Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2 by Rebecca Crowley Page B

concerned by the prevalence of firearms underground. There were two more cabinets like the one they found in the first refuge, and when he confronted a mineworker carrying a rifle over his shoulder the man explained in broken English that he was a shift leader, as though that explained his need for a loaded weapon.
    He sighed, shifting his weight as he recalled the crease of concern that spliced Nicola’s forehead, her distracted mutter about needing to phone the regional compliance manager. He’d taken this job expecting to do a demonstration or two on explosives safety techniques, double-check the security procedures, maybe point out a faulty metal detector and be done with it. If he’d known he’d be prying automatic weapons away from untrained mineworkers he would’ve asked for a lot more money.
    There was a light rap on the other side of the door, then Nicola’s muffled voice telling him she was done. He stepped forward and the door swung open to reveal Nicola’s reddened cheeks, her hair dampened to the color of rust, hands clutching a too-short towel that barely made it from her breasts to the tops of her thighs.
    He clenched his teeth, jerking his gaze to the ground. “Sorry, I didn’t–”
    “It’s my fault, I was so distracted with everything underground I left my clothes in my locker.” She rolled her eyes and motioned toward the shower. “All yours.”
    He had to laugh at her dismissal, adjusting the hard hat so the brim shaded his eyes. “Do you really think I’m going to let you walk all the way back to the changing room like that?”
    She arched a brow. “I didn’t realize I needed to ask for permission.”
    “Be sensible. There are two thousand people on this site, maybe five of whom are female. After twelve hours digging up rock, a view like that would test even the best man’s impulse control.”
    “Are you suggesting I’m responsible for other people’s abilities to restrain themselves?”
    “Of course not. I’m suggesting I walk back with you so you don’t have to choose between a one-handed defense and a dropped towel.”
    Something in her expression changed, darkened, and she took a step closer, bare feet leaving damp footprints in the dusty earth. She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she looked up at him, blue eyes clear and searching.
    “You dismantle bombs for a living. How do I know I’m safe with you?”
    “You don’t.”
    “Except, I do. And that bothers me.” She tugged on the edge of the towel, unwittingly exposing another half inch of the porcelain-perfect curve of her breasts.
    He cleared his throat, dragging his gaze up to her face. “Why is that?”
    “I’m not the trusting type.” She tilted her head. “How do you do it?”
    “Earn your trust?”
    She smiled. “Defuse bombs. I thought I was hot shit being able to give presentations to hotel ballrooms full of shareholders, but there were no explosives involved.”
    It was his turn to smile as they regarded each other with burgeoning warmth, the momentary silence broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the creak of the shower door as a light breeze swung it on its hinges.
    He liked this woman. He liked her a lot. And not in the way he was used to, not with the lusty, thrill-of-the-chase exuberance that usually marked the beginning of his infrequent and always fleeting affairs. He was incredibly attracted to her sexually, yes, but that attraction already brought with it a set of emotional complexities he hadn’t foreseen. He wanted to sleep with her, sure. But he also wanted to make her laugh, to learn all about her life in America, to find out how she’d gotten so tough yet stayed so kind. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to support her.
    He wanted to get her out of this hole in one piece.
    “I don’t think about it. I’d lose my nerve if I did. Empty mind.” He tapped the side of his hard hat. “And steady hands.” He extended his right hand in the air between them, palm