Rachel Hart and Bodie Wright are nothing more than teammates. As mercenaries for hire with the elite Jameson Group, they have each other"s backs in the most dangerous of circumstances. But after a mission gone deadly wrong, Rachel does something she"s never done before. She crosses the professional line and takes comfort in Bodie"s arms.
One night of passion turns their lives upside down with a pregnancy neither of them expected, and one that Rachel was too terrified to ever want. Bodie, however, is a family man through and through, and he"s determined to raise their child alone if necessary.
The only common thread Rachel and Bodie have is their membership at The Wicked Horse, a sex club that lets them both fulfill their dirtiest fantasies with each other. As they become more intimately entwined, the strong, steady man with a heart of gold makes Rachel question everything she ever thought she knew about herself. Their wicked nights together make them so much more than teammates and Rachel is about to discover the choices she thought were the most difficult are actually the easiest ones to make.Books in Series:The Wicked Horse Vegas Series by Sawyer BennettBooks by Author:Sawyer Bennett Books
The banging on my hotel door takes a moment to penetrate. I"m not sure if it"s because I"m four shots of bourbon past the pleasantly buzzed state, or because I"m sick with exhaustion and guilt.
After stepping out of the shower, I ignore my dripping hair and wrap a fluffy white towel around my body. I attempt to ignore the shallow wound on my upper right arm, but it"s throbbing mercilessly and the bourbon"s not helping.
The banging continues, and I yell grumpily as I make my way across the spacious luxury hotel room, "Hold your fucking horses, Wright."
Immediately, the pounding stops, but I knew it would. Bodie Wright is the only person who knows this is my room, and I left strict instructions with the front desk I wasn"t to be disturbed for anything.
I unlock the door and swing it open so fast I take a stumbling step back. I normally hold my liquor much better, but I"m going on twenty-four hours without food and more than that without sleep.
"What"" I snarl as he steps into my room, towering over my five-eight frame by a good half a foot or so. I can tell he"s had a shower because he smells good and his short, dark hair is wet.
Bodie"s eyes immediately drop to my arm and they harden as he takes in the barely two-inch groove caused by a bullet that grazed me.
"It"s fine," I mumble.
"Figures," he replies dryly as he walks over to my patrol pack I"d thrown to the floor a few hours ago when we checked in. With casual ease, he retrieves the IFAK"individual first aid kit"and pulls out some gauze and tape. This is the second time Bodie has treated my wound"the first time was while we sped away on a Syrian boat down the coast to Tripoli. The IFAK can treat anything from a shallow bullet trench to a sucking chest wound. He"d used most of our QuikClot combat gauze to stop the hemorrhaging in our teammate Joram"s bullet hole just below his collarbone, but there was enough left that he could slap a quick covering on my arm to curb the bleeding.
It wasn"t the first time I"d been shot at, but it was the first time that a bullet had hit me and I didn"t even feel any pain. I was so amped on adrenaline and fear because of Joram"s wound that I hadn"t even known I"d been hit, until Bodie started working on me in the boat after he got Joram as stabilized as he could be given the circumstances.
We made landing just north of Tripoli at a prearranged extraction point. From there, Stan, our pilot, flew us to Cypress on an MV22 Osprey that Kynan somehow managed to procure through CIA contacts and favors owed.
"Sit down and let me wrap that," Bodie orders.
Despite the fact he"s younger than I am by almost nine years"and he"s only been with Jameson Group a few years"his tone says he"s not to be trifled with right now.
I"m too inebriated to argue. Plus" I"ve got to give the dude props. When we got ambushed, he handled our extraction like a seasoned pro, carrying Joram to the boat while bullets flew.
I walk toward the bed, but take a side trip to the wet bar where I grab the bottle of bourbon and ignore the glass I"d been using. In Cypress, most would think I"d be taking advantage of their ouzo, but I hate the taste of licorice. Instead, I went with a tried and true favorite of mine.
When my butt hits the edge of the bed, I twist the cap off and take a healthy slug. I hand it toward Bodie as he lays out the medical supplies, but he shakes his head.
It doesn"t bother me that I"m half naked in front of Bodie. When we"re on a mission, my teammates don"t look at me like a woman. They don"t care what I look like or that I have periods.
I"ve spent weeks with my male teammates, and we"ve all seen each other naked at one time or another. There"s no time for sensibilities while on a mission. Not to mention, we"ve all spent time at The Wicked Horse. While it"s sort of an unwritten rule, or at least an understanding, that we don"t mix in that way, many of us do hang out at the sex club quite regularly. I"m sure Bodie has watched me in action.
But all he cares about is that I can do my job, and therein lies the guilt that"s consuming me.
I got Joram shot.
"The wound looks clean, and it"s not seeping anymore," Bodie says as he gently takes my arm to peer at it. I look down, fascinated by the groove in my flesh and the whitish-pink wet skin underneath.
I take another swig of the bourbon and Bodie goes to work, dabbing on some antibiotic-laced ointment and wrapping a dry gauze around my upper arm. He efficiently secures the ends with tape and pronounces me cured.