He touched her gun. Amanda stiffened her spine and resisted the reflex to struggle. Wells pushed the rifle muzzle down and took one very brave step forward. It brought them within inches of one another and raised the temperature in the tunnel by at least seventy percent. She inhaled. Big mistake—she could smell his sweat, a faint hint of spice. Screw blushing—her face burned now and she had no way to hide it. Wells stared into her eyes and leaned in, pinning her to the wall.

He might have shot her. Her defenses fell like a house of cards, and his hand on her gun rendered her weapon completely useless. He could have snapped her neck, could have easily knocked her hard enough to put her out of his misery. He’d be right to fire her ass.

He kissed her instead. Wells leaned in, fast, and pressed his lips against hers. Amanda’s nerves lit up like a flare. Her body rocked forward into him, responding on its own, and Wells met it halfway. His mouth opened enough to brush his tongue against her lips. They parted and let out a soft whimper, enough for Wells to push the kiss deeper. He burned through her. Her skin flamed and tingled all the way down, under a layer of heavy armor, poly-skin and sweat. She moved her mouth against his and felt each flick of his tongue like a spark.

Her pulse pounded, pulsed and moved her body on autopilot. Her free hand grasped at his shoulder, dragging him even closer. The arm holding her rifle dipped under the pressure of his hand. She arched her spine and pressed their chests together.