Valentine's CYOA, Chapter 6

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Chapter Six

“We have to cross it.”

“No way in hell.” I took a step back. “Don’t you dare push me, Pretty Boy.”

He reached out and grabbed a fist full of my shirt. “My name is Jayson Brant. Special Agent Jayson Brant. And we cross this river or we die.”

I howled in pain. He’d grabbed more than just my shirt. Let’s just say I should’ve worn my padded push-up bra this evening. And I would have, too, had I known a hunk as gorgeous as this one was going to ring my doorbell—only without all the guns in tow. But no, I was wearing my skimpy lace bra that hooked in the front and offered zero protection to my poor nipple.

“Quiet!” His breath blew scorching hot in my ear as he nearly pressed his lips against it. “Now they’ll know just where to find us.”

I gritted my teeth, if only to keep from screaming in agony. “Nice to meet you, Agent Brant. Now would you please let go of my nip—I mean shirt!”

He released his death grip. I rubbed the flat of my palm over my sore shir—I mean nipple.

He lowered his head as if to look at my hand, and I self-consciously snatched it away. Sheesh. I’m not exactly in the habit of feeling myself up in front of hot-looking guys. Or anyone, for that matter.

But maybe he didn’t notice—it was getting pretty dark now. “Listen to me, Cara—we have to cross that river.”

I gazed across the expanse of water to the opposite bank, as panic swelled in my throat. “How? I can’t swim. And aside from it being February, did my scummy backyard pool look as if I’d taken a dip recently?”

“Maybe I was too busy trying to avoid getting shot to notice the state of your pool. Never mind. We’d be sitting—or I should say paddling ducks anyway. What’s to stop those maniacs from shooting us while we cross it?” He glanced around. “All right, let’s keep following the river this way until we can figure a way out of here.” He grabbed my arm, his knuckles barely grazing the side of my breast. Hot excitement shot through me as I followed him, panting like a hound.

Was I lusting for this hunk, or was I just sweaty and out of breath from running for my pathetic life?

“Can’t you go any faster?” he asked.

“Hey, be thankful you rang my doorbell!” I shot back. “Maybe you’d rather have old Mrs. Peterson trying to keep up with you in her fluffy pink bunny slippers.”

“Mrs. Peterson doesn’t have the package,” he ground out. “You do.”

“Look, I’m telling you for the last time—” Though I had the bleckiest feeling I wasn’t even close to telling him for the last time, “—I don’t have ‘the package’!”

“You should’ve gotten it this morning. A big red, heart-shaped box delivered by a driver in a pink van.”

My heart tripped as I lurched to a halt. “Did you say a pink van?”

He let go of my arm and turned to face me. “Yeah, why?”

A )“Because I saw one pull up in front of Mrs. Peterson’s house this morning.” The driver, dressed in a bright red jumpsuit and red cap, had delivered the old lady a big heart-shaped box of chocolates. And to think I’d hoped that delivery was for me!

B) “Because I think I saw one—” I broke off my words as he swayed and clutched a hand to the side of his head. “Agent Brant, are you all right?”

He gasped for breath. “Cara . . . remember when I was bleeding from the head in . . . the car . . . ? Well, I think . . .”

C) All I could blurt out was, “Who in their right mind drives around in a pink van? What sort of dumb secret agency do you work for, anyway?”

“The same one that’s been watching that little sleep clinic where you work. It seems they’re also into—” And then a gunshot cracked through the woods.

D) I stared at him in shock.

“Cara, answer me. Did you see a pink van, or didn’t you?” Irritation simmered beneath the surface of his hot, sexy baritone.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He grabbed my arm again, only this time his knuckles didn’t brush the side of my breast. “When, Cara? Where?”

And then a glaring light suddenly flashed in our faces. “Freeze, both of you!” bellowed a man’s voice.

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