Hot Rebel by Lynn Raye Harris Page A

rearview. There were dark circles beneath her gray eyes, and the corners of her mouth were pinched. Victoria was under a lot of strain, but he wasn’t sure what kind of strain it was.
    What if she’d betrayed him to Black and this was all for show? What if she trusted her boss more than she trusted Mendez, and she’d lured them in like a spider on a web? For all he knew, he was barreling toward his own execution instead of a job they were meant to do together.
    Maybe that’s why Black hadn’t given any information. And maybe that’s why Victoria hadn’t insisted. He could be the one being set up. He knew it, but that hadn’t been enough of a reason to abort the mission. He was here, and he wasn’t going down easily or quickly.
    In spite of the fact the woman in the backseat held a loaded rifle and had access to an entire arsenal at her fingertips. He wasn’t unarmed, but it wasn’t enough against a woman of her skill. He took comfort in the fact she wasn’t going to shoot him while he was driving since that would be suicide.  
    “Got what you need?” he asked.
    She leaned her head back on the seat for a second. “Yes. No one’s taking us without a fight.”
    He couldn’t help but grin. “That’s pretty much my philosophy too. You didn’t think I planned to pull over and give up, did you?”
    She shook her head. “Not precisely.”
    Maybe she was only putting on a show, but she looked determined as hell to repel any would-be attackers. She sighed and shifted the guns around so they were in easy reach, then she climbed back into the front seat and tucked a pistol into the door pocket at her side. She’d come over the seat face-first, her top dipping so low he could see her belly button, her hair sliding over her shoulder and onto his. He could feel her heat, smell her perfume—not actual perfume, but soap and shampoo and sweat—and he wanted to groan. Then he wanted to find a nice hotel and take her to a room where he could have his way with her for several hours.
    Not a good time for this, dude.
    Victoria glanced at him, her cheeks reddening slightly. “What?”
    He cleared his throat and hoped she didn’t look down at his crotch. He was wearing cammies and jump boots, but still. The pants weren’t tight, but his problem would be rather obvious if she looked close enough.
    “Just enjoying the view.” Because he couldn’t help teasing her, even if he probably shouldn’t.
    “You mean the desert, of course.” She swiveled her head to look at the flat landscape before them. “Lovely.”
    He couldn’t help but laugh. Or tell the truth. “I meant you, but all right.”
    “I knew you were looking down my shirt,” she said, her voice sounding all prim and scandalized. God, it turned him on. Because she looked tough and dirty, not at all innocent. The voice of a virgin and the body of a sinner.
    “You can look down mine if it makes you feel better,” he said.
    He didn’t think she’d say anything, but she suddenly reached over and jerked his T-shirt from his pants, revealing his belly and chest as she shoved it upward. It was shocking. And arousing, goddammit. He wanted to groan.
    “How about I look up your shirt instead?” she purred.
    “Jesus, Victoria. If you want more, all you gotta do is fucking ask.”
    She let the shirt go and it fell. “You’re not my type,” she said, sitting back and adjusting her sunglasses. “Sorry.”
    He snorted. “What, male? That not your type, sweetheart?”
    She made an indelicate noise. “I like men just fine. I don’t like big, brawny men with more muscles than brains.”
    He gripped the wheel and stared at the road in front of them. Then he laughed as he remembered that kiss they’d shared. Not interested in him? Yeah, right. “You’re so full of shit. Up to your pretty eyebrows.”
    She propped a foot on the dash and wrapped an arm around her knee. “I’m too focused on what I need to do. Sorry. Another place, another lifetime, maybe you’d