Heroes in Uniform: Soldiers, SEALs, Spies, Rangers and Cops: Sexy Hot Contemporary Alpha Heroes From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors

by Sharon Hamilton

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Cooper was livid. Ignoring Tommy and Gina, he stalked up to Maggie, yanked her to her feet, and forcibly set aside her glass. “We need to talk.”

  She must really have done some heavy-duty research to come up with that so-called dream. A Cree hunting dream. Really?

  The kind of dream he had been trying so hard to receive for the past few nights. The kind of dream he had done special rituals to entice his way. The kind of dream that had eluded him in favor of a breathlessly carnal variety.

  She must have been watching him closely to realize what he’d been doing.

  But why?

  “Leave me alone,” she gritted out as he dragged her away, out of earshot of the crowd.

  “What the hell was that all about?” he demanded.

  “It was just a stupid dream. Let me go.” She tried to yank her arm free.

  He held her fast, and glanced over at the dance floor.

  She balked. “I do not want to dance.”

  Towing her to the large wooden platform, he hissed in her ear, “Dance, goddammit, or I'll take you somewhere more private for this discussion.”

  “Wolf, please.”

  He glared at her. “Do not call me that. Don't ever call me that again.” He pulled her roughly onto the floor and muscled her into a dance position. She shrank away from him, from the hostility he felt pouring from every inch of his body.

  “What's wrong with you? What have I done now?”

  He quelled her struggles with a look. But in her eyes he saw only pain and confusion.

  Damn it.

  Damn it to hell.

  He needed to calm down.

  Earlier at the bar, Gina had told him Maggie was having dreams. His dreams. He owed her the chance to convince him this caribou dream was genuine.

  He also recalled Gina's other words—that he had to tell Maggie the way of things. And his promise to do so.

  He took a ragged breath and centered himself, closing his eyes, unclenching his jaw.

  He’d been wrong about Maggie and Timmons—he'd overheard her telling Pete she'd turned the man down. The elation he'd felt knowing that she wasn't Timmons’ lover flooded back over him. He still had a chance with her...

  But not if he acted like a thug.

  He cracked loose the vise grip he held her in, and forced himself to uncoil his tense muscles.

  He needed that chance. Regardless of her dream, he needed her. He couldn't blow it now. Not when she was within reach.

  He had to convince her he was more important to her than whatever hold the poacher had over her. Convince her, one way or another, to be honest with him.

  Or leave this place in defeat.

  He looked down into the frightened eyes that searched his face so nervously, and cursed himself and the crazy fever in his heart that he couldn't seem to control.

  What had she done? “Nothing, pup. You've done nothing wrong. It's my fault. All of it.”

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Maggie watched Cooper's expression slowly shift, and wondered what fueled the enormous effort he was going through to conquer his rage. Whatever it was, the results were impressive. All that was left of his former fury was the steady throbbing of a blue vein in his neck.

  Even so, she eyed him warily.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, and gazed unhappily at the twinkling lights in the surrounding trees. “I’ll understand if you tell me to go to hell.” He slid his hands gently up to her shoulders. “But I want you to stay in my arms.” His eyes sought hers. “I need to hold you. Dance with me, Maggie. Please.”

  How could she say no to such a heartfelt plea? “Okay,” she whispered.

  The orchestra was in the middle of a soft, romantic slow-dance. Her heartbeat doubled when he took her back into his arms. Every fiber of her flesh was aware of his tender touch.

  Why had she said yes? Of all the dumb things to do... She should stay far away from him, not be locked in his silken embrace. She did her best to keep him at arm’s length. But he only gave her a forlorn look, and pulled her body close to his. He imprisoned her with a muscular arm, slipping it all the way around her waist. His other hand rested lightly on her back.

  For a long time he just held her as they moved to the music. She could feel his body slowly unwind as they continued to sway. As did her own.

  Finally, she couldn't take the silence anymore. “Why were you so angry with me?”

  His muscles flinched, then went very still. “Misunderstanding,” he answered at length.

  “But—” She glanced up at his face as they drifted under a string of twinkling lights. She gasped. “You're hurt!” His cut lip and the ugly bruise on his jaw had not been visible in the murky darkness, but up close under the lights they were painfully obvious.

  He cracked a smile. “It's nothing. A couple of goons tuned me up, is all.”

  “But, why?” she blurted out.

  He exhaled. “Over you, actually.”

  “Me?” she said, shocked. She searched his face. The only possible explanation was— “Rollo? Oh, Coop, you didn't!”

  He flashed a smile. “Nah. I could've taken Timmons with one arm tied. Hell, both arms.”

  “Then, who?”

  Wait. Hadn’t the sheriff said something about a couple of men checking up on him at the station?

  Cooper gently pushed her head against his shoulder and brushed his cheek over her hair. “I didn't ask their names.” His grip tightened possessively around her. “They told me I should leave you alone. I assumed they were your brothers.”

  “I don't have any brothers.”

  The sheriff had said it was something to do with his cousin, though. What could she possibly have to do with that?

  She pulled away and looked up at Cooper. “What did you tell them?”

  “I said no.” He combed his fingers through her hair and nudged her head back onto his shoulder, turning her in a lazy circle on the dance floor. “They didn't like that answer. Thus, the tune-up.”

  She was at a loss to explain it, either to herself or to him. “I don't know who they were. I wouldn't ever let anyone hurt you.”

  He lightly kissed her hair. “I'm glad to hear that.”

  The melody they danced to was slow and sweet, an old number from the forties, when half the world was off at war and the other half waited at home for them, when everyone was lonely as hell and singing the blues. They were in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by couples as lost in the music as they were, oblivious to everything but the partner they clung to.

  “Forget about them,” he murmured into her ear, his warm cheek brushing her temple. “I missed you today.”

  Her breath caught as he trailed his fingers down her back and over the curve of her bottom. He held his hand there, lightly testing her flesh as he rocked her back and forth to the music.

  “I spent all morning with you,” she reminded him.

  She tried to relax her bare arms across the rough fabric covering his shoulders, but it was impossible with his fingers stroking so provocatively over her backside. He brushed his other hand slowly, sensually, up over the skin revealed by the low back of her dress.

  “Why did you run away from me at the river?”

  She fought the fires started by his fingers sliding under the narrow straps that crossed at the center of her back. It was a losing battle. She arched against him when his hand passed over an ultra-sensitive spot on her waist, and again when he reversed his path and went back over it. She could barely speak.

  “You know why,” she rasped.

  It shouldn't feel so erotic, so sinful, when he slipped his fingers under a half-inch ribbon of silk. But it did, and she was nearly undone by it. She wanted him to slide the ribbons off her shoulders and let her dress fall to the floor. Her hands crept around his neck.

  “Tell me,” he whispered in a gravelly voice. “Are you wearing any underwear at all?”

  Closing her
eyes against the sizzling pool of desire left in the wake of his words and his fingers, she licked her parched lips. The sudden thrill burning through her concentrated her whole body's moisture in one place, and it wasn't her mouth.

  “No,” she whispered.

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Cooper groaned, and pressed both hands into the curve of Maggie's lush ass, momentarily forgetting the dance, just breathing in the perfumed scent of her skin and her hair. His cock grew hard against her belly.

  “Woman—” His voice cracked.

  With an effort, he started moving his feet to the music again. He had to keep talking, or he'd lose it right then and there.

  He tried again. “Woman, tell me about this dream you had.”

  She shook her head against his jaw, and her hands quivered on his shoulders. “No.”

  “Tell me the rest. What you didn't tell Gina.”

  She squirmed in his arms, trying to push away from him. “I told her everything.”

  He held her body close, his hands gliding over the delicate film of silk covering it. “Who was the man, Maggie? The warrior?”

  “I don't know.”

  She was lying.

  “It was me, wasn't it?” He slipped his thigh between her legs.

  The throng of dancers crushed in on them, pushing her even closer against him. She burrowed into his shoulder. “Fine. It was you.”

  “What I'm wondering,” he said, running his fingers up through her hair and rubbing lazy circles at the base of her neck, “is why a wasichu woman is having Cree hunting dreams.”

  She looked up at him uncomprehendingly, and shook her head.

  He captured her eyes, probing, and held them until he was absolutely convinced she was innocent of any deception. He didn't know how or why, but the Dreamers had chosen to send a hunting dream to her instead of him. Satisfied, he let his hands slowly slide all the way down her back.

  “Before the hunt,” he explained quietly, “we ask for the dreams to come, to show us how the hunt will go.” He lowered his voice and massaged her ass, gently, rhythmically pushing her hips into his. “If a man dreams of his lover, it is said he will kill a caribou.”

  As he talked, her eyes darkened, softened, reflecting the lights of a thousand colored lanterns and candles. They were barely moving now, swaying to the sensual rhythms of the music and the inner throbbing of their bodies. She had to feel his powerful erection through the thin silk of her dress. He definitely felt every curve and hollow of her body. And the heat between her legs, bringing his cock to even greater heights.

  She wound her arms tight around his neck. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head, resting her temple against his jaw, her nose and mouth buried in his neck. He could feel her breath on his skin, warm and uneven.

  “In your dream, did you want the arrow?” he asked, his voice coming out thick and rough.

  She nodded, and he felt her desire for him. For the sweet sting of his arrow.

  “I have had dreams too, little pup.” He used his voice to soothe her fears, weaving a web of surrender around her will. “Dreams where you came to me, and you were my woman. In every way possible.” He edged his mouth closer to hers. “We are meant to be together,” he whispered. His lips were a hair's width from hers. “The Owner has called to us.”

  “Miss Johansen?” The urgent voice came from far away, then got louder and more insistent. “Miss Maggie Johansen?”

  Coop ground his jaw at the untimely interruption. You can’t be serious.

  She blinked several times, then turned uncertainly toward the voice calling her name. “Y-yes? I'm Maggie Johansen.”

  A young man wearing the white shirt and checked bandanna of the catering team came up to them. “Telephone call, Miss Johansen. From someone named Dinny.”

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Seventy

  Dinny?

  Maggie halted in her tracks and clutched Cooper's arm. What was so important that Dinny would track her down at the barbecue and send a waiter out into a throng of five hundred people to find her?

  She looked up at Cooper, surprised by the mask of rancor and bitterness that suddenly shadowed his face.

  With a violent start, she remembered who she was and why she was in hiding.

  And why she had to avoid him.

  She gasped, and dropped his arms. “I’m sorry, Cooper,” she whispered. Was Dinny calling with a warning that Whitney had found her? “I have to get this. It could be important.”

  “Maggie,” Cooper implored. “Don't go. Please.”

  She shook her head, growing more desperate. They could both be in danger.

  He took a step toward her. “You don't need him. I can protect you.” He grasped her arm. “It'll be all right.”

  She jerked herself free and put her hands out in front of her body, an ineffectual shield against him. Against the pain. “No. You don't understand. It wouldn't be right.”

  “We are right, baby. You and me. I know all about you, what you’re doing. Stay with me, Maggie.”

  He knew about the trial? How? Why hadn’t he said anything?

  “I’m sorry.”

  He stretched out a hand to her. She backed away from him, bumping into people, stumbling against chairs.

  “Don't make me come after you,” he called. “Don't ruin your life over this. Maggie, please.”

  With a strangled cry, she turned and fled toward the ranch house.

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Seventy-One

  Coop let out a growl. Dinny Paxton was calling her? Well, at least now he knew there was a definite connection between the two.

  Damnation. What kind of control did that poacher have over her, anyway? How could he help her break the criminal's hold?

  Gina's words echoed in his mind...

  You'll have to steal her power before she'll listen to you.

  Steal her power. Right. And just how was he supposed to do that? He couldn't even get the dreams right. She’d had his damn dream.

  Roland Timmons sauntered up to him and handed him one of two short glasses filled to the brim with amber liquid. “Hate to see a man drink alone.”

  Just what he fucking needed.

  Coop reluctantly accepted the glass and tossed back the contents. The liquor curled down his throat like a red-hot serpent, insinuating itself into a burning coil in his belly. Gradually, its venom took hold, and his frustration turned to blackness.

  Timmons pursed his lips. “Thought for sure you had her, there. Bit rough at the end, though.”

  Coop continued to stare after Maggie, thoughts of her and Dinny the poacher roiling in his brain.

  When he remained silent, Timmons refilled his glass from the bottle he had tucked under an arm. “The lady's certainly got a mind of her own.”

  Coop had nothing to say to that. But he swallowed the liquid snake-bite.

  Timmons smiled pleasantly. “Gave it a try earlier today, myself. Didn't have any luck, either.”

  “Don't try it again,” Coop snarled, unmoving. “My niece would just love some nice blond hair for her doll-making.”

  Timmons gave a laugh. “Cute. No wonder the sheriff thinks you’re a terrorist.”

  Coop clenched and unclenched his fists. “I’m not a damn terrorist. My cousin once shot an FBI agent in the ass with a bow and arrow. They took exception.”

  Timmons laughed harder. “I like him already.”

  Of course, there was the blown up damn, too. But the arrow in the ass made a better story.

  “I’m more of a shotgun guy, myself,” Coop said. “I’d stay away from Maggie, if I were you.”

  “Normally, I'd take that as a good healthy challenge,” Timmons said after a last chuckle. “But there's no fun in competing when the outcome’s already decided.”

  Cooper turned to him. “Nothing's decided. That's the damn problem.”

  Timmons’ brow went up. “For someone with your obvious experience, you don't know much about women, do you?”

 
; Coop glowered at him through a haze of red lantern light.

  Timmons glanced off in the direction where Maggie had disappeared. “I saw the way she looked at you,” he said. “That woman is not fighting you, she's fighting herself.”

  Everyone was a goddamn psychiatrist. Coop grudgingly said, “Okay, so what do I do, Dr. Phil?”

  The other man shrugged. “Not much you can do. These things are usually a moral dilemma of some kind. Just kick back, and see who wins.”

  Coop rolled his eyes skyward. “Awesome. You've really been a big help.”

  Timmons chuckled and held up the bottle, offering him a refill in consolation. “Forget her tonight. Have another drink. What do you say we take a peek at Conrad's trophy room? I hear he's got a stuffed grizzly as big as a barn.”

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter Seventy-Two

  “Maggie? Is that you?” Dinny sounded like he was in the next room, instead of six hundred miles away. “Finally!”

  “Dinny! What's wrong?” Maggie's strained voice crept up two octaves. “Where are you?”

  “Still in L.A., sweetheart. Are you okay? You don't sound like yourself.”

  “Dinny, please. What's going on?” She moved over to the window as she talked.

  “Okay. I don't know if this is anything,” he said, “but I thought I should let you know. I just got a call from Jane. She said her phone was bugged.”

  Maggie’s jaw dropped, and all thoughts of Cooper vanished. “My God. I thought she was kidding about that detective.”

  Dinny’s tone grew harsh. “You know, I could have sworn I ordered you not to contact a living soul while you’re in hiding. Not even your dying grandmother.”

  “I’m sorry. I just... I needed someone to talk to.” Maggie sighed. “Besides, Jane already knows about Whitney and the trial.”

  “Well, I'm afraid it might be Whitney who bugged her phone. Maybe he found out it was you and Jane who tipped us off to him.”