So, a day later as he tied up his running shoes at his hotel, he couldn’t quite figure out why he’d kept his distance, and why she’d given him a chilly goodbye at the end of the trip. It was as if nothing of their heat and intensity had survived the rest of the drive down the mountain. Maybe she was angry with the way he’d taken over for her. Competent women didn’t want to look bad in their boss’s eyes. But geez, she’d just been through a harrowing experience. What the hell could he have done? Let her drive, trembling and handling the aftershocks of almost getting plowed by falling rock, hanging off the edge of a cliff, anchored by a guy she just met?

Sure, she didn’t know him. But he had a hard time dealing with his own indecision. An uncertain SEAL was a dead SEAL. Yet he couldn’t seem to figure out what to do about this particular choice.

He headed out of the hotel and soon found himself running on the outskirts of town as night settled over the mountains. The air was chilly, and he’d only donned his gray hoodie, the hood now over his wet and perspiring head. Maybe he could sweat the babe right out of his system and avoid the whole morning after routine completely.

Okay, so one-night stands weren’t his modus operandi. He liked a committed relationship. So, sue him. He wanted to know a woman was his, exclusively.

He’d been totally blindsided that he would end up halfway across the world, completely lost in the wilds of Bolivia with a woman who broke his heart just from looking at her. It made him feel uncomfortably exposed, vulnerable.

Edgy.

The thin mountain air didn’t slow him down one bit. He hadn’t been affected by the altitude at all. The terrain was uneven and challenging, just the way he liked it. It got his muscles working and made the workout more grueling. He couldn’t slack ever, vacation or no vacation.

He was on a ridge overlooking some warehouses, the moon rising and the stars brightening his way. He was drenched now, perspiration running down his torso, getting soaked into the waistband of his running pants.

He saw someone crouching, but the figure rose abruptly and pointed a gun at him. “Stop right there.”

* * *

The dark figure sneaking up on her in the night unnerved her. She was still on edge after what had happened yesterday and only part of that was the whole-plunging-to-her-death thing. The other part was what had happened afterward at the van with Ashe being so darn sweet and protective. God, she’d wanted to kiss him in the worse way, inhale him whole, but she couldn’t get past her obligation to NCIS, her job here was crucial to two families who were waiting for justice and the imperative recovery of those weapons. She didn’t have time for pleasure. And, after one look at Ashe Wilder, there was no doubt the man could deliver on pleasure tenfold.

Her eyes never left the dark silhouette. She hadn’t heard him and her snooping outside the warehouse gave her some valuable intel. It was guarded. Why would a warehouse that stored old bikes and other equipment need this level of security?

“Are you armed?” she asked in her don’t-mess-with-me agent’s growl.

“No,” he said, his voice low and hard.

“Let me see.” When he reached for the zipper of his hoodie, she cautioned, “Slow and easy.”

“That’s the way I roll,” he murmured.

Her grip on the Glock 9mm was firm and strong, her finger along the trigger guard poised for violence. One wrong move, a quick squeeze and he would go down.

He slowly unzipped the hoodie and grasped each side in his fingers to reveal…a ripped and lean torso. Her gaze slid down the length of him, every muscle delineated, a work of art, each curve a union of strength and testosterone, of conviction and the iron will to survive.

He turned slowly around and everything about him was intriguing, the aura of him…so familiar. The tight, fine butt, the long, strong legs. She tilted her head, her eyes squinting. “Come to where I can see you.”

He stepped forward so that the security light from the warehouse illuminated him. She gasped and whispered harshly, “Ashe.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said firmly.

They’d had breakfast together while he took every pleasure he could in vexing Marco, her would be suitor, told her intimate things about his dad that she was quite sure he’d never told anyone in his life, and saved her from crushing boulders and a sheer drop in a matter of seconds. Here he was still calling her ma’am. “What are you doing out here?” Immediately, she was wary. She realized she didn’t know him at all. Wasn’t sure about his “tourist” classification. From the beginning, he looked more like a warrior than he did anything else. Who, exactly, was he?

“Running.”

“Running?”

He stepped closer to her. She couldn’t seem to lower the weapon, feeling threatened by him. She hadn’t met a man that looked so dangerous, but was so darn sweet. Sweetly fierce like he’d been when he was saving her, sweetly sincere with his confession about his dad, and so sweetly beautiful, it hurt.

He didn’t stop moving until the gun’s barrel was just under his chin. His eyes were deep pools of blue that she could drown in and there was a recklessness about him that set off sizzling, daunting vibes. Something inside her told her to flee that she would never be the same if she tangled with him, but she couldn’t move.

He was lethally irresistible.

And so, so on edge. She pushed him there to the edge, the knowledge flashed through her like a heartbeat.

Oh, man, she liked him off-balance for sure. She liked him unsteady, because he rattled the hell out of her. His dark hair was covered with the gray hood, only his bangs were visible, hanging like wet, black silk over his forehead and into his eyes, catching on his thick, dark lashes. A trace of beard stubble darkened his jaw and upper lip. The gray cotton was soaked through, still open over his bare chest and all that rippled muscle. But he was still distracting, with cheekbones she wanted to slide her fingers over and a mouth she wanted to kiss—thoughts even more disconcerting now than they’d been yesterday when he’d grappled her out of thin air and onto his hard, hot body.

“Have you ever pulled the trigger while looking a man in the eyes?”

She took a shallow breath, his voice was low, seductive and cold as the night air around them. She had no words, no response, waiting for what he had to say, her body quivering, the gun nothing but a flimsy barrier under his chin.

His head tilted, his mouth lowering toward hers and stopping a hairsbreadth away. “In that instant before you pull the trigger, death is personal, to you, to your target. Three and a half pounds is all it takes.” His gaze was now hot, an incandescent blue. An infinity of snowflakes floated onto his shoulders, into his hair, onto his face, melting when they came into contact with his hot, moist skin.

More long seconds of silence passed. “You’re going to live; he’s going to die. That’s the way it’s orchestrated. You’re never closer to life right there in one breath to the next. It’s silent and quick and ruthless—a perfect cold zero.”

This brought them to the inevitable moment, a moment that she knew was coming at her like a freight train, but when his mouth covered hers, nudging the gun down, it wasn’t with the force of a freight train, but like that of a feather, soft, gentle. The sweet, tantalizing warmth enfolded her as his arm tightened around her, pulling her closer to his body, closer to his heat. His breath was so alive, the faint touch of his lips a seduction on a primal level, the culmination of a kiss that had been coming forever.

One that she could not have dodged or avoided, as certain as death and felt as dangerous as hell.

He brushed her lips again, lingering longer, and all she could think was that they were both crazy. She still had the gun under his chin. She had the upper hand. But she was the one trembling—and he was pushing her too far.

Right out of her comfort zone where she realized there had never been any comfort at all. Just hard work, lonely, hastily consumed meals and even lonelier nights. Before this kiss, she thought it was a necessity to get ahead, be all that she could be. Show her dad that she had the same work ethic as him, learning it the hard way all those years of his absence and her raising three hellion brothers. But now it was about hard, velvet muscles, lethal looks, and heat so hot she swore the night was filled with steam instead of snow.

But this new zone, this, this…Ashe Zone was almost more than she could bear, and something she couldn’t get enough of, no matter how hard she thought about it. But, there she was thinking when everything about this encounter was tactile, rousing and astounding.

Before she realized it, the gun was out of her hand and in his, disarming her seemed to be this man’s specialty, and if his motives were hostile, she wouldn’t even see it coming. She’d have her eyes closed kissing him.

The sound was barely perceptible, a scuff of a boot, a soft disturbance in the night, but Ashe shoved the gun in her hand, turned her shoulders and whispered in her ear, his breath hot against the delicate shell. “Hide,” he hissed.

She reacted, her agent instincts finally kicking in. She bolted for cover and the shadows. When she threw a quick glance over her shoulder, he was gone…simply vanished as if he had blended into shadow. She heard a scuffle and headed toward it. No way was she leaving the man who had saved her life out here to deal with something she’d stirred up. Not when she had the gun, the training and the determination. My God, Ashe was a lone wolf distraction that she couldn’t afford. If she blew her cover…her boss would have her head. So much was riding on this assignment.

Down the hill, toward the warehouse she’d been watching, a man stood, alert, searching the night. Paige crouched down, looking for Ashe. Then darkness moved at her peripheral vision. The guard was a brute. Much, much bigger than Ashe, but with several graceful, powerful, lightning-like moves, the huge man let out a gasp and a grunt, then was down and out. A shot echoed, whizzing past her, the zing like the twang of a bow, displacing the air.

Ashe burst into action, he disarmed the second man who never saw him coming and a brief hand-to-hand combat and the guy was down. Without breaking stride, he pelted up the hill as if the incline was flat ground, his feet throwing dirt and debris behind him. He caught her by the arm and growled, “Move.”

Below them, several shouts sounded, swearing, and pounding feet filled the previously silent night. He picked up his pace. “Is he dead?” she asked in the thin air.

“Nope. But he won’t remember either one of us,” he said spurring her on across a hill and down toward the city at a breakneck pace.

As she ran beside him, growing more breathless and wondering how long she could keep up—and what he’d do when she couldn’t—it occurred to her, ridiculously, that he was some kind of elite operator which made her blood go ice cold. Was he connected with Anderson? Had she missed something?

Lungs burning, heart pounding, she grabbed the rail of the stairs they were going down, Ashe’s hand still firmly around her upper arm. He wasn’t even breathing hard, and she could hardly breathe at all. His hoodie was still unzipped, flapping in the wind, giving her tantalizing glimpses of his six pack and wide, gorgeous chest.

So help her God, who was he? She had to find out once this was over, and they were safely away from the current threat of exposure. If Anderson got wind that someone was snooping around the warehouse, and he’d discovered it was a woman…well, he wasn’t an idiot, just a jerk.

But, no her thinking was muddled. If he was mixed up in this somehow, he wouldn’t be helping her at all, definitely not kissing the hell out of her in the snow in the dark during her clandestine recon.

Behind them on the stairs she could hear someone struggling to keep up. He was big and brawny, like the last gorilla Ashe had flattened. Anderson was big, too, but he was all muscle and horrendous strength, and smart as a whip. If it was him behind them, she couldn’t afford to get caught.

“Faster,” Ashe commanded, doing his best to single-handedly carry her down more than one stair at a time.

They hit the cobblestones, and she stumbled. He caught her against him and kept moving, all steel and speed. He vaulted a concrete wall as she did the same. It was attached to a small church, blocking in a small cemetery. His eyes shone in the meager light from the chapel. He tugged left, and she tugged right, “No, this way,” she insisted.

Without argument, he trusted her and they changed direction. The men chasing them had momentarily lost them, and she could hear shouting. Lights came on in an apartment building as they rushed past.

She’d been here long enough to understand La Paz was all about the geography and the fact that its identity was closely tied to the culture here. The mountains were everywhere, infused by the indigenous people with spirits. She relied on them now, watching over them as they ran.

They hustled down a steep cobblestone street that cascaded down to the main avenue known as the Prado, hoping to get as far away from the pursuit as possible. There were more people here, too. Easier to get lost in the crowd. Traffic was heavy as they passed a small green square, high-rises to the left and shops to the right. As they got deeper into the area, they passed singers and street performers, the aroma of food made her stomach grumble.

She was jerked off her feet, and before she knew what was happening, Ashe had her in a shadowed doorway, his body pressed up against hers so tight, she could barely catch her breath. Her hands went to his bare waist, his skin moist and scorching, the muscles beneath like iron.

In a split second, his mouth slammed into hers. Her body was humming. His lips, damn, were so hot, so soft. He slid his fingers along the back of her neck, beneath her hair, sending a delicious cascade of shivers all the way down her spine.

He lifted his gaze just enough to look into her eyes, his shell-shocked and aroused, his face tight. She held his gaze for what felt like all eternity, then slowly lowered her eyelids as she closed the distance between them and kissed him back. Their pursuers went by, three of them. And she gulped, one of them was Anderson.

His fingers twitched against the back of her neck when she opened her mouth on his, then pressed a bit harder as he accepted the invitation and devoured her. This man was a first-class kisser, and she had the melted body to prove it.

He groaned, raised his head again before taking the kiss deeper.

He was a natural at kissing. She had no doubt about it, and her entire body thrilled at the knowledge that he’d be even better in bed.

He broke the kiss. “Fuck me,” he said softly.

And all she could think was, Oh, God, yes. Over and over again.

* * *

Ashe took two quick breaths, made sure the coast was clear and grabbed her hand. They crossed the street and were on the run again, but this time there were no footfalls behind them. As they exited the Prado, she tugged him toward the outskirts of the city.

When she reached a small stucco cottage, she went up the path. Baby blue paint with a darker blue trim set the house apart on the street. The funky windows, an iron grate worked with circles across the top, lacy hearts in the middle and stars beneath, were placed against the glass and painted in the same complimenting baby blue. The multilayer gardens surrounding the place turned it into a gem hidden in a jungle of trees, bushes, and clumps of vegetation.

“Who does this place belong to?”

She grinned and produced the key. Unlocking the door, they hurried inside. As she flicked on the light, he headed toward the kitchen and opened the fridge. Pulling out bottles of water, he threw one to her, then drank three in a row while she polished off one. He threw her another one.

The place smelled wonderful, earthy and female—Paige. He could hear a fountain bubbling and splashing from somewhere around back.

She went to the fire and started it burning. It was white, square stucco, and as she set logs on the beginning spark, it was soon blazing. He was still drenched after that run. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

The house was as quaint and well-kept as the outside with colorful striped rugs on the concrete floor. The couch and chairs were all upholstered in a deep red with an abundance of striped throw pillows dotting them. The coffee table was a rich, dark wood and looked handmade.

This is the kind of home Paige made, and he had to admit he liked it a lot. It was clear from the delicious aroma in the kitchen she cooked, too. Something about that set him on edge—in a good way.

The quiet warmth and security of her place settled in him like hot cocoa.

“So, what were you doing up there?” The hoodie was soaked, and he slipped it off his shoulders. She went to a small cabinet and came out with a towel. She tossed it to him, and he wiped off his face and chest, then sent it through his hair.

Her face changed, her eyes caressing him as if he’d somehow distracted her. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how drying his hair made her look at him like that. “Walking,” she said, her voice uneven.

“With a gun?” he countered and prowled toward her. That’s how he felt right now, aroused, heat suffusing him inside and out, primal. The fire felt good on his damp skin.

Her chin came up, her eyes flashing. “For protection. You never know when you’ll need to shove a gun under a crazy guy’s chin.”

“Touché.” He gave her a sly grin.

She shook her head. He couldn’t disagree with her.

“Yeah, a Glock 9mm, the kind of gun government agents carry.”

“I think you really need to mind your own business,” she said.

“I was never really good at that.”

“Just because you saved my life, doesn’t mean I have to tell you anything.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and crap a better argument than that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Tell me how you downed that big guy. I don’t think the government job you have is pushing papers.”

He looked away his jaw flexing. “I’m a Navy SEAL.”

Her jaw dropped open, and she just stared at him.” “Seriously? A Navy SEAL? Got the trident and everything?”

He took a breath at her skeptical look. “Yeah, I got the trident and the call name, too.”

Her hands went to her hips. “A call name?”

“Kid Chaos.”

She closed her eyes as if she was remembering every moment he’d spent kissing her. “That I believe,” she whispered. She sighed heavily and look worried. “You’re an active SEAL?” At his nod, she went and folded down on the couch and dropped her head into her hands.

“Yeah, I’m on leave. Why is this a problem?” Damn, was she doing something illegal? He didn’t want to bust her, he wanted to jump her bones.

“It’s not a problem,” she said, but it was clear to him that she was lying.

He strode across the room, his anger and sexual frustration pumping through him. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Paige. What is going on here?”

She stood up and said, “I have to make a phone call.” She left the room, and he just stood there wondering what the hell was going on.