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Whatever.

He liked her. There were bound to be more nuances of the attraction that he didn't care for.

He set the rifle on the workbench and pressed his thumb to the sensor on the side of the case. It took the print reader a moment, but the locks disengaged with a click. He wasn't the best sniper. John, their resident redneck and veteran, could hit a quarter out of the air from fifty yards. Tori and Roni were close seconds. Equipping her with the distance weapon meant she'd be farther back from danger in a sticky situation. He'd never keep her locked up, safe and sound. She wouldn't stand for it and he was smart enough not to try. It was a compromise. Besides, she wouldn't be the Tori he coveted if she were a delicate flower.

“Keeping secrets?” Tori placed the smaller box on the workbench and leaned an arm on the surface, facing him.

“Being prepared is a secret?”

That word
secret
made his skin crawl. He'd dug into her past without her consent. Sure, he'd done it for her safety, but it still sat heavy in his mind. They all had secrets.

“Okay, Boy Scout.” She rolled her eyes.

“I was never a scout. My brother was.” Another activity his parents deemed him unfit for. Not that his brother had appreciated the scouts, or that Emery was particularly interested either, it was just another way in which his family differentiated between them. He pushed the rifle aside and pressed his thumb to the carrying case for the handguns.

“And here I thought all you did was spy on my front door.” Tori flipped the lid up, one side of her mouth hiked up in a smile. “Didn't like group activities?”

“We should scout the area. Figure out where the best cover is. If someone comes for us, I'd like for you to have a sniper's perch somewhere while I distract them.”

“Fine. I can take a hint. Don't talk about family.” She sighed.

Emery scrubbed a hand over his face, the generous stubble on his jaw rasping over his skin.

“It's not that, it's just—I don't think about them. I don't wonder how they're doing. They don't give a fuck about me, so why should I care? Why should I remind myself that as a kid, Eric got everything, even when he didn't want it? So, yeah, he was a Boy Scout. I wasn't, because they weren't going to spend the money for me to tag along.”

Tori stared at him, her lower jaw working silently.

“Sorry,” she finally said.

Fuck. And now guilt gnawed at him—for what? Answering her question? Sharing something less than perfect about himself?

“Don't be. It's the past. I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“Actually, that's my fault.”

He blew out a breath. Great. Making things awkward seemed to be his secret power.

“Let's scout the area. Fifteen minutes, back here. You take the east side, I'll be on the west.” He handed her another Glock.

“Sounds good to me.” Tori slid the gun into her waistband while looking at him kind of funny. It was because of the comments about his brother, wasn't it?

He closed the carrying cases and stowed them in the stash space under the workbench. By the time he straightened, Tori was gone. He shook his head and headed for the tree line on the west side of the property. Judging from the clouds of insects, there was water somewhere nearby.

Time apart would allow him to clear his head, get back on track. He should stick to silence, but he liked hearing Tori talk. The things she said, the stories, he could spend days just listening to her.

Yeah, he needed to get a grip. Maybe rub one out to alleviate some of his pent-up lust, but masturbating while thinking of Tori just made him feel pathetic. Some agent he was.

He paused under the shade of a tree and pressed the toe of his boot into the ground. The terrain farther away from the house was soggy, giving way to low-lying areas that would make for slow going on foot. If they got rain, many of those places would fill with water, a good, natural defense, but the sky was clear. Here in Florida that didn't mean anything. A storm could blow up in the blink of an eye.

By the time he'd completed a circuit on foot, he was sweating, dirty, and had a number of insect bites. The little cabin was a welcome sight, but more so was the woman standing in the open doorway of the shed. She didn't appear any worse for the journey on foot, unlike him.

“Anything?” he asked her as he drew closer.

“Nothing.” She tossed him a bottle of cool water.

“Good.” He twisted the cap off and drank deeply.

“Electricity is out in the house.”

“Shit.”

Which meant they were stuck with the little cooler they'd brought with them for keeping food and liquids cold. It wasn't ideal, especially since it meant a daily trip to a gas station, but it couldn't be helped. They had to eat.

“Find a perch?” he asked.

“There's an old tree house about fifteen yards that way. It's still sturdy. Has a good view of the house and the road.”

“Good.” He drained the rest of the bottle of water. They could make this work. All that was left now was settling in and lying low. Not much else to do.

“You sure you don't want to spar?” Tori asked.

His hands on her body? The sweat? Little grunts she'd make when he put her on the ground? Hell no. That sounded like the worst kind of torture.

“No.” His voice came out too rough and low, but he couldn't help it. She affected him like that.

“No, you aren't sure? Or no, you don't want to spar?” Tori was all mischief, from the way she smiled to the way she brought her hands up and danced from foot to foot. She'd be fun to spar with. She might not be able to take him down by brute strength, but he had no doubt she'd use some pretty dirty tactics. Dirty with Tori? That was the stuff of fantasies.

“No.” It had been a long day and his frustration was through the roof. With himself. With her for being so damn tempting. With the hit team. With CJ. With Aiden and Roni. With the FBI. With the whole damn world.

Besides, he still didn't know how the hit team found them so fast. Plus, they hadn't had a moment to sort out what the Eleventh at the facility Michael Evers owned meant. He needed to figure it out soon.

“Come on.” She took a playful swipe at his arm. “Scared you'll get beat by a girl?”

Unlikely. He might choose to do his fighting behind a computer, but it didn't mean he was an easy target.

“Knock it off, Tori.” He pulled his gun from his waistband and set it on the workbench.

“I'll go easy on you, I swear.” She tapped his shoulder with her knuckles in a quick one-two punch.

He wouldn't go easy on her and that was half the problem. For some reason, his mind went to a whole other place when he fought. Which was why the only people he would go up against were Aiden, and on occasion Julian. He trusted them, and individually they were a pretty even match. Tori was a tough lady, but she didn't have the muscle mass to take a hit like one of the guys. If he hurt her . . . No. He wasn't going there. Wouldn't. She was too precious.

Then again, she would be a lot of fun to pin down. Tori favored the Russian sambo style, which was a mixed martial arts form that incorporated a lot of dirty fighting. Emery liked to fight dirty. It was real. It was useful. But that was feeding his obsession, and he knew there were lines he couldn't cross. Even now the lines between professional teamwork and personal interests were blurred.

“You aren't being fun, Emery.” Tori threw a left punch, hitting him in the chest. She turned and followed it up with a swift tap of her foot to his left leg. The joint buckled, but he caught himself and straightened.

He grunted, not because it hurt, but the memory of pain was strong.

“Shit! I'm sorry.”

He drew in a deep breath and mentally punched the memories back where they belonged, in the past.

“Emery, I'm really sorry. I didn't think . . .”

He hated the sudden change in the way she looked at him. As if he were broken. Fuck that. The doctors had put him back together and then he'd fixed himself.

One short round with Tori wouldn't kill him.

“Hands up.” He backed up to the middle of the mat while Tori stared at him.

She was a lot faster than he was. His knee might slow him down a fraction of a second out of habit, but she was an agile fighter. The trick would be waiting her out. Make her come to him, fight on his terms.

Tori followed, wiping her palms on her pants before lifting her hands. She kept a couple of feet between them, her gaze wary.

“Don't go too easy on me,” he said, partially in jest.

“I won't.” The good humor was gone and she was all business now. Fighting kept them alive. This wasn't just for fun; it kept them sharp.

He kept his left leg slightly bent. She had years of conditioning to believe his limp was natural and not habit, so he'd lure her in with that as a target. He kept his gaze glued to her face, taking in the loose, easy way she held her body, and didn't miss the split-second glance at his leg.

Emery wouldn't pin her too hard. Just enough so she knew she'd been beat, and that would be that. She'd take her lumps and they'd be done.

They slowly began to circle each other. Tori stayed light on the balls of her feet, like a dancer. In comparison, Emery was a lumbering giant, but he knew his strengths. He had to be patient. He could wait her out. Tori was a creature of action. Around and around they went, neither making that first attack. He'd give her that honor. Besides, he wasn't likely to get this view of her again.

“I thought you were going to fight,” Tori said.

“Ladies first.”

“What lady?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

They went several more revolutions with neither making an attack. Emery had patience in spades, but he doubted Tori did.

And he was right.

She attacked first, moving in so fast he could only block the blow. Her punch glanced off his forearm when it was aimed at his shoulder. She retreated and quickly moved to flank him, but he circled with her.

“That's all you've got?” He didn't usually talk when he sparred, because what was the point? They were usually blowing off steam, looking to cause a little damage, but this was different. Tori might say she wanted to burn off her frustration, but she didn't fight like it.

“You're one to talk, big boy.”

Her husky tone was a verbal stroke to his dick. Lust was not supposed to be part of this fight, but when did he not want Tori?

“Come closer, little girl.” This needed to stop. He'd pin her, move off, and that would be that.

Her mouth was set in a hard line. She held her arms in, closer to her chest than he would have recommended, but what did he know about female fighters?

Tori must have sensed his distraction. She lunged, landing a solid blow to his kidney before spinning away. He grunted and moved with her, kicking out with his right leg and tripping her up slightly before she got enough distance between them.

“Good one,” he said.

She did not reply.

Instead of circling, she moved in again.

Her mistake.

He didn't even try to block the punch to his chest. He dropped to a knee and shot in on her, wrapping an arm around her leg from the inside-out when she took her last stride toward him. He secured her thigh to his chest while Tori's momentum almost took her over his shoulder. He felt the jolt of her muscles. She began to shift tactics in an attempt to defend, but in close quarters he had the upper hand by sheer strength. Before she got her feet back under her, he swung out with his right arm, capturing both of her legs, and chopped at her thigh. Her leg buckled. He shoved her to the side, pushing up as he went, taking her legs with him.

He caught the shocked expression on Tori's face the second before her back hit the thick mat.

Emery pinned her with his bulk, holding her body to the ground. If he were fighting Aiden, he'd go for a better position to keep the other man down, but he wasn't about to fight Tori on the mat. Her under him would go nowhere good.

He braced himself for her fight, but her body relaxed under his, turning soft. His head was just under her chin, her breasts rising and falling before his eyes.

Yeah, he needed to move. Now.

He pushed up to his knees, glancing away, blowing out a breath.

Chapter Eight

Tori stared at Emery, her entire perception of him shifting.

That was not boxing.

“Wrestling?” she blurted. He'd taken her out with a basic wrestling takedown. And she hadn't even seen it coming because she expected him to box. His weight pressed her down, making it difficult to draw a deep breath. “That wasn't fair.”

Okay, so it was, but damn it, that round hadn't lasted long enough.

“You never said there were rules.” Emery pushed to his feet and offered her his hand.

Tori almost didn't want to take it, out of spite. She fared better sparring with Aiden than she had with Emery. He tugged her to her feet, and damn it, she couldn't be angry with him. He'd shot her leg so fast and easy, it was really her fault for not being on the defensive better.

“Fine. Again.” She let go of his hand and backed up a few paces, trying to ignore the pesky awareness sweeping through her body. Yes, he was hot. Yes, his body was way more amazing than she'd realized. And yes, he'd just kicked her ass, but she wasn't done yet.

“Why?” Emery frowned.

“Because I can do better.” And having Emery pin her wasn't all that bad. “Come on. Hands up.”

He stared at her for a moment before lifting his hands.

“What styles do you study?” she asked as they danced around each other.

“All of them.”

Was there anything Emery didn't do?

This time, she didn't wait. She moved in fast, punching and staying agile, moving left, right, ducking away from him. He kept pace with her, keeping on the defensive. She threw a right punch followed by a quick kick with her left foot. He deflected the punch and grabbed her thigh. She twisted, breaking his hold and spinning away, but not before his hand cracked across her ass.

Tori yelped, more in surprise than pain.

“Sorry. Going for your leg.” Emery held his hands up and took a step back, grinning sheepishly. “My bad.”

The heat in her cheeks was all due to the warm Florida weather, right? It had nothing to do with Emery touching her.

“Try harder next time,” she said, somehow without stuttering.

Emery grasped his jeans at the thighs and tugged them up a bit before dropping into a lower stance. So far he'd defended with mostly wrestling maneuvers, but the way he moved was more like a boxer. Getting in close was her mistake. She'd expected him to be slow, relying on the weight of his punches; she hadn't expected him to be fast or agile.

She changed her stance and he mimicked her, rocking back and forth, foot to foot.

He rushed in suddenly, forcing her back almost to the wall before she sidestepped him. At the last second, Emery's arm clotheslined her waist. He spun her, tripping her with his feet, and took her to the mat face-first. She grunted and tried to wiggle free. His hold was tight, keeping her locked against his chest so only her hands and knees touched the ground. He supported both their weight on one arm.

The whole situation might be hot, except it was starting to piss her off that she couldn't get one up on him. She could damn well defend herself, and yet Emery was besting her without breaking a sweat.

She pushed up against him and he released her, sitting back on his heels.

“Again?” he asked.

“Yes.” She stood and stalked across the mat. Having Emery on top of her was a fantasy, but not like this. Of course now she had firsthand experience to make those daydreams a little more realistic. Just what she needed.

She shoved hot, sweaty thoughts of Emery and the way he moved out of her mind and focused on her body. It didn't work. All she saw in her mind's eye was him shirtless, hot and bothered.

Tori turned to face Emery. She was more conscious of her body, of how his heat had soaked into her skin, the strength in his arms. It was not the kind of distraction she needed.

This time neither spoke. They also didn't dance around, waiting for the other to start. Beginning at opposite sides of the shed, they each took a step. By the second stride, they were face-to-face. She aimed a punch at his chest that he deflected with a quick side step, batting her fist away.

But she'd expected that.

She spun with him, kicking backward and catching him in the thigh. Emery grunted, but didn't even stumble. He made a wild swipe for her leg as she pulled it back and dropped into a fighting stance. She landed a fast double blow against his chest and kidney while his arms were dropped, but the truth was she didn't have enough physical strength to do more than annoy him.

If she met a mean Emery in an alley, she'd be sure to run—or use whatever was on hand.

Her shoulder bumped into the punching bag.

Whatever was on hand, right?

Tori backed up, grabbed the bag, and swung it at Emery. While his attention was on pushing the bag aside, she circled, flanking him, and attacked from the side, throwing all her frustration into her arms.

“Shit.” Emery held his arm up and turned, dropping into a defensive position.

She backed off once he was ready for her.

“That was dirty,” he said.

“It's just a punching bag.” There were a lot of other dirty things she could think of.

“I'll remember that.”

Emery lunged, but there was enough distance between them she was able to scramble sideways out of his reach. Or she thought she was. He grabbed her elbow and yanked her toward him, wrapping her in those big, strong arms—and fell.

She grunted as they landed, him on top of her. The first couple of takedowns were gentle by comparison. He supported most of his weight on his elbows, which was nice and thoughtful, while irritating the hell out of her. She was not some delicate flower that needed gentle handling. She kicked, trying to hit him with her knees. Her arms were completely useless, pinned by his grip.

Tori was more capable than this. He shouldn't have been able to best her so easily. That he had—more than once—grated on her nerves. If she couldn't protect herself from Emery, what about when she was face-to-face with an enemy? The hit team was bad fucking news, and she couldn't handle herself.

Emery chuckled, shifting until her legs were pinned under his. Damn it if she didn't feel the vibration of it against her nipples, crushed to his chest. He was so much bigger than her that he practically covered her. She pulled on her arm, still tight in his grasp, but she was completely immobile. His wasn't a perfect maneuver; it was rough, ugly, and got the job done. She couldn't fault him, only herself. She hadn't moved fast enough. She'd left herself open. And she was a hell of a lot better than this.

“Done yet?” he asked.

She let her body relax and met his gaze. Any other time and this would be an ideal position. If she weren't so frustrated, she might appreciate the way he almost smiled and the way his focus was entirely on her. Half the time she didn't think he actually saw her.

“Yes.”

He rolled off her and she took an easy breath. Actually being on the floor with Emery wasn't so bad, except he wasn't kissing her. This was probably a bad idea. There was too much going on for them to be out here rubbing each other the wrong way. Granted, if Emery wanted to rub her the right way, she wouldn't protest.

She pushed to her feet before he could offer to help her up again and strode to the opposite side of the shed.

Okay, so sparring with Emery was a horrible thing to do. Especially that last round. If she'd ever wondered what he felt like, well, now she knew. There was no controlling the way she reacted to Emery. She'd accepted that months ago, but that didn't help her now when she was frustrated and turned on.

“Again?” Emery asked.

Hadn't he been the one dragging his feet about sparring?

She wasn't going to beat him, or even match his attack. If she was going to win even one round, she had to fight dirty. Really dirty. Hurting him wasn't the objective, but something to break his focus enough so that she'd get the upper hand.

“If you want to stop—”

“No.” She turned, sweeping the shed with her gaze. There were only tools, things too hard to use against someone she didn't want to injure. The only thing she could use was the punching bag or herself.

“We can stop.” Emery stood with the Tesla at his back, clear on the other side of the shed.

“Nope. Just getting warmed up.”

She couldn't match him for strength. He had a greater reach than she did. She needed to be quick. The problem was Emery. He was faster than she'd expected a guy of his size to be. A lot faster. When he wasn't thinking about his knee, it didn't seem to hinder him at all.

“Ready,” she said.

He took a step forward, arms up, knees bent, waiting for her to attack. They'd already played this game. He'd drawn her in with the fake-out, letting her assume his left side was weaker. She sidestepped to her left and he circled with her, putting the wall of the shed to his back.

In a game of patience, Emery would win, so she had to be sneaky.

Tori rushed forward. Two strides closed the distance and as she took the third step, she brought her left leg up and kicked. Emery grasped her foot, but he didn't twist it for a takedown. He'd been very careful with her, ignoring some opportunities another person might have exploited. This close, she struck out and punched his unprotected chest, getting in one solid blow. He dropped her leg to defend, but that was what she'd counted on. Before he could get his arms up, she hit him again. Her knuckles ached and she felt every impact all the way up her arms.

Emery made some sort of growling noise and lunged, completely dropping his guard. He grasped her by the shoulders, almost in a wrestling stance, and forcibly moved her, pivoting until he had her back up against the shed wall. This time, there was no gentleness in the way he immobilized her, and damn if it wasn't kind of hot. His body braced against hers, one leg pinning her lower body flat to the wall. There was no martial way to get out of the hold. But he hadn't quite pinned her. At least not to the ground.

This close, she could see the sharp focus of his gaze, the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the way the skin around his mouth crinkled when he frowned, the dots of sweat on his brow and the way the little dark hairs stuck to his forehead. She could also feel his erratic breathing.

“Done?” he asked.

Their faces were so close.

She'd never be done with her obsession with him. Not unless she did something about it.

Before Tori could think through the stupidity of her actions, she kissed him. She set her lips against his, a thrill shooting through her at the touch of his mouth, even if he wasn't actively kissing her back. His body jolted, going rigid, but he didn't pull away. He remained still. She wasn't even sure if he breathed.

Kissing him might not have been her best plan, but at least she got to scratch that off her want-to list. Heat rose to her cheeks and what she wouldn't have given to be able to crawl under the Tesla and hide.

A part of her withered, dying at the evidence that he just didn't feel the same about her. That had always been a big risk. They were different people, with nothing in common, and it wasn't like they knew much about each other. Still, she wanted him with an unreasonable desire—and he didn't return it.

She pulled back and pushed at Emery's chest. He shifted away from her, but she hooked her leg between his, tripping him as he put more space between them. His eyes widened in shock the instant before he rolled backward, into a controlled fall. He was much more of a fighter than she'd ever realized. The brawls Aiden and Emery had must be something to watch.

The part of her that wanted to win the fight said to jump on the opportunity to pin him. The rest of her said to run away, fast, before he called her to task on her dirty move.

“Careful, twinkle toes. Even tough guys can get distracted.” It wasn't a dignified retreat. It wasn't even a smooth exit, but it was her way out. Mortification gave her speed. She wanted a phone, she wanted to call her sister, but she couldn't.

She'd kissed Emery. And she wanted to do it again.