Under Fire by Rita Henuber Page B

idea to be polite and thank you for sharing. I was…surprised, and that thing you did with your stomach muscles was freaking amazing.”
    “Surprised?”
    “Yeah.” He pulled his head back to look at her. “You said this was business. What happened before wasn’t going to happen again.”
    “I did say that.” She shrugged and lay against him, blanketing his body with hers. “I wanted sex and that pole in your shorts said you sure as hell did. I figured we both needed a little sexual healing .”
    “If you’re trying to get a rise out of me—” he blew out a breath, “—you’re succeeding.”
    “You started it.”
    “Shit.” Rico gently pushed away. “Get dressed.”
    She didn’t move.
    “We need groceries. If you don’t get dressed right now—” he scanned her body up and down, “—we won’t be going anyplace for a long time.”
    She looked at his crotch. The bulge in his shorts suggested she back off. “Okay.”

    Rico blew out a long loud breath and rearranged himself. It was time for some hardcore control over these junior high boners. With the storm coming, it would be at least two days before he could send her back to Jacksonville. No more sex. Unless…He laced his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “Shit.” There weren’t going to be any more last nights. He had to get her back to the safety of her world.
    “You okay?”
    He opened his eyes. She still wasn’t dressed.” Yeah. Hurry up.”
    “How come we can’t get stuff at the corner?” she asked, digging in her duffle.
    “Most of the people around here don’t own a car. They depend on the corner places. I don’t want to take things away from them.”
    His heart raced watching her slip into shorts. It downright missed a few beats as she pulled on a shirt.
    “I’m ready,” she said, hopping on one foot as she pulled a shoe on the other.

    The storm moved over Miami late that afternoon with fifty mile an hour wind gusts and pelting rain. All they could do now was lower the steel window protectors and wait it out. After a dinner of Cuban sandwiches, Olivia curled up in the overstuffed chair and Rico stretched out on the sofa, both sipping rum and coke, listening to music and the sounds of the rain.
    “When are we going to call your boss and get the feds off my back?” She’d given him more than enough time to bring up the subject himself.
    “Tomorrow. First I want to get my head wrapped around how my cover was blown.”
    “How can you be sure it was?”
    “I told you, the boat was set to blow. The street value of the drugs on board was over two million. They wouldn’t have given up that much without good reason.”
    “Are you sure those packages contained drugs?”
    “Yes. Shit. No. I can’t be sure about each one. I tested three and they were the real thing.”
    “Could a rival of Silva have set the explosives?”
    “Yes.”
    She detected irritation in his voice, but pressed on. “Do you think—”
    “Olivia,” he broke in, “gimme a break.” He sat up and adjusted the sofa cushions behind him. “I have to work this out myself and I need some time. If you have to talk, talk about something else.”
    Taken aback by the anger in his voice, she had a feeling he was blowing her off. They fell into an uneasy silence. The lights flickered once, flickered again and went out.
    “Where did you put those candles?” she asked, standing.
    “Forget candles. The generator will kick on in a few seconds.”
    And it did.
    “You think of everything don’t you?” she said, settling back into the big chair.
    “When my life may depend on it, yes.” His sarcastic tone sent an uneasy feeling creeping through her. “What made you want to be a helicopter pilot?”
    “What?” Where did that come from?
    “You heard me. Why a chopper pilot?”
    Olivia blinked several times and made a face. “I don’t know. I’ve wanted to be one since I was twelve.”
    “You’re telling me one day, when you were twelve, you woke