Free Torrid Nights by Lindsay McKenna

in for their main meal of the day. Brock missed nothing as he surveyed the mechanics coming and going. Mackenna picked at the meal, finding herself getting tired. Sully finally rose and walked around the table. “Mac, you’re goin’ back to the truck to rest,” he said. He seemed to be daring Hampton to challenge his order.
    She nodded wordlessly, rising. Sully walked at her side, his hand firmly holding her arm. “Why’d you let that bastard drive you this far, Mac? You ain’t in no shape. You ought to be on that cot sleeping and regaining your strength!”
    “He didn’t push me, Sully. I pushed myself. For once it’s not his fault. It’s mine,” she said, getting into the truck.
    Sully shut the door. “Don’t matter. Sleep,” he ordered gruffly, brooking no argument from her.
    It seemed good to stretch out on the vinyl seat, despite its thin layer of the ever-present dust. She felt sweat trickling down the side of her neck, and she was aware of the buzz of mosquitoes and the gritty texture of the dust against her cheek. Nothing mattered. She lapsed into a deep, exhausted sleep.
    At some point Mackenna felt movement beneath her head. Sounds of the truck engine filtered through to her awakening senses. No longer was her cheek pressed against the plastic. Instead, it rested on the rough texture of denim stretched across a muscular thigh. Mackenna became aware of an arm resting against her reclining body. There was a jolt, and she felt fingers tightening against her waist and hip. She opened her eyes, feeling incredibly weary, and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. The instant she tried to sit upright, a hard, calloused hand pressed down on her shoulder.
    “Just lie there,” Brock said huskily.
    Realizing that she had been sleeping with her head on his lap, Mackenna rolled over on her back to look up at him. She tried without success to still her hammering heart. Lying against Brock, her head tucked snugly against his hip, she couldn’t ignore his intense maleness. Again, she felt an overwhelming sense of confusion. If he was such a cold man, why hadn’t he booted her off the seat? He could have awakened her when he was ready to go back to the head of the road. She stared up at him, drawn by the less tense set of his mouth. He appeared more relaxed, and the lines of tension that kept the corners of his mouth pulled inward were gone. A caressing quality was apparent in his voice; it made her shiver in response. He was a tiger in repose, still dangerous, but almost approachable now. Mackenna relaxed, stretching luxuriously, closing her eyes once again. “How long have I been out?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.
    Brock glanced down at her. “About six hours.”
    Mackenna groaned. “Six hours? Well, thanks for letting me sleep,” she murmured.
    “If I hadn’t, your mech would have ripped my head off,” he returned mock-derisively.
    Mackenna opened her eyes, meeting the blue of his. For the first time she was certain of the flicker of humor in their depths, and she responded to it effortlessly. “Sully is like a father to me,” she admitted warmly. “When I started work on this road, he hovered over me. He gave me a lot of valuable advice.”
    “Fortunately you listened to him,” Brock said, concentrating on the heavier traffic now using the road. “Sully’s been around the Far East for as long as I can remember, and there isn’t much he doesn’t know.” He looked at her reflectively. “At least you had the brains to listen,” he repeated.
    A grin tugged at Mackenna’s lips. She was beginning to enjoy this conversation. It was remarkably devoid of the usual barbs. “Any good super will listen to those with expertise,” she demurred. “There’s a big pool of practical knowledge out there.”
    “Any man would. Most women wouldn’t.” He gazed down at her.
    She felt as though the breath had been stolen from her body as his azure eyes warmed, filling with an unexpected