Why couldn’t he seem to apply his motto to her?
Her hair was wet—they’d both gotten soaked before finding this place—and she shivered. Immediately, he grabbed for one of the blankets and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Her fingers brushed against his. “Thank you.”
He jumped back, moving faster than if she’d shot him. And he’d been shot plenty of times.
Sydney frowned. “Gunner?”
He cleared his throat. “The storm isn’t going to be letting up anytime soon.” Which meant he and Sydney might have to bunk down for the night.
A night with Sydney. Hell. More torture for him.
“Why do you always pull away?”
The quiet question shocked him, so he lied. But, in one way or another, it seemed as if he’d been lying to her for years. “I don’t know what you mean, Syd.”
She growled. An angry little sound that shouldn’t have been sexy. Unfortunately, everything she did seemed sexy to him. That was a big part of his problem.
Hands off. But his hands wanted to be...on.
He put as much distance between them as he could. Since the shack was about nine feet long, that wasn’t a whole lot of space.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Then she started to stalk toward him. “I want a real answer.”
She’d put the lantern down, but the light spilled just enough for him to clearly see that her delicate face was set in determination. She closed in on him.
He raised his hands—have to touch her—and curled his fingers around her shoulders. “We’re working a case. We’re partners, that’s all.”
She stared back up at him. Her lips were full and parted, and he wanted to kiss her.
He’d wanted to kiss her for years.
She’s not yours. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact. Sydney wasn’t meant to be with him. She’d been engaged to his half brother. She and Slade were the ones who should have had the happy ending. The picket fence. That whole picture-perfect dream.
Not. Me.
But Slade was dead now. And Sydney was lifting her hand to touch his face. Her fingers rasped over the faint stubble that coated his jaw. “Don’t,” he gritted out.
“Why not?”
“We’re on a mission—”
“And we’re alone. We can talk, without anyone else hearing us. Without anyone else watching us.” Her hand dropped. He didn’t let her go. Maybe he didn’t want to. “You almost died on our last case. Do you know how that made me feel?”
He’d cheated death more times than he could count. Unlike Slade. Some nights, Gunner could still hear the echoes of Sydney’s cries. He’d had to pull her away from Slade’s body. Force her out of that hell of a jungle and get her to safety.
I lost him, but I damn sure wasn’t going to lose her, too.
She was staring up at him now, waiting for a response, her body a silken temptation. He exhaled slowly. “I’m sure you were worried.” Because Sydney worried about everyone. Her heart was too big; she cared too much.
“I wasn’t worried,” she said immediately, heat in her words. “I was terrified. I don’t want anything happening to you.”
And he’d die before he’d let anything happen to her. She was the whole reason he was still with the EOD. The better to keep watch on her. The better to stay close to her.
He was still touching her.
Hands. Off. He pulled his hands away, clenched his fists.