Soldier For Hire

“You’re really going to sleep?”

“Mmmhhmmm.”

“Damn it, Xander. We need a strategy.”

“No, I need sleep. It’s two and a half hours to Oklahoma. Cool your jets until we land. Read a magazine or something.”

Scarlett exhaled in irritation, muttering under her breath, “You’re making it real hard to remember why I’m putting my ass on the line for you.”

He smirked from beneath his ball cap. Because I’m the best dick you’ve ever had, baby. In the interest of self-preservation...he kept that comment to himself.

Scarlett was fuming.

She narrowed her gaze at Xander—who, by the way, was already lightly snoring as if he were sacked out in the Hilton and not folded into an economy seat two sizes too small for his solid frame—and wanted to shove him out the plug door.

And if she took a moment to enjoy the image of Xander flailing from the plane at thirty-thousand feet elevation, she didn’t feel an ounce of guilt, mostly because her head hurt and that was squarely Xander’s fault.

She’d purposely purchased the seat next to her so that no one else would be sitting in close quarters to them; the last thing she needed was some yahoo eavesdropping on their conversation.

But as it turned out, the extra seat was unnecessary. Well, Xander was going to pay her back for that extra seat, seeing as she’d purchased it with her own money.

Almost three hours to kill and Xander was off to la-la land, sleeping like the dead. Scarlett grabbed the in-flight magazine and thumbed through it, not really looking at anything in particular, just using it as a distraction.

But her mind was difficult to distract.

Part of the reason she suffered from insomnia.

Her brain didn’t recognize the “off” switch.

And one of the memories her brain liked to chew on was that night with Xander.

First, it had been an epic mistake. Let’s just get that out of the way right now.

Second, it had been the best sex of her life.

Third, she had been pretty drunk so it was possible her recollection of the event couldn’t be trusted.

Yet, knowing that she’d been sauced didn’t seem to water down what she did remember.

Xander, his body crisscrossed with scars and tattoos—she was a sucker for both—with muscle cording that solid frame like he’d been carved from stone and his hands, calloused and rough like a real man’s should be, touching her bare skin with urgency.

Yeah, that kind of loving was hard to forget.

It didn’t help that she’d been in a bit of a drought, either—did three years qualify as a drought or a cry for help?—and she’d been about ready to hump the table leg.

The liquor had only made that need for human contact worse.

Most people didn’t understand their job, how ending an assignment successfully is an adrenaline rush unlike any drug and if that adrenaline wasn’t channeled, it turned restless, which with their demons, was dangerous.

Blowing off steam was a necessity, not a luxury. Usually, she went off on her own but that night she’d needed companionship.

She’d known better than to drink with the guys, especially Xander, but she’d been weak. There was no way to pretty that up and she hated that she’d succumbed to her baser needs with barely a fight.

But there’d always been something between her and Xander, that tiny spark that was hard to ignore. The way his eyes sparkled with mischief most days made her stomach tremble and when that intensity swiveled her way, she about melted in the most feminine way imaginable.

And it freaked her out.

Scarlett was more comfortable with the prospect of shooting people than opening up to another human being. Being vulnerable—no, thanks.

So why’d she let down her guard with Xander? Hell, she wished she knew. Maybe if she’d gone home that night, she would’ve spent some quality time with her vibrator and then gone to bed alone. Maybe if that’d been her course of action, she wouldn’t be threatening her career for a man who may or may not be guilty.

She glanced over at him. He seemed pretty chill for a guy who was on the run but that was Xander’s gift. He never crumbled under pressure—a quality she admired—but would it kill him to show just a smidge of human emotion. His life was on the line, for crying out loud.

Not even a thank-you for risking her ass for his. Typical Xander, but she couldn’t complain too much. He hadn’t asked for her help or for her involvement. She bought tickets to this shit show all on her own.

Scarlett blew out a short breath, shaking her head as she replaced the magazine in the mesh compartment on the backside of the seat in front of her.

The thing about alcohol, it did more than drop panties... It dropped walls.

Walls that were there for a reason.

Scarlett shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with her memories.

How much had she told him about her past? The night was an erotic blur for the most part but she remembered lying in his arms afterward, a feeling of safety overriding her usual need for distance.

It had left her with a vague sense of disquiet, wondering if she was missing out on something potentially great. But by morning, all that had remained was the intense need to forget any of it had happened.

Shaking off the memory, Scarlett returned to her present situation.

She didn’t have access to the internet or her notes on the Tulsa case. Maybe she ought to follow Xander’s lead and take a short snooze.

Right after she downed some whiskey and a few aspirin for her pounding headache. She rubbed at her temples, casting a dark look at her snoozing travel companion. How was it even possible that Xander slept like the dead as if nothing were troubling him?

She’d need a horse tranquilizer to achieve that level of relaxation.

Signaling the flight attendant, she ordered her whiskey, tossed a few aspirin to the back of her throat and settled in for a quick catnap.

When she opened her eyes again, Xander was already bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, preparing for the landing. Damn, had she really slept hours in a blink? Scarlett wiped at her eyes and tried to get her bearings.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty,” Xander teased. “I thought you were going to sleep through the landing.”

“It must be the head injury,” she groused, sending him a dark look. “How close are we to landing?”

“About ten minutes.”

Scarlett checked her watch to confirm. “A few minutes off schedule but not bad.”

“We hit some turbulence and wind resistance.”