instead, all Rebel thought of was an
Amazonian princess, down to the question of whether he should take a knee and drop
a bow. “Okay, I can’t help hack into a security system like El or interpret five languages
like Zo, but did you know that the reason I started dancing in shows was to make money
for school? That I’m only four classes away from landing my criminal psych degree?
That maybe, just maybe, I can help you read these guys faster and sharper than any
computer readouts or artificial analysis?”

Behind her, El jabbed a fist into the air. “Point for Monet. Go, girl.”

She hitched a no-shit shrug. “He gets a minor bye on that one. How could he have known
that, without stalking me?” Her quick little glance would yield her nothing but his
dark, guarded stare.
Oh,
mon chou,
if you only knew how close I was…
“But you
don’t
get mercy for the rest, Moonstormer.”

Strangely, a laugh tripped off his lips—coaxed by the magic of his call-sign on hers.
Her voice…every word out of her elegant lips reminded him of home. It was sultry and
smoky, knowing but innocent—and yes, unbelievably, the balance he needed to echo her
words back with authority instead of stupidity.

“The rest, Miss Monet?”

He mocked—a little—with the words. If it bothered Brynn at all, her composure didn’t
betray it. As best as he observed, she really believed she could help her friend by
doing this—no matter what it took. Her tenacity floored him.

And terrified him.

“You know only a few definite aspects of the situation you’re dealing with right now,”
she said, “and Nyles Royce is one of them.” A lengthy breath filled her lungs then
released. “And we
know
he likes redheads, right?”

A bizarre sound echoed through his brain. He identified the deafening
whoop-whoop
from the recesses of his past, watching reruns on the TV in the laundromat on his
way home from school.

Code red, captain. Warp core breach eminent
.

“Uh-uh.” It tumbled out of him just like the chuckle of a minute ago, beyond his understanding
or control. That was just fine. She needed to hear the vehemence in it. Everyone in
the room did—especially fucking Rhett, who seemed to be giving her some serious consideration.
“No way,” he snarled before spinning fully at his friend, forefinger extended. “No
fucking
way, man.”

His exclamation worked like the start bell to a prize fight, at least to Brynna. She
shot forward, hands on hips, tossing back her hair—like he needed a reminder of the
strands that made her perfect Nyles Royce bait—and leveled a withering glare. “You
don’t think I can do it.”

He fumed. “I didn’t say that. Or mean it.”

“The hell you didn’t.” Her lips were perfect ribbons, even in her fury. “So Zoe could
be drafted for a mission to save Shay, but I’m not good enough for your op to save
her. Is that about right, Sergeant?”

Was she fucking kidding? That wasn’t
about right
. Not at all. Didn’t she see? Couldn’t she tell? She really had to be some Amazonian
goddess, meant to be worshipped in the center of a temple, not slogging through the
Texas back country with a pair of knuckle-draggers like Rhett and him, seeking out
scum like Homer Adler and Nyles Royce.

“Well?” She actually tapped her foot and cocked her head. When one was a demigod,
they apparently could get away with that shit.

It also meant they could deal with a dose of their own medicine. He was sure as hell
down with that. “Well what?” He cocked his own head, proving she hadn’t invented obstinacy
on her own. “You’re not coming to Texas with us, damn it.”

“Because you’ve given me a valid reason why not?”

“Because
you’ve
given me a valid reason to allow it?”

“Zoe—”

“Was drafted for a mission under very unusual circumstances.”

One side of her mouth quirked. “And these aren’t…unusual?”

Rebel stomped closer to her. Actually loomed over her. Channeling his outlaw ancestors
like this had made more than a few
men
quake, but the saucy little wench just widened her eyes and tugged that sweet mouth
a little higher.

“Stop it,” he said from locked teeth.

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that.” He added, after her breathless tone fully hit his consciousness.
“And sounding like that.”

“Like what?” She was goading him now but there was no defense against it. The way
she worked her lips together, dragging his stare toward them. The way she pressed
a little closer, letting him inhale her essence, some light flowery body spray mixed
with the earthier tang of her sweat. The way she reached across the inches between
them, skimming fingertips over the back of his hand. “Like I don’t ‘have what it takes’
to keep my cool around a guy like Royce?”

Behind him, Z and Garrett snickered. To his right, Kell did the same. There was no
sound from Rhett—yet. He imagined the ass munch just bided his time, waiting for the
ideal moment to fire off his own ridicule.

He didn’t care.

All he could think about was leaning deeper in, seizing the back of Brynn Monet’s
gorgeous goddess head, and positioning her to receive his tongue straight down the
wet heaven of her throat.

Exactly what Nyles would do to her. And worse.

“The answer’s still no.”

Especially now, in this special moment of a hell, and all the disgusting visions that
had brought it on. Especially as she quit the come-fuck-me lips thing, opting for
an incensed pout that was even more kissable.

“And that’s still not an acceptable answer.”

Kissing fantasies be damned. He tossed those aside. Replaced them with an image of
marching her back into the bedroom, shoving down her cute yoga pants, throwing her
over his knee, and reddening her taut little ass—at discipline-level impact. He was
so incensed, the fantasy didn’t even include a happy ending for them.

Almost.

Damn. He needed to curb his fucking libido—five minutes ago.

And as the appropriate saying went, sometimes the best defense was damn good offense.

“Hmm. Criminal psych, huh?” He purposely stepped back, jogging up his chin, yielding
a much better view of her incredible swan’s neck, blending into gracefully sweeping
shoulders.
Winning choice, asswipe. Now keep your focus on the goddamn goal. Offense.
“So…this is what they teach in those courses? To act like a seven year-old, refusing
to accept answers besides the one you want, even if issued from the senior officer
on your case?”

She paused before answering. Just long enough to make him worry.

“So it
is
my case now?”

Even Rhett couldn’t help but join in the laughs at that one. Rebel braced hands to
his hips and bolted his stare into hers—satisfied that he at least brought on her
blush.
You want to play with the Moonstormer, lady? Then let’s play.
He let his wildest interpretations of that run across his mind and his gaze. Though
Brynn couldn’t see the details, she at least comprehended the intent—every naughty,
nasty detail of it.

Her blush darkened.

His smirk widened.

You like that, ma petite chatte
? The innuendo of it, while stamping his cock with pain, filled his will with confidence.

“This isn’t a decision I like making, Brynna.” He told it like the truth it was. “But
we’re all going to be under a lot of pressure—”