Her Master Defender

by Karen Anders

  “What was the cause of death, then, Dr. Thompson?”

  “Hypothermia.” He took off his half-glasses. “I recovered enough of a fragment to run ballistics. I sent that to our expert.”

  “Thank you,” Amber said as Tristan stared down into James’s face. She could see the regret and pain there, and now it seemed as if there was also guilt. After they left the morgue, Tristan was quiet. The news that James might have lived if he’d been found sooner had shaken him. She could see it in his eyes and the solemn look on his face.

  By this time, it was full dark and she was exhausted and had to come to the conclusion that this was an accidental death. She had found no evidence that Mayer had shot Connelly. With both of them dead and no witnesses, she would have to consider this case inconclusive, which meant that her work here was done.

  Unless she found Mayer’s gun.

  She decided to stay until she received the autopsy report from Dr. Thompson regarding Mayer’s death to wrap up any loose ends and thoroughly investigate his death.

  When they walked into Tristan’s town house, her phone buzzed and she accessed her email on her smartphone to discover that the autopsy report had been delivered.

  “No friendly fire,” Tristan said, reading the report over her shoulder. “Just a hunting accident. His life was ended by mistake.”

  “I know,” she soothed, tenderness making her chest hurt. “It’s a tragedy, but at least his parents will get closure.”

  Tristan nodded, looking exhausted and lost again. Alone.

  “I can make—”

  “I’m not hungry,” he said.

  “Tristan, this isn’t your fault.”

  “I keep going over it in my head, over and over. I just don’t know what I could have done differently. Do you know what it did to me when the coroner said he would have survived if he’d gotten medical attention? He lay out in the cold and froze to death, alone. Probably scared to death. He was just a kid!”

  She reached out and touched his forearm, which was just as tense as the rest of him. He sat down heavily on the sofa. Amber lowered herself next to him and without hesitation wrapped her arms around him. He resisted at first, then made a soft sound and buried his face in her neck. She held him against her, his breathing ragged, wishing she could ease his pain.

  He had to handle his grief the way he needed to handle it. No matter how much she wanted to soothe him, she could only offer the comfort of her words and her embrace.

  Chapter 9

  Amber stirred and opened her eyes, taking a moment to orient herself. She was still on the sofa. It was still dark in the house. No lights, but the warmth of Tristan’s big body was gone. She blinked in the semidarkness, the ambient light from the cold full moon shining through the front window.

  She was so in tune with Tristan’s presence that she felt him before she saw him. Being in his dark house with him just standing at the window seemed so intimate. It was as if her skin was electrified, and her heart pounded hard. Struggling to hang on to her equilibrium, to maintain some balance, she swallowed hard, then rose.

  Tristan didn’t turn. “You should go to bed, Amber,” he said, his voice very low and gruff.

  Amber wanted to stay, go to him and offer whatever comfort she could. Clenching her hands into fists, she eased in an unsteady breath. “Good night, Tristan.”

  She heard him follow, and he said, “Good night, Amber.”

  Unexpectedly close to tears, she headed for her upstairs room. Then she stood in the hall watching as he went into his room and closed the door.

  She slipped into her room and shut the door behind her. Her expression taut, she toed off her socks, then stripped her clothes off, donning a pair of thermal underwear with hearts all over it and a pink tank top. She climbed blindly into bed. Draping her arm across her eyes, she tried to will away the ache, tried to collect a modicum of common sense. This was just chemistry, she tried to tell herself. Attraction and just two lonely people, she mentally argued. You’re kidding yourself was all her conscience had to say.

  She pulled up Tristan’s file on her computer. Her finger hovered over the open button. She’d had the file for some time. Beau had sent it to her a while back, but she’d been reluctant to open it. She had initially requested it because she wanted to go over everyone and everything related to this case. But if she opened that file now, she would be doing it because it was personal. She’d be violating his privacy. Still, she had a deep-seated need to find out more about him.

  She clicked Open and started reading. Fifteen minutes later, she was twisted up inside and her heart was breaking for him. She closed the file.

  Feeling heavy compassion for Tristan, she wrestled with the fact that she was probably going to be gone by tomorrow night. There was no more time to explore any kind of situation with Tristan. He didn’t want it and she was out of time.

  Turning on her stomach, Amber pulled the pillow under her and groaned. She didn’t think she could stand that awful unsatisfied ache throbbing through her whole body. Even the weight of the bedding was torture against her sensitized skin.

  Feeling as if she was going slowly crazy, Amber got up and went to stand by the window, hoping the view and the cooler air would bring her some peace.

  Trying to breathe around the thick emotion in her chest, she fought for some control, closing her eyes, willing whatever amount of calm she could muster into her body.

  But the squeak of the door to Tristan’s room snapped her eyes open, and her pulse began to hammer all over again. And she knew, as sure as she was standing there, that he was downstairs, also unable to sleep. Just like her. And she wondered if he was still beating himself up over James or if he, too, was wrestling with something else. Like that Banyan consulate incident she had just read about in his file. Could it still be tormenting him even fourteen years later?

  As if that one thought connected her to him, Amber got nailed with another immobilizing rush. Her mind spinning, she rested her face against the cool glass.

  God, he was so alone. She couldn’t stand the thought of him down there, struggling with that aloneness laced with guilt. A terrible ache settled around her heart and she remembered how he’d tenderly carried her after Mayer almost succeeded in running her over. How he had fought his desire even then.

  Experiencing another heavy rush, Amber clenched her jaw, her whole body responding to that memory. She was losing it, really losing it. It was almost as if he’d reached out and touched her, caressing her in the most intimate way. She flattened both hands against the glass, her breathing coming in ragged puffs. She could not bear his aloneness. She just could not stand it anymore.

  Never in her life had Amber acted on impulse, but she acted on impulse now. Her eyes burning with tears, she snatched up her robe and roughly tied the belt around her waist, a weird kind of anger setting her resolve. She just could not—could not—leave him down there alone. Not Tristan.

  Fortified with a crazy kind of determination, she slipped down the stairs, her heart growing larger and more cumbersome with every step, her nerves vibrating so badly that she was shaking. She didn’t have a clue what she was doing. But she didn’t care. One thing she did know for sure—going to Tristan could never be a mistake.

  She hit the bottom of the stairs, looking for him in the dim light. Clasping the front of her robe, she turned, the flooring cold against her bare feet.

  The full moon cast long milky shadows in the yard, glinting off the snow, and far in the distance, one of the MWTC choppers broke the silence. Her pulse sounding like heavy surf in her ears, she rounded the corner to the kitchen, her insides turning over in a crazy roll when she spotted Tristan.

  The kitchen had only curtains, no blinds, and the moonlight draped him like liquid silver. He was standing with his head bowed, both hands clamped on the counter, the coffee
carafe filled with water. Dressed only in a pair of blue pajama bottoms, his bare back gleamed in the moonlight, and even in the faint light she could see the awful tension in him.

  Her vision blurring with the enormity of her feelings, Amber spoke his name and started toward him.

  Tristan abruptly straightened, his body going still. Amber could swear she could feel the tension leaping between them. She didn’t have a plan, hadn’t thought it out, but just when her nerve nearly faltered, Tristan shifted and she got a good look at his face. Seeing the agony in his eyes, she simply reacted.

  Her voice catching on a sob, she spoke his name again, then stepped into his arms, his agony becoming hers.

  Another sound was wrenched from her as Tristan crushed her in a hard, fierce embrace, his hand roughly tangling in her loose hair as he jammed her head against him.

  Immobilized by the onslaught of need, Amber clung to him, certain she would collapse if he let her go. She had never experienced anything like it—the heavy surging of feeling two halves coming together, the awesome power of two universes colliding, the stunning rush of wanting. It had been too long for her, this push-pull with him. And now it was all too much—too much need, too much unsatisfied hunger, too much raw emotion. Yet not nearly enough. Lord, not nearly enough.

  Her breathing out of control, she locked her arms around him, pulling herself flush against him, needing him, needing more.

  Hoarsely whispering her name, Tristan backed her into the shadows, then spread his hand wide in her hair and turned her head. His heart pounded in tandem with hers, and he brushed his mouth across hers. The surge of raw sexual energy was like being struck by a lightning bolt.

  Her breathing ragged, she lifted herself higher and opened her mouth, needing the heat of him. Tristan shuddered, grinding his mouth against hers as he crushed her even tighter. Body to body, heat to heat, he took her mouth, and Amber yielded everything to him, her need fired higher by his.

  Everything she had ever believed about herself—about the kind of woman she was, about her moderate level of sexuality—was simply incinerated by that hot, wet plundering kiss. Making a sound of restraint, he tried to tear his mouth away, but she grasped his face, holding him to her, unable to bear a separation. She knew if they didn’t finish this, if they didn’t take this to the final completion, she would simply crumble into tiny pieces.

  His breathing was raw and labored as he ripped his mouth away and fumbled to untie the belt of her robe, roughly pushing her pajama bottoms off her. Another tremor shuddered through him when he touched her nakedness.

  Terrified he might stop, that he might do the honorable thing, Amber locked her arms around his neck, her breath catching. But he had not thought of stopping. Yanking back the robe, he hooked one arm under one leg and lifted her up. Pelvis against pelvis, he held her fast as he claimed her mouth again, his thick hardness fused against her.

  Amber had never known this fever of need, this raw, urgent hunger, and she gave herself up to the frenzied sensations, knowing Tristan would not let her fall.

  Roughly changing the angle of his mouth, Tristan thrust against her, and the pulsating heaviness in her groin intensified. Desperate for more, Amber sobbed and locked her legs around him, transfixed by the unbelievable sensations he’d set off inside her. He moved again and she clutched him, her senses disintegrating, desperate for more, much more.

  Tearing her mouth away, she lifted herself higher, her voice barely coherent. “Please, Tristan. Please,” she begged hoarsely, rubbing against him again. The unsatisfied pulse thickened, and she found his mouth, desperate for the taste of him, wanting to center her pulsating need.

  On a jagged intake of air, Tristan caught her jaw and dragged his mouth away, then jammed her head under his jaw. His breathing still raw and labored, he tried to gentle his hold. Fighting a lungful of air, he stroked her head, his voice so rough it was as if he was speaking through some unmanageable pain. “Amber,” he whispered brokenly, his breath hot against her ear. “Damn, but I can’t take that kind of risk with you.”

  But Amber was too far gone to stop. She was protected by the pill. The hunger centered in her was getting stronger. She rocked her pelvis, her breathing just as labored as his. “It’s okay,” she pleaded with him, her voice breaking. “It’s okay. Please, Tristan.”

  Desperate to persuade him, she moved against the hard ridge under the soft cotton of his pj pants, and he clutched her and stiffened, his body rigid with tension. She moved again, and he clutched her tighter. Then abruptly he turned, backing her against the counter. Bracing her weight, he fumbled with his pants, and Amber cried out when she felt him free and hard.

  Blinded by sensation, she arched, expecting him to thrust into her, but instead he pressed his hard heat against her moistness. He started to move, sensitizing her even more. The sensations began to gather and Amber stiffened, right on the brink. On the very brink. As if aware of what was happening to her, he choked out her name and thrust his hardness into her, his body grinding into hers. And in that instant, Amber lost contact with reality.

  Every thrust sent her higher and higher until her whole body focused into one white-hot light; then everything exploded, and pulses of release ripped through her, a million lights going off in her head. And on a tortured groan, Tristan twisted his hips, his own release pumping into her.

  Incoherent and shattered, she hung on to him for dear life—on to her lifeline, her rock, her center.

  It seemed as if an eternity passed before bits of consciousness sifted down, like remnants of fireworks. Trembling and weak, and feeling as if every bone in her body had been liquefied, she folded around him, aware of how tightly he was holding her, aware of how badly he was trembling.

  Her face wet with tears, she wrapped both arms around his head and tightened her legs, an unbearable tenderness welling up in her as she cradled him against her.

  She was so shattered, she was incapable of speech. But she was filled to the brim with feelings for him, and she gently combed her fingers through his hair, wishing she could wrap up every inch of him. He was so infinitely special. So infinitely precious.

  Tristan turned his face against her neck, his hand moving to cup her jaw. Then as if too spent to move, he tightened his hold. His voice was muffled as he spoke, his tone very gruff. “Are you okay?”

  Moved beyond words by his concern for her and overcome with the need to comfort him, she pressed her mouth against his temple. Her own voice was uneven as she whispered, “I’m better than okay.” She stroked his head, then hugged him. “I think I’m in heaven.”

  His chest rose on a deep intake of air. Then he tightened his grip on her face for a moment. He didn’t say anything but she felt him smile. And she hugged him again.

  As if gathering together what remaining strength he had, Tristan slid his other hand up her back. “Hold on.”

  She nodded, wrapping herself around him even tighter.

  The muscles in his back bunched as he carried her across the kitchen. With a minimum of fuss, he carried her up the stairs into his room.

  Amber knew she should let go and stand on her own, but the thought of separating from him was just too much to bear. Instead, she hung on even tighter, her throat cramping. She could not bear to let him go. She just could not. It would be like ripping her own body in half to disconnect from him.

  At the edge of the bed and with Amber still wrapped around him, he paused, pushed his pants down and stepped out of them, then slid his hand under her robe. His touch was gentle, caressing. “Let’s get rid of this,” he said, his tone husky.

  Trusting him to hold her, Amber straightened and let the garment slip off her arms. He maneuvered her pj top off, and then she wrapped herself back around him. She felt him take a deep breath as she kissed him just beneath his ear. Another faint tremor coursed through him, and he tightened his hold on her.<
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  His breath caught and he clutched her. Amber closed her eyes and hung on, his movement bringing on another contraction.

  Finally, after what seemed like some aeons, Tristan locked his arm around her hips, turning his face against her neck. He spoke, a tinge of amusement in his voice. “I think we’re both going to fall—hope for the best.”

  Smiling in response, Amber flattened her hand between his shoulders. “Tell you what—I’ll leave the how in your skilled hands.”

  She was rewarded with a husky chuckle. “Well, then, you’d better hang on.” He shifted his hold. Then with sheer strength and physical finesse, he got them into his bed, with her flat on her back and him cradled between her upraised knees. The feel of his body on top of hers made her go breathless and just a little bit crazy again.

  Bracing his weight on his elbows, he lifted his head and gazed down at her, the moonlight washing his face. Taking her face in his hands, he studied her, a slow smile appearing. His voice was like rough velvet when he spoke. “Ooh-rah, Amber, you are something else.”

  Holding back a grin, she reached up and caressed his mouth. “You have a few ooh-rah moves yourself, handsome.”

  His smile deepened. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

  She did grin. “I’m up for the challenge.”

  He laughed, a low throaty laugh that sent delicious shivers up her spine. “Yes, you are.”

  Aware that they were both avoiding what had brought them together, Amber raised her head and kissed him along his jaw. It was almost as if they’d silently struck another pact not to open too many doors, and that was okay. This was too special to risk.