Page 56 of Altered By Lead (Undercover Sinners 2)
I'm a bit wary of his motivation as I sit up, my mind straying briefly back to Janet again. "I don't like her," I announce, and he knows exactly who I'm talking about.
"You don't have to like her, recruit, but you do have to respect the chain of authority." His words are impersonal, but they lack the same biting cold that he's been using lately.
I snort and roll my eyes while he swipes alcohol over my grazes and gently applies sticky bandages. "So we're still on the recruit bullshit, huh?" I shake my head, bitterness and regret clawing at my throat. "Why are you even doing this, if you care so little about me?" I indicate to the way he's tenderly caring for my scrapes. Somehow, it's this that is pushing me over the edge. This ... gentleness, it's making me snap. I can handle Hawke when he's being an arrogant, egotistical prick. I can handle him when he's using his sex appeal as a weapon. I can even handle him when he's being a sadistic, controlling monster.
But this Hawke who cleans the gravel from my grazed knees, who smooths the edges of my bandage down with soft strokes of his fingers ... fuck me, this Hawke will break me. And my heart.
He doesn't answer my question. Of course he doesn't.
"I didn't sleep with her," he says instead, and my heart skips a beat. "I mean, I did"—my heart sinks—"but not last night. Not recently. She was a mistake I made months ago."
"Before ..." I start to say, then realize what a desperate, weak bitch I must sound.
Hawke nods anyway, though. "Before you."
A wash of relief floods me and my arms—the only things holding me upright—turn to jelly.
"Ow," I groan when my head hits the hard plastic lining of Hawke's Navigator trunk.
"Jesus fucking Christ, pet," Hawke growls, leaning over to run a hand through my hair. "You're a damn mess."
I snort a laugh. "Your fault." I'm so lightheaded from the intense run. I'm still shivering and aching and my whole body feels like it's made of silly string. Somehow that makes everything really funny.
"I really don't like her," I murmur again, closing my eyes to fight back against the dizziness. It's like I've been on a roller-coaster sixteen times in a row after eating way too many churros.
Hawke's calloused fingers stroke my face, then slap my cheek lightly. "Hey, wake up. No sleeping until I know you're okay."
I crack one lid open, just enough to glare at him.
"You're jealous," he accuses, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "It's cute."
"I'm not jealous," I reply, scoffing at the ludicrous statement—even if it is true. Damn him. How can I seriously still want him so badly when he's been such an epic thundercunt lately?
Hawke nods, like he really believes me. "Okay, well if you're not jealous, you won’t mind staying behind on this mission then? Janet and I can handle it alone."
I don't totally know what comes over me, but, well, next thing I know my fist is connecting with Hawke's face.
Whoops?
"What the fuck?!" he roars, but he's quickly silenced by my mouth on his as I fucking throw myself at him like ... I don't even know what. Nothing dignified at any rate.
For the first time in, I think, ever, I've shocked him. When my lips crush against his and my hands tear at his shirt, he's just ... frozen. It's kinda creepy, come to think about it.
I'm about to stop—because I'm kinky but I don't go for dub-con, thank you—when he wrenches his mouth away and grabs my face between his hands.
"What the fuck?" he repeats, but this time he's less enraged and way more turned on. Trust me. When I threw myself at him, I landed halfway into his lap so I know how turned on he is. "You have some serious fucking issues, pet."
"So do you," I reply, arching a brow. "Are you saying no, boss? I'm sure Janet is ready and waiting back at the house if you're done with me."
Fire sparks in Hawke's gray eyes. "Green is a good color on you, Miss Petrova."
Before I can deny my jealousy again, he drags me fully into his lap and slams his lips into mine. Ah, fuck it. We can go back to hating each other tomorrow. Right now ... right now, I need to reassure myself that he's not lying about Janet. That he didn't go there and fuck her the other night, that he still wants me as badly as I want him.
"Off," I order, pushing his dark t-shirt up to his chin. I pause to drool a moment as his muscles bunch and flex with the motion of dragging the fabric over his head. These mercenaries seriously keep in shape. It almost makes me embarrassed when I think of the rich, mob sons I used to be attracted to. Lean, soft playboys who thought working out consisted of drinking protein shakes and jogging around Central Park.
