He watched her, eyes fixed on her face. “You’re tired,” he said gently, reaching out a long finger to touch what she knew would be the bruised flesh under her eyes. God knows she’d seen enough of that in the mirror this past year. “Do you want me to take you back to your hotel?”
Such as easy question, with no easy answer.
Yes, please, I am dying to get into my nightgown, crawl into the unfamiliar bed and stare at the ceiling until a shallow, troubled sleep takes me around three in the morning, during which I will probably be woken up by a nightmare. My favourite.
Or—no, God no. Take me home with you, get me naked and have wild monkey sex with me.
Whoa. Where had that come from? Never over-sexed at the best of times, Claire had spent the past year essentially dead from the neck down, in a sexless, utterly manless place.
She didn’t want him to take her home and throw her on the sofa and have his wild way with her. What she wanted was to be a woman who wanted that, a woman with a few hormones floating around in her system.
Her head hurt.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Back to the hotel, please.”
Dan obviously ran a tab because they didn’t go through the whole check and tip thing. He simply gave some kind of invisible signal and a waiter appeared with their coats. A minute later they were walking to his car.
It was freezing cold. The stars were like glistening diamonds in the clear black sky overhead. The sidewalk was slippery with ice. Claire wasn’t used to cold weather anymore and looked down to watch her feet.
And then she realized she didn’t need to. Dan had curled his arm through hers, his muscular frame warm and solid at her side. Claire knew, with a sure animal instinct, that she would never slip and fall with Dan Weston by her side. She was perfectly okay as long as he was there.
After a minute, she relaxed and enjoyed the cold air against her face after the heat of the restaurant.
The last of her nausea cleared away in the chill night air. With Dan walking beside her, strong, focused, and attentive, panic attacks seemed far, far away. Through her clothes and his she could feel strength and heat, the kind of strength and heat that was contagious, that she was able to borrow for a while. The best kind.
They approached the BMW and Dan put his hand in his coat pocket. The vehicle suddenly popped to life, headlights flashing, doors unlocking, like a living thing glad to see its master.
Dan opened the passenger door and helped her inside. She was still arranging her big down coat around her knees when he got into the driver’s seat.
He gave her a brief glance then bent to turn the key in the ignition. It was so cold their breaths created white clouds around their heads.
“It’ll warm up in a second.” He turned to her and pulled her seat belt out and down, clicking it into place.
Then he lifted his head. They were almost nose to nose, and the expression on his face took her breath away.
Pure sex. Pure male desire. That’s what she saw on his hard features. Their eyes met. Held.
He was utterly still. A muscle twitched over his cheekbone.
He wanted her and she had no idea what to do with that knowledge. Her mind was completely fogged up, more than usual. His desire and hers twining in a complex mix of emotions she had no idea how to untangle.
Her desire.
That was another shocker.
He wanted her and she wanted him right back, but for all the wrong reasons. Because he was so hot he melted the icy chill that surrounded her. Because he had strong hands that wouldn’t let her fall. Because he was completely, gloriously sane and she was… she was slightly loony on her best day. Because he was a Marine and was guaranteed to make her feel safe when she woke up at three in the morning, alone and terrified, with the echo of danger and voices clamouring in her head.
Those were not good reasons to take a man to your bed.
His dark eyes travelled down her face to her mouth, lingered there, then moved back up to her eyes. She’d felt his gaze like a caress, like a kiss. He was so dense with muscles it was like he exerted his own gravity field. Because she felt its tug so much, and wanted to fall forward into him, she pulled back. Not by much, just a slight shift of balance, but it was enough to trigger a release of the tension. Dan pulled back, too.
A minute later, they were on the road. The night was clear, inky black, frost riming cars and hedges and bare tree branches. Claire turned her head and stared out the window because the urge to stare at him was way too strong.
If she stared at him the way she wanted, she’d be sending him the exact opposite signal she’d sent by pulling back. Yes, no, yes, no… just another sign of her lunacy.
But oh, how Dan attracted the eye. Maybe it was because she hadn’t been near a man except for her father and doctors for a year, but he seemed to her to encompass everything wonderful about his gender.
Claire had always liked men. She’d missed the company of men this past year, terribly.
And here was the malest man she’d come up against in a long time, making his intentions clear. She could have his company for as long as she wanted it, which was nice, but sex was going to be thrown into the pot, which was theoretically nice, but…
She simply had no idea whether she was up to it. Whether her weakened body could withstand sweaty sex, whether her weakened mind would bear up under the stress. Oh, God. She had no idea of anything, except for the fact that she was a mess.
Better to just shut up.
Dan seemed comfortable with silence, though, and found no need to fill the void with guy talk or even seduction talk. He simply drove, easily and well, checking on her from time to time.
Claire remembered a saying an Italian—a very handsome, very drunk young Tuscan cultural attaché—had once told her when trying to wheedle her into bed. Una parola è poco, due sono troppe. One word isn’t enough, two are too many.
So she held her peace, enjoying the heated cabin as the luxurious car arrowed its way through the dark, cold streets, enjoying the feeling of being taken somewhere without having to arrange it or worry about it.
The soft hum of the powerful engine lulled her into a pleasant lassitude. Dan rolled to a gentle stop and killed the engine.
“We’re here,” his deep voice announced.
A streetlight cast enough light into the cabin to see him by. In the penumbra, the strong features only half-lit, he looked almost exotic, skin the bronze of an ancient weapon. Deep-set eyes, high cheekbones, firm mouth. Strong sinewy hands still holding the steering wheel. Shoulders so broad they cut off her view of the street at he turned to her, watching her.
Oh, God.
The temptation to ask him inside, to take him into her room, was so strong she had to clench her teeth against it.
This man, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, could make her forget her problems. Sex with him would burn away all thoughts of the bombing a year ago and all memories of this past cold, lonely year.
When he opened her door and her feet touched the ground, their eyes met in an electric moment of perfect understanding.
He wanted her. What she was going to do about it was up to her.
In about three seconds, Claire was going to have to take a decision, a big one. An important one. One that would have consequences.
She’d been used to making decisions in her job. Big ones. Important ones. Fully aware that they had consequences, and serious ones. A wrong report and all hell could break loose.
Like when she hadn’t seen the Red Army coming.
But ordinarily, she felt more than up to the task of deciding, of assessing a situation and coming down on one side or the other, because she had always had a strong feeling for which side was the right one.
Right now, it felt utterly impossible. Her mind was split into two parts. Yes. No. Yes. No.
Yes. Wow. If Dan Weston lived up to his appearance and the vibes he gave out, he’d be amazing in bed. And oh, how she could do with some hot sex, hot enough
to take her out of herself, warm her up from the inside out. Make her forget. Drown her in sensuality. Oh, yeah.
No. No, of course not. Was she crazy? Well, yes, she was, that was the whole problem. Dan had the right to make love to a whole woman, a woman whose elevator reached the top floor.
Was her body even, um, up to it? Her hipbone had been shattered in a million pieces and was held together with titanium pins. So many she set off metal detectors at airports. She’d only been walking for five months. He was a heavy, vigorous man. Maybe sex was beyond her, maybe he’d break a bone or something.
Or, worse, maybe she’d become shrivelled or something, inside. Maybe she’d end up not being able to do it. Or maybe she could manage it and then she’d fall asleep, only to wake up terrified and sweaty from a nightmare.
Man, that would be guaranteed to send him screaming into the night…
Claire’s head was swirling by the time they made to the front desk, and she still wasn’t any closer to a decision.
She waited a moment for the porter to show, frowning slightly. He’d struck her as a very conscientious young man who wouldn’t desert the front desk, but who knew?
Well, the keys were hanging on a board to the left. As a matter of fact, all ten keys were there. Either there were no other guests or they were all out to dinner.
She stretched out a hand and a second later, Claire was on the floor with a ton of man on top of her. A large, armed man. Somehow, Dan had conjured a big black weapon from out of nowhere. A Glock 19. A gun that meant business.
“Shh,” he whispered in her ear and she nodded. She wouldn’t have had the breath to talk, anyway. He was amazingly heavy and he covered her completely, head to toe.
So much for the fear that she couldn’t have sex because her bones might break. If her bones hadn’t broken now that he’d jumped on top of her, they sure wouldn’t during sex.
But sex was very far from Dan’s mind. She looked up at him, trying to take her cue about what was going on from his face.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.
He looked grim and hard, narrowed eyes quartering the room, just like a soldier would. One corner, blink to black, another, blink to black and so on. He was fast and thorough. After he’d searched, he lowered his head until his lips touched her ear. “Blood stains on the floor.” His voice was the merest whisper, and carried no further than her ear.
Claire nodded, understanding completely. Blood stains and no clerk at the front desk. It could mean anything, but mainly it could mean trouble. They’d both spent a lot of time in places where trouble was always the most likely explanation for any puzzling phenomenon, particularly where blood was involved.
Dan got off her, still crouching, and signalled her to come around the desk. She scooted as fast and as quietly as she could and crouched behind the desk. She could see it now, clearly. A trail of blood that led to a closed door which probably opened onto a back room.
Big gun at the ready, Dan gave another sweep of the room with his eyes and reached out to open the door to see where the blood trail led. The knob turned but the door would only open an inch or two. Something in the room was blocking the door. Claire’s eyes met his. She could feel her heart thudding.
Dan put his shoulder to the door and shoved, opening it enough to stick his head in. Claire saw the sole of a boot. Dan glanced down, then pulled the door quietly closed. His face was grimmer than before.
Claire felt sick to her stomach. The clerk had seemed like such a nice young man. What had happened? Drug dealers? A burglary gone bad?
Dan reached up to grab her key. Still crouching, Glock held as if it were an extension of his hand, he moved forward then stopped, frowning. Claire had him by the coat. She’d simply grabbed a hunk of material and grimly hung on. No way was he going exploring and leaving her here alone. She signalled urgently with her hands. I’m coming with you!
Dan’s jaws worked, processing that. He shrugged and gestured for her to remain behind him.
Claire scrambled up in a rush, careful not to make any noise. Yes, of course she’d stay right behind him. He was armed and she was not. He was a former soldier and she was a former desk jockey. She was crazy, not stupid.
Dan moved quietly into the lobby, Claire trailing him. A little brass plaque on the right-hand wall of a wide corridor said Rooms 1-10, with an arrow pointing down to the end. He stopped in front of each room and listened. Claire couldn’t hear anything over the thudding of her heart, but he seemed to be satisfied that the rooms were empty. There was a tiny space under the door of each room showing darkness.
He stopped in front of her room, number 7, and pointed at the bottom of the door. A faint light glimmered. He looked a question at her, and she shook her head sharply. She distinctly remembered turning out the light. She believed strongly in energy conservation. Not in her most crazy periods did she ever forget to turn out lights. It was ingrained behaviour.
The faintest sound penetrated the door. As if someone were… ripping something?
Someone was definitely in there.
Dan’s big arm flattened her against the wall several feet away from the door. He crouched and quietly inserted the key in the lock with his left hand, right hand gripping that big bad Glock. He twisted the key, pushed open the door and dove into the room.
For the second time in her life, Claire’s world exploded.
CHAPTER 7
There he was!
The fucker was ripping up the curtains. In his peripheral vision, Dan could see that he’d already trashed the room. The man had a weapon in a shoulder holster, and Dan rolled to the side, behind an armchair, before he could pull it.
A second passed, two. A lifetime in combat.
The man wasn’t shooting at him. There was only one door and Dan hadn’t heard glass shatter so the man hadn’t left.
Dan peered around and froze. The intruder had pulled a rifle with a scope to his eyes. A small rifle, an AR-7. Lightweight, small profile, easily concealable. The perfect hitman’s weapon. But why a goddamn scope in a room? And he wasn’t aiming at Dan, he was aiming at the wall.
What the fuck?
Two booms, loud in the small room. Dan flinched and closed his eyes at the shards of brick wall flying by, feeling the burn of small lacerations on his face and hands.
Goddamn!
The man knew Dan was crouching behind the sofa. If his rounds could penetrate a brick wall they sure as hell could go right through a foot of upholstery. He knew Dan was armed so why the hell was this bozo aiming at the wall…
It hit Dan like a sledgehammer upside the head. His blood froze. That wasn’t a scope fitted on to the rifle, it was a thermal imager. And he was aiming at Claire!
Dan didn’t dare stand up. He didn’t have body armor on, goddammit, so he couldn’t draw the man’s fire. Though he’d gladly take a bullet for her, if this guy was gunning for Claire, Dan couldn’t do her any good at all if he was dead or if he was gut or lung-shot.
He had to stay alive. The trick was to distract the man somehow.
Another round went into the wall and Dan gritted his teeth, feeling himself go into firefight slo-mo. Though everything was happening in the space of fractions of seconds, it felt like hours as he set up the geometry of things, aware that he was operating with only half his mind. The other half was mired in bright red waves of panic at the thought of a wounded Claire outside in the hallway. That slender body prone, still, bleeding.
Dan shoved the image back into the deepest corner of his brain. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need the image of a broken Claire in a hotel hallway flashing bright in his head. It distracted him, slowed him down.
He always kept his cool in a firefight but this was the first time he faced an opponent with split attention.
It was deadly. He had to focus and move fast if Claire was to have a chance of surviving this.
Dan jerked at the leg of a console table which was still upright. The fucker hadn’t gone after the furniture. M
aybe he hadn’t had time yet. The console tipped forward and he caught a big porcelain vase filled with silk flowers. He hefted it, jaws clenching. It was heavy. Good.
If he peeped around the corner, he’d get his head blown off, so he simply lobbed the heavy vase at where he had triangulated the man’s head to be and gave up a silent cry of victory as he heard the sounds of china shattering and a man’s low curses.
Glass shattered.
Dan rose, grim and ready, Glock up and firing, but a briefcase was sailing through the window and the man was diving after it through the glassless window frame. Dan rushed to the window, peering into the darkness of the hotel’s back garden.
There he was! Zigzagging through the bushes, agile and strong. He knew what he was doing. Dan fired at center mass, a savage burst of glee coursing through him as his round hit the intruder in the back. The intruder gave a grunt and stumbled, then shot the padlock on the fence surrounding the hotel on the run and powered his way through it.
Shit! Fucker had body armor on! Dan slapped the window frame in frustration. For half a second, he fought the temptation to go after the intruder. Jump right out that window and go in pursuit and find him and waste him. It’s what every cell in his body wanted, he yearned for it, but there was only one thing in the world more important to him than revenge, and she was out in the hallway, defenceless, maybe bleeding. Maybe dying.
Dan raced out into the hall. Horror nearly knocked him off his feet when he saw her, face down and still. So still. He slid down on his knees next to her, frantically touching her all over.
“Claire! Claire! Goddammit, Blondie, talk to me!”
He turned her over, looking for blood, feeling for broken bones, but she was intact. He shuddered with relief when she opened her eyes and looked up at him. Big, beautiful, silvery-blue eyes, aware and alive.
He pulled her up and into his arms and completely forgot how fragile she was, clutching her close to him with all his strength, simply breathing her in. Finally, when he got himself under control, he gently helped her stand up.
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