Page 12 of Down & Dirty: Reaper

“You’re playing with fire, Clay Wyatt,” she warned. Shocked at how husky her voice sounded, she cleared her throat.

He turned his head to stare at her, then dropped a bomb that could potentially blow up her world. “I’m not worried about getting burned, Violet Dougherty.”

He might not be, but she was.

Being attracted to one of her employees was one thing; acting on that attraction was quite another.

Reaper was a great addition to her team. He was smart, extremely skilled, never had an “I’m better than you” attitude, and the fact that he was a decorated sniper vet was a bonus. Tonight was a good example of that. While her whole crew trained with their weapons regularly, not one could pick off a threat from umpteen yards away.

Taking out those threats from a distance kept everyone safe.

All of that meant, as much as she wanted to jump his bones, she knew it would not be in her best interest to do so. It could fuck up the team’s dynamics. Especially if their situationship ended up turning sour.

No, he was worth more to her as an employee than a quick fuck. Or even a short-term lover.

But the man was sexy as fuck and she’d had some pretty naughty dreams about him. When she woke up in a sweat, she usually had to take matters into her own hands to take off that restless edge.

Of course, it wasn’t the same as the real thing. The real thing was sitting next to her, sharing a moment and a beer, tempting her.

The night air vibrated around them. Yes, they flirted. A lot. All in good fun. But it was difficult to ignore the sexual tension between them. It had been there since the first time he sat across the desk from her for his initial interview.

“Burns are difficult to heal from,” she murmured, using her thumbnail to pick at the corner of the bottle’s label.

“They’re a risk, for sure.”

His southern accent was long gone and he once again sounded like a typical western Pennsylvania resident with no distinct accent at all. The switch was impressive but, unfortunately, that didn’t make him any less desirable to her.

“My mother always kissed my skinned knees to make them feel better.”

“Does that work on burns, too?” she asked.

“Not sure. It’s something that might need to be tested.”

“Except I’m not your mother.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he grumbled.

She should just say fuck it and throw all caution and care to the wind. They were clearly attracted to each other and they were also adults. Adults could handle an uncommitted quickie, right?

She sure as hell hoped so. If not, she was about to make a huge, huge, huge mistake by leaning closer. “I don’t want you to feel neglected,” she whispered. The alarm bells going off in her head were deafening but she ignored them, anyway, when she whispered, “Clay.”

She couldn’t make herself call him Reaper when they were about to kiss. It didn’t fit the situation and might ruin the moment.

Unless she ultimately died from orgasms.

Though, death by orgasm would be considered awkward, too.

Other than tonight, the only other time she had ever used his real name was during his interview. Once she had gone over the initial details, he had shared his military call name and asked her to use that.

Of course, she obliged. Military nicknames weren’t much different from road names. They were usually chosen for a specific reason, whether by the person themselves or others on their team. The same with road names. Chill and Trouble never picked theirs but once others began to call Zeke and Zane by them as prospects, those names stuck. Though, Zeke had been trying like hell recently to shed the implication he was nothing but trouble.

The jury was currently out on if her cousin would succeed.

“Vi,” he whispered back. At least he hadn’t called her boss. That might’ve put a damper on things, too.

“Normally I’d say this is a bad idea but right now I have zero fucks to give.”

“That might be the beer talking.”