The Naughty Nine: Where Danger and Passion Collide

by Nina Bruhns

  He waited quietly for her response.

  Jesse struggled to get her breath. So many emotions were whirling though her she couldn’t sort them out. She only knew that she was furious—and exhausted. Seeing his determination, she glared at him and with a disparaging snort, shoved the gun toward him. He moved forward and picked it up. Ejecting the magazine, he winked at her.

  “My grandmother was a redhead. I learned early on not to underestimate her temper.

  Okay, now that I’m not in immediate danger of losing a critical organ, let’s see where you’re hurt.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip and shook her head.

  “I’m not hurt, Marcus Welby. Leave me alone.”

  He closed the distance between them shaking his head and muttering something about damn stubborn women. Taking her arm, he pointed to the counter.

  “Lean against this so you don’t fall over.”

  `Jesse stepped back against the counter, more to get away from him than to comply. She tried to sound reasonable, hoping to convince him to go.

  “Look, my son overreacted. Like all men do when they see a little blood.”

  Ignoring her, Dameon moved in closer and met her eyes.

  “Let me see.”

  Jesse felt her face heat. His intense gaze made her more aware of her scant clothing. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and reluctantly lifted the hem of her pajama top.

  Dameon’s eyes widened at the purplish bruise that had grown since she looked at it last. The discoloration ran from her hip to her ribs. It looked worse against the white gauze bandage she’d taped on to stop the bleeding.

  He whistled softly and ran a finger over the bruise.

  “Damn, Major, what did this?”

  She sniffed and tossed her head.

  “It’s what happens when the edge of a table comes at you fast.”

  He frowned and pointed to the bandage.

  “What’s under here?”

  “A minor scrape.”

  She winced when he pulled off the bandage.

  His expression darkened. “A minor scrape, huh? Is that what you call the flash of a bullet grazing your hip?”

  She tossed her head.

  “Look, it’s fine.

  His frown deepened.

  “You’ve been in combat. Don’t you have any Dermabond? That’s the best way to prevent infection in an abraded area this large.”

  She gave him a dismissive nod.

  “Yes, I know that. I couldn’t find any. I… I left the Post in a hurry. I didn’t bring any supplies.”

  Not responding to her excuse, he pointed to the purplish black bruise on her rib.

  “Hmm. And this?”

  She muffled a cry when he touched it.

  “Is it broken?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’d know if it was.”

  His brows knit together and the crease in his cheek twitched. “I’ll decide that.”

  His expert fingers were strong, probing but gentle. The problem was that he was close-- too close, just inches away. She shoved at the sensations streaking over her sensitized skin, startled at the tremor that shook her. If Dameon felt it, he didn’t acknowledge it. He continued to examine each wound.

  When he looked up and caught her gaze, he shook his head.

  “You were lucky, Major. That bullet missed you by a fraction of an inch.”

  She shrugged.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  Dameon sucked in a deep breath, shoving at his anger. Goddammit, she could have been killed. She was right about one thing, though. Her rib was cracked not broken, and with proper treatment her open wound would likely heal quickly. He kept his voice even, not betraying the turmoil he felt. What he wanted to do was scoop her up in his arms and hold her tight. He could see that she was riding an adrenaline high that kept her from acknowledging how bad she could have been hurt. He understood. He’d been there too many times to count. Giving her credit, she probably had too.

  He grinned. “Tough guy, huh?”

  When she just shrugged, he persisted.

  “So tough, you didn’t even wrap that rib? That’s dangerous you know. Hmmm. I agree, it’s not broken--but it needs to be stabilized.”

  When she didn’t answer and looked away, he shook his head.

  “Christ, don’t tell me. You don’t have an Ace bandage. Damn, woman. I thought you were a combat veteran. You know basic battleground medicine.”

  Rearing up, her eyes flashed.

  “I told you. I didn’t have my supplies. Look, I’m fine. I’ll--”

  He shook his head and lifted her up and sat her on the counter. He grinned at her shocked gasp.

  “Settle down, tiger. I’m not being critical, just concerned. You’re correct. Nothing is broken and with Dermabond that open wound likely won’t scar. Look, Major. My kit is in my truck. Can I trust you to sit here while I go out to get it?”

  Dameon smiled at her but he was dead serious. She’d probably gotten as much sleep as he did the night before. She had to be running on pure adrenaline.

  “How about it, tiger? Will you let me help you?”

  She slammed her eyes shut, a curtain of dark eyelashes shadowing her pale cheeks. He thought he glimpsed a tear trapped at the corner of her thick lashes. But the next second her eyes opened and she pinned him with her familiar glare.

  “Fine, get your damn kit. And then please leave.”

  He stepped back and gave her an easy grin.

  “Uh, uh. Fixing you up is only step two. Then comes the hard part. Getting you to accept my apology.”

  She scoffed. “That’ll be a frozen day in hell.”

  He laughed at her fierce expression. “You remind me of my Siamese cat,” he said. “She’s almost as prickly as you are. I call her Sheba. I think the name fits you even better.”

  He eyed her for a long moment.

  “Speaking of names, if you’re done cursing me, the name’s Dameon. A gift from my Greek, navy sailor, father to my Latino mother before he sailed off to sea never to be seen again. Mind if I call you Jesse, or do you prefer Major O’Donnell?”

  “What I prefer, since you asked, is that you get the hell out of my house and my life.”

  Dameon grinned. “In that case, I’ll call you Jesse.”

  He headed for the door then gave her an amused glance. She looked like a thirteen-year–old, sitting on the counter swinging her legs. Only those maddeningly enticing curves confirmed that she was not a kid. Rather, she was a scantily dressed woman shooting angry daggers directly at him. Seeing her darting eyes and tense posture, his humor died and determination took its place.

  “I gotta warn you, Jesse. If you lock me out, I’ll break the door down.”

  “Oh great! Maybe I can add breaking and entering to my charges against you.”

  When he stepped back within arm’s reach and smiled at her, she lifted her chin.

  “Or how about I lie and tell them you gave me drugs,” Jesse continued. “Or better yet, that you’re a drug dealer. Maybe they’ll strip search you. Like they did me.”

  Her voice shook and Dameon saw the tears flood her eyes. His smile died. He chucked her under her chin. When she startled he pinched her cheek lightly and pressed his lips in a thin line.

  “One more thing I need to add to my apology list, tiger.”

  Red Rock Rises: Chapter Five

  Seeing her standing in the doorway, he pointed to the counter.

  “I thought I told you to stay put.” Taking in her sweatpants that had replaced the shorty pajamas, he grinned. “Hmm, I think I preferred the ones that barely covered your ass.”

  He laughed when she flushed and angrily stammered, “I was… cold.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Hmm. I see.”

  When her flush deepened, he relented. “Okay, whatever works for you. You could wear a burka and look sexy as hell.”

  Knowing that he was pushing against a fragile barrier, Dameon decided to stop teasing her. If
he was going to make it through this medic routine without tossing her on the table and tearing her clothes off, he’d be wise to hold the insinuating comments. On the trip to his truck, he’d chided himself and flat out warned his rowdy dick. Christ, this woman was hurt physically and emotionally strung out. She was fragile, vulnerable as hell. Looked like he was going to have to be the passing guard rather than the instigator in the equation. With a grunt, he acknowledged it wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Come here, tiger. It kinda comes down to where I can get at you most easily and not hurt you any more than I have to. How about you lean against the counter if you don’t want to sit on it.”

  When she nodded, he put his kit on the counter next to her and began taking out supplies.

  He pointed to the large scrape with the inch wide gash in the center.

  “Let’s start with this and then we can wrap your ribs, okay?

  “Here, you lift your top so that I can cover the whole area. You better hold onto something. This stuff is miraculous but it burns like hell when you put it on.”

  She tossed her head. “Do you think it’s the first time I’ve had a wound treated with Dermabond?”

  “No, Major, I assume you’ve experienced this and worse. Got a few scars like the rest of us?”

  When she nodded, he took a chance and added, “Yeah, I’ve found that the ones that don’t show are harder to heal than the ones that do.”

  Jesse was startled at the police chief’s nuanced insight. Instinctively she started to put up her emotional shield but when he continued laying out the bandages, humming softly under his breath, she allowed herself to back off. She hoped he was talking about himself, not just her. She leaned against the counter next to him and allowed herself to give into his presence. He made her feel small, feminine. She was so accustomed to playing a powerful macho role; it felt surprisingly good to lean on someone who was bigger and physically stronger. He was tall, easily a good three inches over six feet. He was lean, muscular--like an athlete not a body builder.

  Jesse drank in a deep breath, soaking up his smell. At the heady mix of subtle cologne and strong man a rush of sensation hit her core. She tried to brush off her attraction as the byproduct of fatigue but she knew better. It was his aura. He commanded attention, oozed power. The silvery grey and black striped dress shirt, tailored black trousers with a shield casually clipped at his waist, and hand-tooled black cowboy boots could have put him on the cover of GQ. The epitome of casual male model. And she added with a guilty flush of heat, it didn’t hurt that he was sexy as hell.

  Dameon broke into her wayward thoughts.

  “I hate to put this on you.”

  She jerked up. “Why? I can take it.”

  “I know you can. But, I don’t want to spoil the smell.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Your fragrance. I’m a sucker for lemon and verbena.”

  She was startled that he knew what she wore but also that, like her, he was attracted to her fragrance. Aiming for cover, she tried to make light of the comment.

  “How did you know what I wear… um, your wife’s favorite?”

  He smiled at her and shook his head. “No wife.”

  Jesse’s cheeks heated. She looked down to avoid his eyes, to cover her embarrassment.

  She knew he wasn’t married. In the middle of the night in between screaming tantrums and trying to wash the ugliness off her body, she’d booted up the internet and looked up his profile. He was 41 years old, a former Army Ranger and the youngest police chief of any major city in the country. She could still see his easy smile, and startling blue eyes that contrasted dramatically with his warm skin and sexy beard shadow. Her eyes had flown over the pages of accolades and honors from his military and police careers looking for personal details. At the bottom of the last page was the notation: Single father of Zoey Christina Macarios, 8 years old. Her heart leapt at the memory--as it had last night. And that was when she’d hated him.

  She was so absorbed in her reverie that she barely flinched when he applied the medical adhesive and quickly bandaged her up.

  As if he knew what she had been thinking about, he gave her a sly smile.

  “How about you put your hands up behind your head while I wrap those ribs? You can pretend that I’m about to pat you down.”

  She was sure her face was as red as it was hot and looked away not daring to meet his eyes.

  He chuckled. “I’m teasing you, Major, trying to distract you. I’ve got a better idea. Put your hands on my shoulders. That way I can get at your ribs without invading your privacy.”

  Jesse swallowed hard, her hands grasping his wide shoulders that rippled with lean muscle. She could only pray that he didn’t see how flushed she was or that she was finding it hard to take more than small sips of air. Blessedly he was efficient and in less than a minute had the bandage tight around her aching ribs.

  He stepped back and grinned at her. His eyes gleamed with a knowing light that she didn’t want to analyze.

  “Okay. We’ve handled number one and two in my list of priorities. It’s time we get to number three, the most important. How ’bout we sit down. You look all in.”

  She grimaced.

  “I haven’t had my coffee, officer. How am I supposed to look?”

  He ignored her temper and put a casual hand on the small of her back. Guiding her over to the table, he pulled out a chair. Jesse sank gratefully onto the chair, feeling fatigue wash over her. Dameon surveyed the kitchen, finally finding the microwave.

  “Does your radiation dragon work? That’s what my precocious daughter calls it. If I’m not mistaken the order was for ‘extra hot’ coffee among a long list of detailed demands.”

  “How did you know what I like?” As soon as she asked the image of her lighthearted, always smiling lawyer popped into her mind. She and Eric had coffee two days ago and he’d teased her about her high maintenance order.

  “Of course. You must know Eric Grant, my lawyer.”

  Dameon punched in the code on the microwave and leaned against the counter.

  “Yes, Eric and I go way back, even before our time together in Iraq. He’s a great lawyer and a good friend.”

  Jesse sniffed. “I used to think he was mine.”

  “If you’d heard him reaming me out last night, you’d know that he still is.”

  At the ding of the microwave, he brought two steaming cups of coffee over to the table, put one in front of Jesse then sunk down in a chair across from her. He tipped his cup toward her and took a long sip of his coffee.

  He regarded her thoughtfully through narrowed eyes.

  “Jesse, I have a question.”

  Jesse pursed her lips and shook her head. She held up her hand to stop him.

  “The answer is yes.”

  He quirked a brow. “To what?”

  “To the only question I’m going answer. Yes. I do have permits for all of the weapons I carry, as well as the ones that are in my weapons safe. That’s safe. My safe. Protected from my son.”

  He nodded. “I assumed that, now that I know who you are.”

  Jesse didn’t answer knowing where he was going and wasn’t willing to follow. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee and nibbled on her scone. He didn’t disappoint. He was as predictable as she assumed he would be.

  “You know, Jesse, we could have had a much less traumatic first meeting if you had come to the station and introduced yourself.”

  She gave a soft snort. “Why would I do that?”

  He shrugged. “Most PI’s like to present their credentials. Suck up to the cops. Make cozy. Establish at least some approximation of a working relationship.”

  “I’m not a PI. I provide protective services.”

  “Hmm, I see. It’s still a good idea to let the cops know who you are.”

  She flicked her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Why should I care if they know me?”

  He gazed at her through narrowed eyes. “Wel
l for one reason, then they won’t mistake you for a drug moll.”

  A tiny smile graced her lips. It transformed her face, erased some of the tension. “Is that what you thought I was?”

  He groaned. “Yes. That’s exactly what I thought you were.” He tossed her a bitter smile remembering the way he’d jumped to that conclusion because she’d hurt his pride, stomped on his fragile male ego. He gazed at her for a moment then pushed against her clearly defined boundaries. “What else could I confess to get you to smile like that?”

  Her expression quickly morphed into a frown.

  “Another question, Chief?” She rose to her feet. “You must not have heard me. I said I would answer one question and now I have.” She backed away, her expression tightening further. “And Chief? You need to go.”

  Dameon tipped his chair back against the wall and stretched his long legs out in front of himself. He regarded her with a soft smile.

  “Why, Jesse? Because you are starting to relax, letting down your guard a little? That won’t do, will it, Major O’Donnell?”

  Red Rock Rises: Chapter Six

  “Go now. I want you to leave. Leave my house and leave me alone. Now!”

  Jesse looked genuinely angry. When Dameon simply sat there, gazing at her through half lidded eyes, she snatched her coffee cup and dumped the contents in the sink. Grabbing the uneaten portion of her scone she tossed it into the sink and flipped on the garbage disposal.

  Dameon gave a rueful shake of his head and tipped his chair upright. Damn, if she didn’t remind him of Zoey when his little teeny bopper got angry. Between Zoey and Sheba, he felt he was getting to know at least one side of this tempestuous woman.

  He gave a hearty sigh. “I can say one thing for you. You do have a gift for the dramatic.”

  Jesse grasped the back of her the chair.

  “I asked you to leave.” Her voice wavered. “Haven’t you… haven’t you done enough to hurt me? What… more do you want from me?”

  As painful as her words were, Dameon was more concerned about her emotional state. The adrenaline wave she’d been riding was obviously cresting. Add to that her injuries, and he knew a downward spiral and hard crash were virtual certainties. Jesse looked pale, shaky. Dameon knew she’d had a hell of a night. Clearly her fatigue was beginning to overcome her, take its toll. It killed him that he was responsible for much of her pain.