Pursued. Catherine Mann

doesn’t seem to be your strong suit, either.”

      A rusty laugh rolled out in a lomcevak tumble. “Exactly what I like about you.”

      “I’m not following.”

      “You don’t kiss my ass just because once upon a time I flew some pretty missions.”

      His answer made sense and confused her all at once. “I respect the work you accomplished.”

      “But not who I am now.”

      The scent of leather and eucalyptus swirled inside her. She needed to leave. Now. “Who you are doesn’t matter to me. How you work does. And I’ve yet to see any work accomplished to judge.”

      Draping his elbow on the back of his seat, he gripped the edge of hers with one hand while plucking the dog from her other. “Yeah, I like your take-no-shit attitude. And I like the fact that you’re straight up with me. Makes me trust you more and that’s a good thing. But honest to God, you need to wash some starch out of your spine.”

      She bristled, more Josephine-prickly than that cactus patch by his garage. Who the hell did he think he was? And she couldn’t afford to say squat back.

      He dropped the Beanie Baby back in the cup holder. “I know this mission is important to you, and I’m not diminishing what you do. But even with my feet nailed to the ground like they are, I could wade through your paperwork on this test halfway to snoring. Or half-drunk.”

      She couldn’t stop her Josephine sniff.

      “That’s right, Buttercup. I’m a rude, washed-up test pilot who drinks too much and doesn’t shave enough. And, yeah, I snore, since my eardrums and sinuses blew out on that last flight.” He stopped short, his hard weathered face freezing. “Ah, shit. Forget it. I’m outta here.”

      Diego reached for the door handle. Remorse, empathy and something else she didn’t want to examine stirred.

      “Wait!” She grabbed his arm.

      He could have shaken her off easily. But he stopped, staying in the seat.

      “I really didn’t mean to come off all judgmental. I haven’t walked in your shoes so I’ve got no room to—”

      Diego shushed her with a pointed look down at her hand on his arm.

      Her fingers slid away.

      He canted closer, hand returning to the back of her seat, a whisper away from her neck. “I meant it when I said I like your straight talk. You can feel free to tell me to go to hell when I get out of line and it won’t affect my report.”

      He grazed one knuckle along the vulnerable curve of her neck, slowly, deliberately, his skin every bit as hot as she’d imagined. “But don’t ever, ever flash that damn little pity look my way again. Because if you do, I guarantee I’ll be kissing it off your face so thoroughly you won’t be able to think about anything except getting naked together. Understand?”

      The fire in his skin and eyes dried her mouth until she could only nod.

      Silently, he backed away and out of the car. He slammed the door shut, holding on to the open window for one final shot. “And in case you were wondering, I was definitely hitting on you that time. Next move’s yours, Buttercup.”