Raw Power

by Jackie Ashenden

  But clearly, he was a man of many talents because when hunger had finally driven her from her bedroom, she’d found a meal of steak, fries, and a fresh, crisp salad waiting on the kitchen counter for her.

  He was nowhere to be seen so she’d wolfed down the meal and then hurried back to her room, wanting to avoid him.

  Which has got nothing at all to do with that moment in the kitchen.

  Callie tried focusing on music in her head and not on that little reminder. Which wasn’t anything, of course. Just a weird, tense moment where she’d looked into Jack’s glittering green eyes and seen something . . . hot. Something that had made her catch her breath, made a fine electrical current wash over her skin and her pulse beat suddenly loud in her head.

  She’d been aware then, as she had been the moment he’d walked into her house, of how small her kitchen seemed, of how small her whole place seemed, when he was in it. His long, lean, rangy body appeared to take up more than its fair share of space, as well as all the air, and she’d felt hemmed in, caged somehow, and she’d had to leave, get away from him and the disturbing things he was making her feel.

  The rest of that day, she’d stayed in her bedroom and she saw no need to come out. She already felt invaded by those fucking cameras, and now there was another person in her house, a virtual stranger who was supposed to be guarding her 24/7, and that felt invasive too.

  Yeah, her bedroom was pretty much the only place she could go where she could relax, where she could breathe. Where there weren’t strangers impinging on her, or one lean, powerful, annoying, and disturbing guy watching her every move.

  But even in her bedroom, she didn’t feel totally secure. She couldn’t grab her guitar and play a few chords the way she wanted to, because then he’d hear her. He’d already watched her frantically scrambling to pick up all the pieces of paper she wrote snatches of music and song lyrics down on the day before, and she’d been so worried he was going to ask what they were. But he hadn’t, thank God. He might if he heard her playing, though, and she didn’t want to explain that to him.

  Weren’t you supposed to be seeing whether you can trust him?

  Oh yeah, that had been the plan. And yet here she was, hanging out in her bedroom like a coward.

  Abruptly the banging outside stopped and silence fell.

  Callie gave up humming and leaned back against her headboard, listening. Voices drifted down the hall, Jack’s deep and commanding, probably issuing yet more orders.

  He’d been in the Marines, he’d said yesterday, which made absolute sense to her, because it was obvious he was some kind of military guy. He’d told her, too, about the scars and how it had taken him two years to recover, and how he wasn’t able to serve anymore. There had been a gleam of pain in his eyes and a faint, bitter edge to his voice that told her he wasn’t happy about not serving.

  Clearly, the military had been important to him and still was, even though he wasn’t able to be part of it any longer.

  She sighed, turning over the memory in her head, not sure why it kept sticking there, but not being able to stop thinking about it all the same.

  Her apology for her behavior at the club had been awkward, and obviously, talking about his injuries and the fact that he wasn’t a marine anymore had made him angry, but there had been no need for him to throw it back in her face, had there? She was only trying to be nice, trying to be Senator Hawthorne’s good daughter. And instead, she’d gotten into an argument with him, about him calling her “Princess” of all things.

  You liked arguing with him though. You liked pushing him.

  She took a shaky little breath, trying to deny the truth of it, yet knowing there was no point. Because she did like it. She liked it a lot.

  The voices in the hallway got fainter and then she heard the front door shut.

  Finally. Was that it? Had they all gone? Could she go out and reclaim her house again? Not that she could. Not when he was still lurking around.

  So what? You’re going to hide out in your bedroom for the foreseeable future?

  Good point. This was her house, not his. And okay, it was small, and since it was only one bedroomed, there weren’t any other places he could go, but maybe he could leave her in peace for a couple of hours? Surely it would be safe, especially now that the place was locked up tighter than Fort Knox.

  He has been leaving you in peace, you idiot.

  Callie pulled a face and ignored the thought, slipping off her bed and going to the door, opening it up a crack. The hallway that led to her bedroom and the bathroom was clear, the only sound the rush of water from the bathroom.

  Clearly, Jack was having a shower or something.

  She went down the hallway and out into the living area, looking around, disgruntled and irritated, because the whole place was clean and tidy in a way it never usually was.

  Annoying. She kept it messy for a reason. It was one of the only small, safe rebellions she had, her choice to either pick up her stuff or not, and mainly she didn’t because her father hated mess of any kind. It did her heart good to know he would hate the state of her home if he ever came to visit.

  She let out a sharp breath. Well, he probably did know the state of her place, considering those cameras. Had it annoyed him to see how untidy she kept her house? Had it enraged him? She hoped so. She hoped it gave him an apoplexy every time he happened to look.

  It didn’t help her mood to know that Jack had cleaned up without asking. That he’d been touching her things without permission. He’d come in like he’d owned the place, tidying up and cooking her food as though he had every right to be there....

  Hey, settle the hell down. You’re supposed to be nice to him, remember? Getting him on your side so you can escape finally?

  Oh, she hadn’t forgotten. But this was her place and she was territorial about it. And she didn’t want him thinking he could do whatever he liked here simply because he happened to be guarding her.

  She wanted to be alone, dammit. She wanted to curl up on her couch with her guitar and play some songs.

  Dad will know about that, too.

  But Callie couldn’t bear to contemplate that right now, so she shoved the thought out of her head, turning to the hallway instead and going back down it.

  She stopped outside the bathroom door, preparing to yell her demands through the wood, and then realized it was open a crack and that she could see someone moving through it.

  Jack.

  She should move away. She shouldn’t look. Especially considering the irony of her about to yell at him about respecting her privacy.

  Yet she couldn’t seem to move. She was frozen in place, her attention glued to that small space through which she could see a man standing there, water sliding over his skin as he lifted a towel to dry his hair.

  He had his back to her, only half of his body visible, but it was enough for her to see that he was completely naked.

  Her pulse began to accelerate, her breath catching. She’d never seen a naked man before—at least not in real life—and this man . . . God . . . there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, revealing in perfect detail the mesmerizing flex and release of his muscles as he dried his hair. Her gaze drifted lower, down to his muscular butt and long, powerful thighs.

  He was beautiful, a work of art. Raw power covered in taut, tanned skin.

  He half turned, reaching for something, giving her a glimpse of an equally muscular chest, and she was sure she saw something tattooed across it. And not only his chest, there was something tattooed down the whole of his left side, brightly colored ink even curling around to his ass, too.

  She stared, unable to help herself, trying to figure out what it was, because it was beautiful and yet terrible at the same time, his skin discolored and twisted at the top of his thigh where it met his hip. As if the muscle had wasted away or as if he was missing part of his leg.

  Then it hit her.

  She was looking at scar tissue. With a tattoo laid over the top of it. />
  “I don’t mind you looking at me, Princess,” Jack said without glancing toward the door. “But I’d prefer it if you announced yourself first.”

  Hot shock gripped her. Oh shit. Had he known she was there this whole time?

  She wanted to brazen it out, perhaps even push open the door to get a better look, but her face was burning with embarrassment, and she felt ashamed of herself for looking at him. For seeing those terrible, terrible scars.

  And for liking what you saw, not forgetting that.

  Her cheeks flamed even hotter at that thought and she’d turned from the door and scuttled down the hallway to the living room before she could stop herself.

  Her heartbeat pounded and she wished that she’d gone in the other direction, to her bedroom instead of the living room, where there was a door to shut and she didn’t have to face him. But it was too late now, because knowing her luck she’d probably run into him on the way there and then she’d be stuck in the hallway with him looming over her, with all those perfect, perfect muscles....

  What’s so wrong about that? You want to touch him.

  She took a breath, her hands clenched in fists, trying to get her racing pulse under control. She didn’t know what to do or how to handle these feelings. This conflicting need she had to fight him and yet touch him at the same time. To shove him away and yet pull him close. It made no sense and it frightened her for reasons she didn’t understand.

  She’d never been attracted to a man before, or at least not like this. As a teenager, she’d had crushes, but since she’d gone to an exclusive girls’ school, there wasn’t as much opportunity to do anything about them. And then as an adult, she simply hadn’t met anyone she’d liked enough.

  That her father had plans for her she understood. He’d mentioned more than once that he had friends he knew she would like and who would like her. Supportive friends. Supportive meaning deep pockets and a willingness to donate whatever they found in those pockets toward a certain campaign.

  Knowing that, it seemed pointless to want anyone she couldn’t have. Especially when she knew, without a doubt, that her father would put a stop to it. Not fair to her and not fair to whoever she happened to set her sights on.

  Yet another decision you don’t get to make.

  The thought sat in her head, glaring and persistent. And it stayed there as she heard the bathroom door shut, a silence, and then Jack was in the living area, moving noiselessly on his feet.

  Her face flamed all over again, even though he was dressed, because now that she knew what he looked like naked, she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.

  He had on a pair of worn jeans and a black T-shirt, nothing special, and his feet were bare, which should have made him look less dangerous, but didn’t. And she had the thought that there was probably nothing in the entire universe that could make Jack King look anything less than the lethal weapon he so obviously was.

  It was there in the way the cotton of his T-shirt pulled tight over his chest and the denim stretched over his powerful thighs. In the corded muscle of his forearms and the taut way he held himself, as if he was ready to either pull a weapon or jump in front of a bullet at a moment’s notice.

  It did things to her. It made her breath catch the way it had when she’d looked at him through the bathroom door. And then, when his green gaze met hers, it made all the remaining air in her lungs exhale in a sharp rush.

  Come on, idiot. Pull yourself together.

  “I’m sorry,” she babbled helplessly. “I didn’t mean to look.”

  “Again with the apology. You can only say sorry so many times, Princess.”

  No, she wouldn’t let him get to her. And she wasn’t going to get into another pointless argument. She would simply tell him that she didn’t want him cleaning up after her, and that she’d like a few hours privacy. Because this was her house. It wasn’t his.

  Callie lifted her chin. “Now those people have gone, I want to talk to you.”

  His scarred brow twitched. “About?”

  “I don’t want you cleaning up after me. I don’t want you touching my stuff. It’s my house and I make the rules here, not you.”

  He straightened, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “As long as it doesn’t impact on your security, I have no issue with that.”

  “Good. Then you don’t need to—”

  “But shit lying all over the floor is a security issue,” he went on straight over the top of her. “It’s dangerous. If we have to get out of here in a hurry, I don’t want you tripping over shoes or clothes or whatever ever else is on the floor. Escape routes need to be kept clear.”

  Of course he’d have an answer. He always did, fuck him.

  A peculiar little rush of emotion went through her. Anger and a certain recklessness that made her open her mouth, heedless of what came out. “Oh sure, I’ll make sure the escape routes are clear. But you’re to keep your goddamn hands off my stuff, understand me?”

  He stared at her, his gaze like a searchlight sweeping over her, shining into the dark places of her soul, illuminating them.

  And she stared back, daring him to come at her, to fight her, because suddenly she was shaking, the confusing mass of emotion that had been building over the past couple of days running like wildfire through her veins.

  “So you like living in a pigsty?” Jack’s voice was harsh, scraping over nerve endings rubbed raw.

  “I’m not explaining myself to you.” Looking directly into his eyes was like looking into the sun. They were too bright, too intense. They hurt her. But she wasn’t backing down. No fucking way. “This is my house and what I say goes. I want you to leave my stuff the hell alone!”

  She wasn’t prepared for him to move. She wasn’t prepared for the way he closed the distance between them, so fast she had no chance to pull back. And she wasn’t prepared when he reached out and took her chin between his calloused fingers, flinching instinctively.

  Jack’s grip was like iron; she couldn’t pull away. And this time his searchlight gaze felt like it was consuming her whole. “I think you’d better tell me what’s going on, Princess,” he said. “Because something is.”

  It was an order, she knew it, and there was a part of her that desperately wanted to obey him. That wanted to tell him all about her father and his control over her life. About how she was a prisoner and how she didn’t know how she’d survived this long, but maybe she couldn’t last that much longer.

  But that was a fear she couldn’t admit to anyone, let alone to someone as strong as he was. Besides, she’d been carrying the weight of it so long, she didn’t know how to put it down.

  Except he’d cornered her and there was only one way out of the trap.

  A way she’d been fantasizing about since she’d first laid eyes on him.

  She put her hands on his hard, hot chest, rose up on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his.

  CHAPTER 7

  It took a lot to surprise Jack these days. But apparently, all it took to shock the hell out of him was one curvy little woman going up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

  It was like being struck by lightning. It paralyzed him.

  The first time he’d had a woman’s mouth on his since . . . fuck he couldn’t remember the last time. The first time he’d felt the press of soft lips and the sweet give of a woman’s body against his own since forever.

  But no, it wasn’t simply about a woman, any woman.

  It was about Callie specifically and he knew it.

  This was the first time she’d touched him voluntarily.

  There was a second where he simply stood there, poleaxed by the heat of her mouth against his. By the feel of her small, curvy body so close to his own. It made him ache and for a change it wasn’t the vicious, nagging ache of agony, but something sweeter, hotter, and much more bearable.

  He’d only wanted to talk to her, get her to tell what the fuck was going on with her, because he was sick of her hiding. She’d been hiding for th
e past couple of days, down in her bedroom, and he’d let her. He’d thought she’d needed some time alone since it was obvious she hated having people in her place. She hated having him there too, that was just as obvious.

  But this whole not wanting him to tidy shit up, yeah, that didn’t make any sense. She was being territorial and sure, he got it. But the sense that there was another, deeper issue at play here hadn’t gone away, and given how she’d flinched away from him just now, it had to be something pretty serious.

  He should be following up on that, but it was as if his thoughts had turned to taffy, become sluggish and thick, yet slippery and hard to hold on to at the same time.

  That sweet sugar scent of hers was tantalizing him and he wanted to know if she tasted the way she smelled. If her mouth tasted like that, or her skin. Or her pussy, because he’d love to spread her open on the floor right there, put his head between her thighs, and eat her out until she screamed.

  She’s small, breakable. Fragile. You’ll fucking hurt her, you know you will. You want to.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  It took everything he had to force the thoughts away, to crush the desire until it was so small inside him that he could ignore it, but he did it. Then he lifted one hand and slid his fingers into the softness of her hair, cradling the back of her head, fisting all those silky strands and pulling her away from him.

  She blinked up at him from beneath her lashes.

  Blue. That’s the color her eyes went when she was aroused. A dark, deep sapphire.

  Need sunk its claws into him, so deep he could hardly breathe. The wildness in her gaze was there again and he wanted it. He wanted it so badly it was like pain.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he growled, his voice rough as a gravel road. “Not if you don’t want consequences.”

  She blinked again, as if she was coming out of a daze. As if she had no idea what she’d done. “I don’t know . . . I mean, I didn’t . . .” Her hands were still pressed against his chest and he could feel the heat of her palms through his T-shirt. His cock was rock hard and his fucking lungs still wouldn’t inflate and his pulse was out of control.