by Nina Bruhns
Because of the man in her den.
Worse, as the fatigue of the night wore on, she’d begun to worry about the general. What if someone really wanted to hurt him?
They didn’t always get along, but he was her father, and she didn’t want to lose him.
A growl reverberated through the door, and she frowned, then shoved aside her comforter and climbed from bed. Tiptoeing across the wooden floor to the door, she paused to listen. What if the threat was real?
What if the person who’d sent it had gotten in and attacked the sergeant?
She wanted to tease the man, but she didn’t want him hurt because of her.
Another low moan, then the screech of the coffee table and something hitting the floor.
Panic streaked through her, and she ran to her bathroom and grabbed a can of hairspray. It wasn’t lethal, but it could ward off an attacker long enough for her and the sergeant to escape.
What was she thinking? He was Special Forces. Surely no one had gotten the jump on him.
Still, nerves gathered along her spine, and she inched the door open enough to peek into her den. Darkness bathed the room, but she scanned the corners and didn’t see an intruder.
A grunt broke the silence. She froze. Movement on the floor by the couch. Was Max injured?
Clenching the hairspray with a white-knuckled grip, she crept toward the sofa. A rocking sound punctuated the silence, then she saw its source.
The sergeant. He was on the floor, perched on his knees, braced for attack, his eyes glazed, his head jerking sideways as if he was searching for the enemy.
The realization that he was asleep, in the midst of a nightmare—or a memory—made her chest clench. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Judging from the strain on his face and the utter determination in his steely look, he was battling demons that she knew nothing about.
To protect her and the other citizens of the country.
Then he’d come here to protect her on his time off.
Guilt mingled with compassion. She had to do something to ease his pain.
Unable to resist, she dropped to her knees and reached out and touched his arm.
“Max?”
He looked as if he was some place far away, and he hadn’t heard her. She didn’t know what had happened to him, but she could offer him comfort.
Slowly she inched toward him, then stroked his arm, gently, soothing, not wanting to startle him. Still, he tensed, his jaw flexing and tightening as he aimed that blank stare toward her.
“It’s okay,” Willow whispered. She lifted a finger and brushed back his sweat-soaked hair. The intensity and confusion in his haunted expression made her heart pound.
He had been hard to resist when he’d appeared on her door with his orders and swept into her apartment with his big brawny muscles, commanding presence and sultry voice.
But the vulnerability in his face wrenched her heart, and heightened his sexuality.
Suddenly his hands came down to grip her arms, and he pushed her to the floor on her back and straddled her. Willow cried out in shock and covered his hands with her own, ready to fight. “Sergeant...”
Pain, horror and secrets darkened his eyes. But raw primal need flared in the depths.
She let her arms fall to her sides, succumbing to lying beneath him, a prisoner to his desires, then whispered his name. “Max...”
His breath rasped out, and a muscle ticked in his jaw as if he was trying to maintain control. A drop of perspiration trickled down his forehead. She lifted her hand to brush it away and traced one finger along the jagged scar that ran along the side of his left ear up to his hairline.
He swallowed, his gaze searching hers, his breath bathing her face, his hunger potent and stirring her hunger.
Still, his arms jerked from the strain of holding himself above her, restraining himself. Even in his dazed state, he was a man of honor.
Her heart swelled with longing. Her body tingled with need.
His thick length bulged against the sheer fabric of her tap pants, making her womb clench with the desire to have him inside her.
He was a man who fought for what was right and had the scars to prove it.
Tension rippled between them, filled with questions and unspent lust. She parted her lips, then whispered his name again in a throaty plea.
Passion scorched his eyes, and a low groan ripped from his throat, as if he could no longer resist his own needs. Then he slowly lowered his head and claimed her mouth with his.
His lips touched hers, tasting, probing, gentle yet demanding. His tongue teased her lips apart, then he plunged inside her, driving her emotions and desires to a feverpitch.
The kiss was raw, primal, full of pent up anger, loneliness, hunger...desperation. Her heart pounded, her breath died in her throat, her pulse clamored. She had never wanted a man like she wanted this one.
The thought terrified and exhilarated her at the same time.
She pulled him closer, kissed him harder, ran her hands along his corded muscles, stroking his back and trailing her hands lower to cup his muscular, sexy butt. He moved against her, his sex stroking the soft folds between her legs, and she parted her thighs inviting him closer.
He moaned, threaded one hand in her hair, tangling it around his fingers while the other hand danced down to her breasts. She undulated her hips below him, aching, hurting...needing more...needing him.
He needed her as well.
Needed a reprieve from his past, from his job, from his control.
She could give him that, a night of loving. She could give him her hands, her kiss, her mouth, her body. She could give him pleasure.
But she would guard her heart.
Because she’d never let another man near it again.
One Night to Kill: Chapter Five
Heat seared Max, making him deepen the kiss.
He was so hungry for a woman that the feminine fingers trailing across his bare back were just about to drive him over the edge. And those voluptuous breasts brushing against his skin elicited fiery sparks that drove him to crawl between her legs and stroke her feminine curves with his shaft.
“That feels good, Sergeant,” she whispered against his neck.
Sergeant?
Max went stone still. Where the hell was he? What the hell was he doing?
He blinked, the memory of being in combat dogging him. He’d been charging ahead, bullets flying, soldiers lying dead around him…
Then he’d been home, warm in a woman’s bed, her lips and hands touching him in places that erased the horrors of that day.
The body beneath him moved, the woman’s foot rubbing his calf, and he shifted and looked down into her eyes.
Sexy, startling blue eyes that gazed up at him with passion.
Eyes that belonged to Willow Woods—the general’s daughter.
Holy damn.
She pressed her lips against his neck and nibbled at his skin, and he groaned, his body protesting what his mind was ordering him to do.
He had to get off of her now.
Growling in frustration, he lifted his body and rolled to the side. Sweat trickled down his face, and his vision blurred again.
This time an image of himself in front of a court marshal flashed behind his eyes.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, willing himself to be strong.
Soft lips gently slid across his cheek. “Why did you pull away?”
Anger at himself surged through him, and he jerked his head toward her. “Why did you kiss me?”
Shock flickered across Willow’s heart shaped face, yet a frown followed. “You didn’t like it?”
“That’s not the damn point.” He forced himself to put more distance between them. His body screamed that he was a fool. That he wanted her.
But he had to listen to his brain or his career would be go up in flames.
Hurt mingled with bewilderment on her face. “You were having a bad dream. You looked like you were…hurting,�
� she said softly.
“So when you see a man having a bad dream, you jump in bed with him to make it all better?”
The moment he muttered the words, he knew he’d crossed the line. But anger fueled him. He shouldn’t want this woman. He’d only met her. She was the worst possible female for him to be attracted to.
Her cheeks reddened, and she suddenly shoved him in the chest, knocking him backward. “You son of a bitch.” She pushed herself to a standing position and crossed her arms. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch you again.”
Regretting every word and action he’d taken since he’d met her, he simply stared wide-eyed at her.
An apology formed on his lips, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. She stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door.
He cursed himself a thousand times over.
For fuck’s sake. Why had the general sent him here? To torture him?
And why hadn’t he kept his hands to himself?
Because you were half asleep.
Because you wanted her.
Because she felt too damn good to push away.
He rolled to his stomach, planted his hands on the floor and began to do push ups to calm his raging libido.
For all he knew, she was calling the general now to complain about him.
Hell, she might even tell her father that he’d come on to her.
And how could he defend himself?
He might not have known what he was doing at first because his head had been blinded by the nightmares, but if he told the general that he’d either call him a liar or send him in for a psych exam.
And if he didn’t pass or got labeled with PTSD, he’d lose his position with Special Forces.
The military was his life. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost that part of himself.
Dammit, he had to apologize to Willow. Ask her forgiveness.
Admit that he was the one out of line and that it wouldn’t happen again.
* * *
Hurt and humiliation washed over Willow.
Damn that sergeant. He had liked the kiss, and he had wanted her. No question about that. Her feminine senses couldn’t have been that far off kilter.
So why had he stopped?
Because he was chivalrous? Because he was a control freak who thought that women shouldn’t initiate sex, only men should?
Because he was working for her father.
How many men had the general scared away over the years?
Too many to count.
Not only had he put every boy and man she’d ever met through the ringer by interrogating them as if they were the enemy, he ran background checks on each of them, and had even posted one of his peons to follow her on dates.
But he obviously trusted Sergeant Murdock or he wouldn’t have assigned him as her bodyguard.
Although he wouldn’t approve of the man sharing her bed.
Honestly, he wouldn’t approve of any man sharing her bed.
A loud knock punctuated the air. She startled and stared at the door, knowing what lay on the other side.
The first man in ages that had tempted her to let down her guard. The only man she’d wanted to crawl in bed with.
Maybe it was a hazard of her job, but the phone sex had definitely tainted her sexual urges. And the calls had destroyed her trust in men because half the men who called were cheaters.
Lordy, she was getting jaded. It might be time for her to quit the biz.
The knock came again—a pounding sound. “Willow, open up. I need to talk to you.”
She glanced around the room, searching for something to throw at him if he barged inside.
“Good night, Sergeant,” she said firmly.
A tense second passed. Then a loud huff. “Willow…please open the door.”
No. If she did and he looked at her with those bedroom eyes, she might falter.
“I’m going to sleep,” she said. “I hope you’ll be gone in the morning.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Not until the general gives me orders otherwise.”
That’s right—bring her father back into it. He was a reminder that nothing should or could or would happen between them.
“I’m sorry, Willow,” he said through the door. “I…it was my fault. I came here to protect you, not hurt you.”
He thought he’d hurt her? Well, he had.
But she refused to admit that to the arrogant bastard and feed his monster ego.
She swung the door open. She’d show him that he hadn’t affected her. “I’m fine, Sergeant. Now since you seemed damned and determined to follow the general’s orders and play bodyguard, then I’ll have to tolerate you. But” —she punctuated the air with her hand—“keep your distance.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t worry. I’m a trained soldier. I think I can handle surveillance on you without interfering in your life.”
He had that same steely iron control just like her father. The kind of control that had driven her crazy.
She’d always known how to push her father’s buttons though.
A slow smile curved her mouth. They’d just see if he could keep a low profile the next few days.
* * *
Max didn’t sleep for thinking about Willow lying in that big bed all by herself. He could still hear her lyrical voice murmuring erotic nothings to her caller.
He wanted her murmuring them to him.
Of course, if he hadn’t tasted her lips already it would be a whole hell of a lot easier to banish thoughts of taking her to bed.
The general would kill him if he did. Literally. Figuratively. In every way known to man.
As much as he hated this assignment—and missing his R & R to do it—the fact that the general trusted him with his daughter’s life spoke volumes.
He should consider this assignment as an honor.
Not be looking at Willow with lust.
Teensy waddled in from the bedroom, stopped at his feet and seemed to glare at him with those cat eyes. Or maybe it was a feline look of victory—the cat had been allowed to curl up with Willow in that bed instead of him.
Determined to stick to the job, he restacked the pillows on Willow’s couch and brewed a pot of coffee. Seconds later, Willow slipped from her room, half dressed in simple cotton pajamas that shouldn’t have been sexy but were, her hair tousled.
“Coffee,” she said in a sleepy voice. “Thanks.”
He sipped his own and remained silent while she stirred a mountain of sweetener in hers.
“I arranged for a security firm to install a security system today.”
“You did what?”
“My job is to keep you safe.” He gestured toward her windows. “A security system is crucial.”
She clenched her jaw, obviously irritated. But the general hadn’t hired him to make her happy. He wanted to keep her from falling prey to harm.
“What do you have planned today?” he asked
Willow popped a bagel in the toaster, then leaned against the counter while she blew on her coffee. The fact that he didn’t order her to immediately put on a robe showed great restraint.
“I have classes this morning.”
“What’s your major?” Judging from the phone calls the night before, she was studying erotic techniques for torturing men.
She nibbled at her lower lip, her gaze wary, making him wonder if she was actually in school.
“I’m a language major.”
“What do you plan on doing with that?”
Too late, he realized his question sounded condescending.
“Work with the government as a translator,” she said, surprising him. “But don’t tell my father that. He’s hoping I’ll get a teaching degree, marry some doctor or lawyer who’ll take care of me, and give him grandchildren.”
Max arched a brow. “Marriage and babies aren’t in your future?”
The bagel popped up from the toaster, and she snagged it and spread cream cheese across
both sides.
His eyes were glued to her as she licked it off her finger.
Good grief. Normally he wasn’t so in tune with every movement a woman made, but he couldn’t help himself. Willow was a mesmerizing creature.
Her eyes flickered with a challenge. “Maybe, with the right man. But”—she paused—“I’ll never be the type of woman who lets a man run over me.”
No, he didn’t see her doing that.
And he admired her for it.
Seemingly oblivious to his thoughts—thank God—she set the bagel on a paper plate, then carried it to her bedroom. The doorbell rang, and he let in the man from the security company.
“What time is your first class?” he asked Willow before she shut her door.
She stilled, her gaze locking with his. “Nine.”
“What time do we need to leave?”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re not going with me to class.”
He barked a sarcastic laugh. “Yes, I am. My orders are to protect you. That means you’re stuck with me every minute of every day until the threat is alleviated.”
Anger flared in her expressive eyes. “I’m not a little girl any more,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t need a bodyguard twenty-four-seven.”
Max stood ramrod straight, military stance. “If you don’t like my presence, take it up with your father.”
The cat batted a paw at Max’s leg. Teensy obviously didn’t like him being here.
“Oh, I intend to.” With a furious glare, she ducked inside her bedroom and shut the door, leaving her protective feline to keep him at bay.
Maybe the fur ball was a watch cat after all.
He scrubbed a hand over his face with a sigh and gestured to the man with the security firm to get started. The military police had damned well better find whoever was threatening General Woods.
He didn’t know if he could survive another night with the general’s daughter.
* * *
Willow took a big swig of coffee, then punched her father’s number. The phone immediately rolled to voice mail. “Dad, please call and tell me that threat is over.”