Spaniard Untamed (Blood and Thunder 3)

“I couldn’t think of another way to infiltrate the gang. I knew you wouldn’t let me go if I told you what I planned to do.”

“Too right I wouldn’t,” he agreed. “Next time, trust me. Talk to me.”

“Next time?” She huffed a rueful laugh. “I still wouldn’t tell you. You’d have had me in chains faster than the slavers.”

“Don’t ever compare me to them,” he said quietly.

She held his gaze and then said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even joke about it.”

“I’m the one who should apologize. Humor’s what saves us from becoming brutes like those men. It shows we’re human, shows we care. If we can laugh, the next stage is to move on. You’ve done nothing wrong.” After activating autopilot, he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them.

“You’re making me cry,” she protested when he released her. Knuckling her eyes, she pulled a rueful face.

“You’re tired.”

“Exhausted,” she admitted with a sigh as she rested back in the seat and closed her eyes.

“Go to my private quarters and lie down. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”

Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. “I won’t be able to sleep. I’d rather be here with you.”

“I’ll come with you. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. I’ll call the copilot now—”

“No. I’m fine.” She touched his hand. “Don’t make a drama of it.”

She was frightened of sleep, frightened of the nightmares she might have, and no wonder.

What Celina had been part of was sick beyond belief. Some of the viewers at the auction in which she’d been on sale paid a regular subscription to watch the proceedings just for the hell of it, while others were serious buyers. All the women were helpless, vulnerable victims who would probably never be heard of again. It meant a lot to Celina to pass on what she’d learned, and Interpol had been more than grateful for a clean-up that hadn’t taken a huge bite out of its budget.

“You don’t mind if I stay here on the flight deck with you, do you?” she asked.

He looked into eyes that were wide and vulnerable and shadowed with sights he’d been spared. “Not at all. You do what’s right for you.”

She smiled, and for a while they were content in each other’s company. They’d made it out. They were together. Anything else was a bonus.

“I can’t stop thinking about my friend being killed.”

Her voice was small, and knowing this was a crucial moment for Celina, maybe even the first small step in the healing process, he called his copilot, and then gave her all his attention.

“They laughed about it,” she said frowning. “They talked about Marissa as if she was an empty carton they’d tossed in the trash.”

“We won’t stop until every gang member is rounded up,” he promised. “We won’t leave this here. The team has a hundred percent success rate, simply because we never give up. Your friend won’t be forgotten, nor will all the other women the gang abused. We won’t stop until Del Roca and every single vicious thug working for him has been dealt with.” He leveled a stared into her eyes. “Trust me on this.”

“I do trust you,” she said. “There’s no need,” she insisted when he started to undo her harness. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re exhausted. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. You could have been killed like your friend.”

“So could you,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “It’s my job. It’s what I do.”

She firmed her jaw. “Then let it be my job too.”

“When you’re over this,” he agreed. “If you go back now, when you’re angry and grief-stricken, emotion will take over, and that could kill you.”

“I will go back and finish this,” she said stubbornly.

“Of course you will,” he soothed. “But for now, accept you’re in no state to help anyone, least of all yourself, so please, let me take over.”