Free At the Edge by Laura Griffin Page A

or the prospect of death. She put her hands on his neck, but she didn’t stop there. She slid her fingers into the thick softness of his hair and did what she’d been dying to do all night.
    She kissed him.
    He was rigid as a statue. He didn’t move. She fused her mouth against his and curled her fingers into his scalp, and suddenly he was pulling her against him, splaying his hands against her back and dragging her up onto her tiptoes. He pulled her tightly against the layer of weapons and bullets and whatever he had packed into his vest, and he was all hard angles and planes. Except for his mouth. His mouth was hot and seeking and moving hungrily against hers, and she felt a rush of pleasure at the pure rightness of it as she tangled her tongue with his and tasted him for the first time. She didn’t just taste, she devoured him, like she could never get enough. It was better than she’d imagined—hotter and more dangerous than any kiss could ever be, and it thrilled her down to her toes.
    He jerked away, breathing hard, and she felt a wave of disbelief that she’d finally, finally managed to get him winded.
    â€œHoly shit,” he gasped.
    â€œRyan, bro, come on !” Jake’s voice was urgent now.
    â€œLet’s try this again.” Ryan clamped her hands over his shoulders. “Hold on to me,” he ordered. Then he scooped her off her feet and ran.
    Emma clung to his vest, and mere seconds later they burst onto the beach. The sudden sense of space and air was dizzying after days in the smothering jungle. Her eyes adjusted to the grays, and she saw a glimmer of water in the distance, the cove he’d told her about. The strip of beach was narrow, and they were only on it for a few brief moments before he waded into the water. Emma spotted the dark shadows of his teammates—one, two, three, entering the water alongside them.
    An orange flash on the beach caught her eye, and she gripped Ryan’s shoulders.
    â€œThey’re shooting!” she said, but her words were muffled against his chest.
    They’re shooting, they’re shooting. Those are machine guns! Panic surged through her system, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the muzzle flashes.
    â€œHead down,” Ryan ordered, tucking her head against him as cool water enveloped them. They were in the water. The water. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. They couldn’t outswim bullets.
    â€œDon’t be scared. I’ve got you,” he said, and the deep confidence in his voice gave her a flicker of hope.
    He shifted her to his side. She held on to his shoulders, afraid she was going to drown him with her weight, but the thought quickly disappeared as he gave a mighty kick and they took off like a torpedo. She gasped for breath, amazed that her head was somehow above the surface as they cruised through the water. Salt stung her eyes. She squeezed them shut and focused on the cool water all around her and Ryan’s warm, powerful body propelling them forward.
    The wind picked up. Waves pelted her face. She tried to speak and got a mouthful of salt water. The wind whipped up again, making the spray feel like needles against her face as a loud thrumming noise surrounded them, so loud she couldn’t even hear her own thoughts. She tipped her head back, and through the stinging brine she saw the dark shadow of the hovering helicopter as it displaced the ocean with its strong downdrafts.
    Ryan was yelling instructions, but she couldn’t hear him. He pulled her arms from him, and she realized the rescue basket was already there dangling beside them. One of the men reached up and grabbed it, and then two strong sets of arms were loading her inside. Spray kicked into her face, and she couldn’t see or hear, but she gripped Ryan’s arm like a lifeline.
    Her breath caught as the basket jerked up, tossed by the churning waves.
    â€œRyan!”
    He was suddenly right there,