It burned through her like a laser, more like fire. They headed into hostile territory, into battle, and Amanda had already taken the first hit.
Chapter Two
“Jones is down!” Wells yelled from the far end of the corridor. “Chicken, I need that schematic.”
Amanda held position at the corner. Her squad waited, spread out along the hallway in front of Wells and guarding two side passages they’d left behind them. The tracking device attached to her wrist showed their positions as a pattern of green dots. Jones’ just turned red. Casualty. Not her first, but what did that matter? He died on her orders and she felt it like a punch in the gut.
The building shook and rained pulverized mortar down around them, adding to the rubble and dust filling the halls. Chicken had guided them close to the minister’s bunker, but as far as they could work out, the thing had no visible entrance. Commander Wells leaned against a wall that should have been a door and shouted orders into his comm.
A few hostiles hunkered behind a barricade in the hallway ahead. Jones took a belly full of laser before they’d worked that out. Now her lead pair fired the occasional blast to keep the invaders at bay and buy Wells a few seconds to work out where their mark had gone.
“Chicken!” Wells let his composure go. She heard it all the way down the hall. Their time had run out. “I need a way in here!”
She confirmed the data at her wrist again, seven green dots. She glanced back over her shoulder and caught the thumbs up from Mason. Ahead, Wells posed like a battle god—all wide stance and angles. His body armor only added to the square shoulders and muscles she knew hid beneath his uniform. He stood in the center of the corridor, directly in her line of sight, and Amanda forced herself to breathe. The dusting of plaster only enhanced the man’s build. Like highlights.
Gerafit was going to have to put her on drugs.
“Got it!” Wells shouted and waved a hand in the air without looking back. “Move up, Man!”
She checked the hall behind her once, pointed to Mason and then indicated he take her position. When he returned her sharp nod, Amanda bolted from the corner. She held her rifle at a slant in front of her chest, muzzle toward the floor and outer wall, but ready to flip up in an instant. She reached Wells and stopped, flanking him and sweeping left and right with both her eyes and her weapon while he fiddled with a rectangular panel up higher on the wall.
He cursed and leapt back when the metal crashed down to the rubble-strewn floor. One of his hands reached up and snapped down his visor, shielding his face and blocking her view of his high cheekbones. His voice came through her helmet this time, on the internal comm that would assure a private conversation. “The duct is a decoy. Chicken seems to think it will lead us to the prime minister’s bolt hole.”
Amanda took his lead and flipped her own visor down, spoke on the Q.T. “Us, sir?”
“You’re with me.” He already dragged a chunk of dislodged ceiling closer to the hole. “Have your squad hold the corridor. We’ll need an escape route if this is a keyhole extraction.”
“Yes, sir.”
He should have taken one of her men and left her to lead the squad, but Amanda didn’t question orders. She did what she was damn well told. Mason took over the team under her order to hold position and keep a route clear for their return. By the time she’d relayed Wells’ message, he’d build a platform of rubble below the duct. He watched until she’d returned and then leapt for the opening, catching the lip with his midsection and wriggling into the gap.
Amanda cleared her throat and dropped her eyes from the sight of his ass and legs sliding into the wall. Gerafit would have a sedative or something. She squinted at the heap of rubble. Powerful drugs—that was the ticket.
She heard his voice in her helmet. “Can you reach me?” His arm fished out from the opening, soon followed by his own helmet. “I’ll pull you up.”
Like hell he would. Amanda hit the platform and sprang. She rolled forward and landed the same way he had, belly down with only her legs dangling. She grinned when Wells scuttled back to make room for her. His visor was up and his eyes widened. His lips twitched an amused smile.
“Or not.”
She dragged her body forward and kicked her way in beside him. The duct should have been smaller. Chicken had nailed the decoy theory. This passage had room to squat in, way too much room for its obvious function. Running lights high on the sides clicked on and off as Wells shifted position. Motion detectors, light strips—this went somewhere, and someone had wanted to make sure it wasn’t found.
Wells waited for her to pull into a crouch and flick her visor open. He placed one gloved finger to his distracting lips and then shuffled down the tunnel without making so much as a whisper of sound. Amanda followed, but she kept her rifle and her eyes shifting back toward the opening as they went. She trusted the squad to hold the hall, but she also trusted fate to deal her an unexpected surprise at any turn. A merc expected anything and kept ready.
The duct tunnel turned to the left at a ninety-degree angle. The floor stepped down a good two feet and the next segment allowed for walking upright. The commander stood and waved her forward, but she held the crouch. The bend blocked her view of their retreat, and she snuggled the assault rifle up to her shoulder and backed after him.
He still used the private comm and his voice whispered inside her helmet, “Man?”
“Yeah.” The visor would have hidden her blush. With it up, she fixed her eyes on the floor and inhaled to a slow count of six.
“This is it.”
That cooled her cheeks. She looked at Wells and at the fortified door he examined. It constituted the end of their particular heating duct and she’d have bet her retirement the prime minister hid on the other side. “You should have brought Kaboom.”
Unfortunately, he’d left the demolitions expert in the courtyard with Hicks.
Wells curled his lips into a thin smile. His eyes sparked, reflecting the light strip for a split second. “I’m guessing the minister has to open it from the other side.”
“So we just knock?”
“Helmet off.” He didn’t wait for her to comply, but just closed his visor and waited until she’d pulled her helmet completely free.
She turned her attention back to their rear, listened and heard the distant hum of laser fire that would either keep their path clear or seal it on them.
For the door, she spared a quick examination between backward glances. The native metal was resilient enough, and she’d guess this panel to be a good three times thicker than what they’d faced so far. The outline of mag-locks dotted the frame as well and she’d put her money on some kind of laser alarm system. Wells was right. Someone would have to let them in. She aimed her muzzle back the way they came and thanked her luck that the door wasn’t her problem.
Wells was.
She chewed her lip and squinted at the gleam of empty duct. He did things to her, like it or not, and she’d better get them under control before her wandering thoughts cost her her whole head. She’d had the best training a merc could get. Losing it over a little injection of hormones wouldn’t impress her new boss—particularly since he was the target. Wells would consign her to her quarters for thinking even one of the thoughts she’d had since they embarked. He’d fire her outright.
The man was sharp, all business, and she’d have bet he made love like an Amarylian tiger, damn it.
“Man?”
“Sorry!” She whipped back around. Wells had his helmet off. He wore an expression she couldn’t read. It felt like trouble, as if he’d read her mind, and her damn cheeks warmed again. “So.” She reined it in. They had a job to do. “How do we get in?”
“We knock.”
“Really?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Sparks again. She’d never seen the man quite so unguarded. Amusement frolicked, unmasked, across his features. He set his helmet on the ground, tucked up against the door and spoke with more volume than was necessary to reach only her. “Transmit on my mark, Chicken.”
Amanda waited. She kept her eyes moving to the door, back down the hallway, to Wells’ face. Nothing happened. Wells kept silent and Chicken, she assumed, continued to wait for his go-ahead.
“Man?”
“I thought we were knocking.”
“Not yet.”
He touched her gun. Amanda stiffened her spine and resisted the reflex to struggle. Wells pushed the rifle muzzle down and took one very brave step forward. It brought them within inches of one another and raised the temperature in the tunnel by at least seventy percent. She inhaled. Big mistake—she could smell his sweat, a faint hint of spice. Screw blushing—her face burned now and she had no way to hide it. Wells stared into her eyes and leaned in, pinning her to the wall.
He might have shot her. Her defenses fell like a house of cards, and his hand on her gun rendered her weapon completely useless. He could have snapped her neck, could have easily knocked her hard enough to put her out of his misery. He’d be right to fire her ass.
He kissed her instead. Wells leaned in, fast, and pressed his lips against hers. Amanda’s nerves lit up like a flare. Her body rocked forward into him, responding on its own, and Wells met it halfway. His mouth opened enough to brush his tongue against her lips. They parted and let out a soft whimper, enough for Wells to push the kiss deeper. He burned through her. Her skin flamed and tingled all the way down, under a layer of heavy armor, poly-skin and sweat. She moved her mouth against his and felt each flick of his tongue like a spark.
Her pulse pounded, pulsed and moved her body on autopilot. Her free hand grasped at his shoulder, dragging him even closer. The arm holding her rifle dipped under the pressure of his hand. She arched her spine and pressed their chests together.
Wells tilted his head, breaking the kiss long enough to catch his breath. His hands gripped her, one on her weapon arm and the other at her waist. He moaned low in his throat and brushed his lips against her neck. Amanda gasped. Not subtle in the least, but then, her whole body ached for him to touch her again—anywhere.
He kissed her earlobe, breathed into her hair and ran his hand up her side to rest just under her breast plate. His voice rumbled near her shoulder.
“Mark!” A series of tones played from his helmet, a code to open the prime minister’s door. Wells rubbed his body against hers, groaned and turned back into the kiss. He pried her lips apart this time, darting his tongue against hers. The tones continued. Long, long, short, changing pitch each time. Commander Wells ran his tongue along the inside of her mouth, sucked her lower lip gently and brought his hand to her face. “Amanda,” he whispered and then pulled away.
She felt the cold rush in. Every inch of her body throbbed to touch him again. She looked and found his eyes on her, the lights burning inside them. Her breaths squeezed in and out, not bringing nearly enough air. Her gun sagged and threatened to slip from her fingers.
Commander Wells grinned at her and the fortified door clicked and began to slide open.
Chapter Three
Amanda ran through two full routines with the ship’s holo-spar program. The prime minister had paid them a bonus, given her his personal thanks for his safe rescue. Of course, he wasn’t the prime minister any longer. Happy customers kept them in business, though, regardless of rank. Amanda toweled off a layer of sweat and eyed the ramp that led to the suspension track. She still felt like working out, still had energy to burn.
She could still feel the kiss.
Time to run. She chucked the towel into her locker and shut the door. The track would do the trick. She was running out of ways to let off steam, and Commander Wells had definitely turned the pressure up on that front. He hadn’t said a word afterwards. She leapt up the ramp and hit the track at a jog.
Not a damn word.
Her support shoes banged a steady rhythm against the surface. It gave just enough with each step, dipped and eased the impact on her joints while still letting her dig in and let go. She sped up, pumped her arms and let her breath settle into the same rhythm as her legs. She hadn’t kissed anyone in years, couldn’t remember if the last time had come close to Wells, but she doubted it.
You don’t forget perfect
.
The poly-skin suit hugged her body tightly, but it couldn’t suppress the trembles just from remembering how Wells had felt, how he’d tasted. Sensations shuddered through her and she ran faster and tried to grind them away with her feet. Half way around her second lap, another beat joined hers.
Amanda moved her feet faster. She streaked around the rest of the circuit, but the newcomer still gained on her. She ran full out, leaned into it and let the effort chase her thoughts away from Wells. It worked, too. Her muscles bunched and flexed, burning the extra energy, forcing her mind to focus on the job at hand—until Commander Wells jogged up alongside her.
In poly-skin…and sweat.
The tingles spawned without the physical contact this time. She revisited her Gerafit theory. She needed medicine and quick. Perhaps the doctor could give her a shot.
“You didn’t file a complaint.”
“For what?” She fixed her eyes on the track ahead, which helped, but didn’t drown the sound of his breathing.
“Unprofessional conduct.” His footfalls matched her steps. The rhythms blended. “Assault?”
She stopped running and grabbed the wall. The track bounced enough to throw Wells wide, making him stumble a step before he caught his stride and pulled up six paces ahead. His ass looked like marble in the poly-skin. “Assault?”
He didn’t turn around right away, and she saw his shoulders lift and fall. When he did face her, his expression held fire again. His broad jaw glistened, and his eyes met hers in something akin to defiance. His voice, however, held less confidence than his gaze. “Why didn’t you file a complaint?”
“Was I supposed to?” Her anger swelled to the surface and she latched on and used the momentum to subdue her body’s reaction to the man. It didn’t help that he advanced on her, cutting the distance between them in half. “Was it some kind of test?”