Page 66 of Elite Metal: Warriors

She had to grin. Chemistry.

Lithium.

His codename was stupid. George was better, though, if she were being honest, he did not look like a George.

Even George Clooney paled in comparison.

She shivered as she remembered how hard his body had been when he’d pressed against her in the stairwell. How hard his cock had been. She allowed herself a moment of fantasy where they rubbed against each other without the barrier of their clothing. In bed.

She flicked a glance at the bed, mentally measuring it. It was a queen-sized mattress. That was good. But he was a large man. Would there be room for both of them? Maybe she’d have to be on top—

With a groan, she forced those thoughts from her head. Was he hot? Yes, he was. Did she want him? Definitely. If there was a chance to tangle with him, would she take it? Hell yeah.

It was probably just a logical response to the stress, to want him. No doubt a good, hard fucking would do them both some good.

Again, her attention drifted. It took some effort to pull it back to the task at hand. With great determination, she surveyed the staples he’d chosen. As the items registered, she snorted. Lots of hot dogs, pancake mix, snack crackers, canned cheese and jerky.

All junk food. Not a piece of fruit or a vegetable in the lot. What she wouldn’t give for a wheel of brie.

One should never let a man do the shopping.

With hopes high, she turned to the final bag and peered inside. She couldn’t hold back a grimace. There were a bunch of Peeps on top. She dug down deeper. More Peeps. And more.

With a scowl she dumped the contents of the bag on the counter. It was full of marshmallow Santas, reindeer and snowmen.

Seriously?

The door opened and he stepped in, shaking the snow from his hair. She growled at him. “A whole bag of Peeps?”

He fixed an innocent expression on his face. “I like them.”

“We cannot survive on sugar.”

“There’s hot dogs too.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you know what they put in hot dogs?”

“Dogs?”

She ignored his jest. “No one knows. That’s what they put in hot dogs.”

“You’re an analyst. You could probably find out.”

“But I don’t want to find out.” She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to eat them. “Couldn’t you at least have gotten something good?”

“This is all good.” He swept an arm over the collection of crap. Actual crap.

“There’s not one thing here that’s nutritious in the slightest.”

He pointed mutely to a can of soup.

“Sodium.”

Dried meat-flavored snacks.

“Nitrates.”

The can of cheese.