Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,24
her oven light, and how ridiculous was that? It almost made her sound crazy. Well, crazier. But she’d learned the hard way that what you couldn’t see, would hurt you. Even something as small as that dark square place in her oven or microwave wasn’t safe, daytime or nighttime. More than once, Zapata had introduced snakes and tarantulas into narrow dark openings.
So, yeah. Let there be light, damn it. Lots and lots of light.
But reds and blacks? All shades of Domingo Zapata. He’d always worn black. Even decorated his skin with the most horrific black ink tattoos. And fresh, red blood.
Her nostrils flared, remembering the septic stink of the wicked place she’d worked in for nearly a year. For a split second, Persia was back in Brazil again, fighting to keep her sanity, while she fooled Zapata into believing she wanted to work for him. Her heart pounded and she trembled. It was hard to swallow, much less think straight. Or listen to whatever Alex was rambling on and on… and on about.
Needing the sunlight more than this drawn-out, waste-of-time meeting, she stared out the window. What’d they call it? Mindfulness? Staying in the present? Letting the past she couldn’t control, yet couldn’t forget, go? Easier said than done. Persia required bright sunshine, a ton more space, and a little more R&R to get her head back in the covert ops game. And she would, by hell. She certainly would. Because panic attacks were surmountable. One only had to believe—
“You bet, Boss,” Senior Agent David Tao replied, breaking up her therapeutic reverie. “I can have that back to you by noon. Soon enough?”
“Thanks, David, yes. I’d appreciate it. As far as your current assignment in Cambodia…” Alex’s voice faded away.
Today’s weather was bright and sunny on the East Coast, not a cloud in those blue skies. Which instantly reminded Persia of Hotrod, only his eyes weren’t as vibrant. His were deep and dark, a seriously intoxicating midnight blue when he was focused. When he’d kissed her. When he’d made love to her.
She swallowed hard, remembering the weight of his all-male body on hers, the brush of his chest hairs over her sensitized nipples, and the slick, warm feel of his open mouth on her lips. His tongue sliding over her teeth to dance with her tongue. His breath. His fingers...
She still couldn’t get the taste of him out of her mouth or her mind. Didn’t really want to. The abrasions from his scruffy beard hadn’t left her chin. Or in the hollow of her neck. Or on her lips. He’d left his marks all over her body and it had been everything she’d ever wanted. For once, she’d truly enjoyed time together with a man. In bed. In the shower. At her breakfast bar after she made pancakes for him. Even that crazy sensual story about the difference between cantaloupes and peaches. Hell, she’d enjoyed every second of whatever it was. Until the bastard left.
“Can you handle that, Junior Agent Coltrane?” Alex’s snark was palpable.
Ooops. Persia looked away from the window and back into another set of deadly blues, only these were more like frozen Arctic icicles stabbing straight through her daydreaming heart. The sarcasm Alex had just hurled at her stung. She dropped her hand from her lips, embarrassed she’d been caught, by the leader of the pack, no less.
“Yes, sir,” snapped out of her mouth, even as she cringed at her mistake. Sir. The salutation Alex detested more than he detested the person foolish enough to lead with it.
Closing his eyes, he ran a quick hand over his clean-shaven chin, no doubt struggling to not bitch her out for sir-ing him. Again. He could be such an ass about the simplest things. A badass, but an ass nonetheless.
“Yes, what?” he clipped out.
The entire room stilled and all eyes around the conference table turned her way.
“Boss?” she offered hopefully, though she suspected she’d made more than just the one mistake. Which she totally understood. Enlisted personnel did not mix well with officers. Never had. Never would. Enlisted military worked hard for a living, while too many times, the officers who bossed them, simply sat back and took credit for everything the grunts beneath them accomplished. Cardinal rule number one: Never call an enlisted man, sir. It pissed him off. Alex more than most.
But she should’ve been paying attention, hanging on his every word. This was his TEAM, and he owned her during duty hours. She owed him that much.