Free Hot Shot (A Hostile Operations Team Novel)(#5) by Lynn Raye Harris

normal . That was your idea, by the way, not mine.”
    “Goddammit, that was earlier! Now you could tell that fucker no and move on.”
    Her eyes sparked. “I don’t expect you to understand. But I also don’t expect you to order me around—to order my people around—as if you’re the one in charge, either. You got that, cowboy?”
    Jack blinked. “Cowboy? I’m from fucking Florida, sweetheart. You see any shit-kickers on my feet?”
    “No, but I imagine there’s a gun tucked away somewhere on your body. And I know what you can do with that, hotshot.”
    He took a step toward her. “With what, sweetheart? With the gun? Or the body?”
    He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she colored. She took a step back on her teetering platforms and fixed him with a hard look. “If you think for one second I was talking about anything but the gun, you’re sadly mistaken. Now either get out and wait for me, or sit down and be quiet when this reporter shows up.”
    She turned her back to him and went over to fix her makeup. His temper boiled hot.
    “Let’s get one thing straight, Miss Domenico,” he said between his teeth. Her spine stiffened, but she didn’t turn around. He ranged toward her and she watched him in the mirror, her eyes both wary and curious at once.
    He was right behind her when he stopped. He could feel the heat rolling from her, could smell the sweat and perfume of her body. And damn if he couldn’t see the outline of hard nipples in that fucking rubber dress.
    “Go ahead,” she said, her eyes sparking, her chin tilting up. “Give it to me.”
    Jesus, he wanted to give her something all right. Something hard and long and aching with need. He reached out and put his hands on her bare arms. His fingers wrapped around her entire upper arm.  
    He could smell fear and desire on her and his balls tightened. She continued to stare at him in the mirror. But she didn’t try to pull away.
    He dropped his hands suddenly, as if her skin burned. “Even if you were thinking about something other than my gun, I’m not interested,” he told her. “Not ever again. You’re gorgeous and you know it. But you’re a fucking liar—and I can’t stand a liar.”
    He thought he saw a spark of pain in her eyes, but then her lashes dropped and her eyes were shielded from him. He almost felt like a dick, and yet he told himself he had every right to be pissed.  
    Damn, if she didn’t make him lose his way. He hadn’t started out to say such a thing, but it was out there now.
    And it was the truth, damn her. She’d lied and flipped his life upside down.
    He turned away and raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t like the way she made him feel. He was cool, methodical, and patient. Except he felt anything but cool and patient at the moment.
    There was a knock at her door and Jack went over and jerked it open.  
    A man with short red hair stood on the other side. “Uhhh.…” he began.
    Gina walked over and the man’s eyes widened. Then he swallowed.
    Yeah, she had that effect.
    He stuck out his hand. “Hello, Miss Domenico. I’m Pete Gibson from Rolling Stone .”
    “Well, hey there, Pete. Please call me Gina.”  
    She was the consummate professional once more as she stood back and swept a hand toward the couch on the other side of the room. Jack almost envied her the ability to be cool when he couldn’t seem to find his anymore.  
    She sank down gracefully and the reporter joined her. But she looked up for a moment, her gaze catching Jack’s—and every ounce of pain and fear he saw reflected on her face made him feel like he’d failed her somehow.

CHAPTER EIGHT

    GINA HAD BEEN TALKING to Pete Gibson for ten minutes when Jack interrupted and told her it was time to go. Part of her wanted to tell him to go to hell just on principle, but she was thankful more than anything. She was tired and wired, and she just wanted to go back to the hotel and wait for word from the kidnappers. She’d been