Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series)

by Rosa, A.

I thought, not this one, as I pulled the trigger.

  Love is a powerful thing.

  Marcus's yelp breaks me out of my long, drawn-out moment of reverie. He flies backward, falling to the floor, clutching his bleeding knee. He didn't even attempt to fire his gun. Marcus is no killer.

  With everything coming back into focus, I find myself satisfied by the howls of pain erupting from him. I may have shown him compassion, but it doesn't mean he shouldn't suffer.

  I want to smirk, only because, despite my brief encounter with compassion, I still think there should be pain. Fair is fair in my book, with what he has put us through.

  With that thought, I fling myself forward. I kick Marcus's gun on the floor far across the room. Even though I let him live, I need him cooperative. I pistol whip him across the temple, rendering his sputtering body into silence as his upper half joins his lower half on the cool tile, surrounded by a growing pool of blood.

  "Jeremy!"

  He is slumped in the chair, and he appears to be hyperventilating as he lifts his dumbfounded, bloodied face to mine. What shocks me the most, and has me wide eyed and scared, is that Jeremy is grinning at me. An ear-to-ear grin, as if the blood spilling from his nose, down his chin, and soaking his overpriced, designer dress shirt isn't a big deal at all. He looks to Marcus's unconscious form on the floor and then back at me. I'm out of breath at the sight of him. His grin is terrifying me. Has he lost it? I'm still hinging how he might feel about me over our last interaction, and seeing him bloodied with an obvious broken nose has me shaking in my agency-issued boots.

  "I knew it, you know?" he blurts out. Wide-eyed, I freeze to the spot, entirely confused.

  I have said so many wrong things to him in the past twenty-four hours that I fear my own words. I whisper, "W-what?"

  With utter confidence, he replies, "You love me."

  Are you kidding me right now? He's being funny, charming, and smug even now. I love him. This time I let my face reflect his grin, and not wanting to waste any more time, I blurt out, "I do. I love you."

  His bloodied grin looks comical to me as he takes in what I said. "Say it again."

  I take a deliberate step toward him. I have never wanted to kiss him so badly, bloodied and all. "I love you, Jeremy, and there isn't a chance in hell I could live this life without you."

  "And I love you, Alex Turner. I knew you'd save me. Well, I had high hopes, and you always seem to exceed my expectations."

  How can he still be like this after almost dying … for a second time? I am confounded with joy. Even in the face of danger, he still manages to be a domineering jerk, but I love him. I love his domineering jerkiness, his overconfident strut, his retaliatory words, and the way he loves me for the same reasons that I love him.

  He's alive. I did it.

  "Now, Agent Turner, do you mind untying me, or am I to pay for some unknown crime?"

  I shake my head, trying not to laugh as I untie his restraints, setting him free. He stands up and wraps his arms around me in a tight embrace, his blood-soaked shirt is damp against my chest. I need to clean him up ASAP, so I can kiss his perfect face and those pouty, angsty lips.

  "Jeremy, what are you doing?"

  He presses my body hard against his, as if I am the most precious thing in his entire life. Well, I guess the feeling's mutual.

  He answers, "I thought I'd lost you after our argument."

  I pull away enough to look into his glacier-blue eyes, cupping his bruised jaw. "Jeremy, I am the one who should be saying that. I almost lost you. This is my fault."

  Even as a bloodied mess, I still think Jeremy is the most beautiful man I've ever laid eyes on, and because I love him, it all means much more.

  He grabs my face, watching my watering eyes. "No, no, I knew you wouldn't let me go without a fight. It was just going to take some time. I'd do the same for you. In a way, I hope that someday maybe I can save your life."

  I laugh, trying my damnedest not to kiss him. It's simple, isn't it? "Jeremy, you already have."

  He rewards me with my most favorite smile, the one crafted especially for me.

  He is my normal. He is my home. He's alive. And I love him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Epilogue

  ALEX TURNER

  "Jeremy, why is it you're allowed to take phone calls, and I'm not even allowed near an electronic device?" I adjust my sun hat, pulling the floppy brim over my eyes in a way to block the delectable view of Jeremy as he sets his cell phone down on his vacant lounger. I know better.

  He is looming over me. His swimsuit-clad body is blocking the blazing Bora-Bora sunshine. I huff, exaggerating my annoyance, as I continue, "Not to mention, why you made sure we're on the other side of the planet." His throaty laugh catches my attention. I make contact with his calm eyes, and know that I won't win this argument. The more and more I fall for Jeremy, the more I can't resist him. Oh, dear. "Are you laughing at me, Mr. Hunt?" I quip, trying to be mad and failing miserably.

  He pouts and shakes his head in a patronizing manner. "Wouldn't dream of it, Miss Turner." He reveals his pantie-dropping grin, leans over the lounger, and climbs over my body. No shame.

  While he crawls up my body, I am caught in his predatory trance, and my annoyance is forgotten. "Jeremy, we're in public."

  He laughs again, continuing his mission toward my lips. "Because there are so many other people on the beach."

  I sigh, looking around. The bastard is right. We are the only ones on this private, white sand beach, facing the crystal blue waters, basking in the midday sunshine in paradise. Talk about secluded. Before I can respond, he has already reached my lips as he lets his mouth crash into mine, halting any words.

  He has finally grasped the fact that he owns me body and soul, and he enjoys taking full advantage of it daily. So, with his lips on mine, my arms wrap around his naked, broad shoulders. He's sticky from the heat of the beating sun.

  Humming his approval, he pulls away to say, "How else am I truly going to get you to myself if I don't take you far, far away?" His tone is whimsically seductive.

  Before I can respond, he takes my bottom lip between his teeth, tugging as he makes himself comfortable against my body. An unavoidable moan escapes my lips, but he pulls away to continue, "And don't think I don't know that your boss would do anything possible to get a hold of you. He promised you time off, and I am going to try my damnedest to make sure we aren't bothered."

  "You mean, to make sure you aren't bothered."

  He grins wolfishly. "You act like being on an island with me is the worst thing in the world. Maybe you're a workaholic."

  I drag my fingers through his sideburns, basking in his closeness. "Says the person who has been taking calls the entire time we've been here."

  His eyes heat, but he smirks. "I've taken four calls, and we've been here nearly two weeks. Plus, someone has to run the company." I wrinkle my nose, knowing he is right. He is quick to place a kiss on the tip of my nose. "I love you."

  I roll my eyes, but grin too. "I love you too."

  As if on cue, his phone rings for the second time today, interrupting us. The frequency sounds odd, but I decide it does nothing but annoy me. "Make that five times," I retort.

  He grins, kissing me quickly but with purpose as he drags his lips over mine, down the nape of my neck, and over my breasts. Before getting up, he tugs on the strings of my black, overpriced bikini with his teeth, and his eyes glimmer. "We will finish this conversation."

  I smile, knowing that he is the only person I'd accept a demand like that from willingly. I am as much a handful as he is.

  He gets up, reaching for his phone. "Hunt speaking. This better be good." He's brusque, and it's obvious he has little to no patience.

  I watch him walk away. He takes a moment to turn and flash me a smile before continuing his walk to the lapping waves, making sure he is out of earshot. Hmm.

  I'm sick of this annoying floppy hat. I yank it off like an impatient child, throwi
ng it to my left. No one's around, I can do whatever. Stop being so juvenile.

  Letting out a sigh, I look around, but the only thing worth looking at is the sun-kissed form of my boyfriend kicking around in the ankle-deep waves. His blond hair, floppy and unkempt from our vacation, makes him look young and carefree. It's the most at ease I have ever seen him. Maybe after everything, escaping to the other side of the world was actually something he needed rather than wanted.

  I drag my eyes in appreciation over his sculpted shoulders, watching his muscles shift with every movement. I find myself letting out yet another sigh as I look around the beautifully desolate surroundings. We are at a resort, be it a small one, but where are all the people? I wonder if Jeremy would go to the extreme of buying out the whole property for our entire vacation. I roll my eyes, but can't hide my smile. He's crazy.

  Crazy about you, my subconscious quips. I grin lazily to myself, thankful that my spiteful subconscious has come out of her bitter hiding once I confessed my love to Jeremy. She's been a happy camper ever since. Figures.

  Jeremy is still on the phone, and I think about what I should do with myself. One can only tan for so long. I am not Federal Agent Barbie.

  Am I bored? The question is a little baffling. Do I not even know how to take a damn vacation?

  I fidget in my seat. I've spent every day basking in the sun, drinking mojitos on the beach and having Jeremy within reach at all times. What more could I want?

  Having a gun at my disposal would be nice.

  I shake my head at my wayward thoughts, and my subconscious, who is obviously more of a romantic than I am, shouts, Please spare me your badass bullshit, and focus on why you are here. Jeremy. Duh.

  Did my subconscious just say duh? I don't need valley-girl-diva being my Dr. Jekyll to my Mr. Hyde.

  "Ma'am, here is your drink."

  I realize I am going crazy struggling with my inner voice. I try not to look like a loon and sit up straight, locking eyes with a beautiful, dark-skinned woman. Her bikini is as teal as the ocean, and it contrasts perfectly with her dark skin. Her groomed features spread into a knowing smile for me as she repeats, "Ma'am, your drink?"

  "I'm sorry. I didn't order a drink," I apologize, confused.

  She grins this time, and it's obvious she has a secret. "No matter. This is for you."

  She sets down the tray on a small table to my right, and there's more than a drink. My head perks up like a dog getting a treat. The drink is accompanied by a small, iPod-looking device with headphones, along with a piece of paper. Hmm.

  I smile back this time, understanding what might be happening. I lean toward her to whisper, as if Jeremy fifty feet away could hear me. "Are you from the agency?"

  Her smile is silky smooth, and she winks before walking away. These bitches and their secrecy.

  I take a moment to make sure Jeremy is busy. He is farther down the beach this time, engrossed in the call. Good. For once, I want him to stay there a moment.

  I grab my floppy hat and place it back onto my head less gracefully than I would have liked. I am going for nonchalance, but let's be honest, it has never been my forte. I sip the replacement mojito while using my other hand to grab the paper.

  The note is nearly the size of my palm , and I smile the moment I unfold it:

  Turner,

  I will always find you.

  —Derek

  I want to laugh, but instead make it a point to tuck the note under the cushion of the lounger. I grab the iPod and wonder how I am supposed to approach this. I put both earbuds in my ears and simply press play. Derek's familiar voice greets me.

  "Turner, did Hunt really think he could take you to a place where we couldn't find you? Well, I know you know why I am contacting you. We have another assignment for you. There is an arms dealer in Brazil falsifying government contracts and selling illegal weapons to Russia, North Korea, and China. You know the drill. You'll find out more when you get back. You have seventy-two hours to accept, but I know you will. Oh, and congratulations on scoring higher than I scored on the LLAT. You earned it. Over."

  I swear he can never help his smug tone. Typical.

  "Where did you get that iPod?"

  I whip my head up, realizing that Jeremy is standing over me, staring at me. His jaw is clenched. Even angry, his Viking features are still distractingly beautiful.

  I smile guiltily and shrug. "Remember how you love me? Well, I have something to tell you."

  He does not look pleased. "You have got to be kidding me."

  THE END

  SNEAK PEEK OF BOOK #2

  SEPARATION ANXIETY

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lessons in Love & Life

  JEREMY HUNT

  “I don’t understand why we have to do this?” I let out a long drawn out sigh as I watch Alex meticulously laying out a few guns on the table. Really?

  Noticing that she is not choosing to acknowledge me I peer up toward the beating down Arizona sunshine, noting even though it is the beginning of October it has got to be hitting the high nineties as far as temperature.

  As I let my eyes fall back toward Alex, taking a moment to take her in, wearing her tight maroon tank top with short jean shorts, showing off her long slender legs.

  Back in Boston she never has an excuse to wear such things. It makes me miss the far off island of Bora-Bora, and her string bikinis.

  There are so many things I’d rather be doing than participating in a gun lesson.

  Catching me staring, she turns around holding a handgun, grinning devilishly.

  “Are you ever going to tire of just staring at me?” she asks.

  I nod my head no. What a silly question.

  I meander over to her, and place my hand on her shoulder, brushing her hair off her neck, and place a kiss under her ear, thinking even her sweat smells sweet.

  “Can’t we just go back inside?” I whine.

  She snorts, and stifles a giggle. “You promised.” Her tone is stern, but she pouts as she looks up at me like a young girl who was promised a new doll, or a trip to the fair. It’s adorable, really.

  I can’t help but laugh and kiss her again, “Ya know, you are the only person I would let get away with such demands.”

  “I’m aware. Now come here.”

  I roll my eyes and take a stand next to her.

  She continues to grin and I can tell she is already enjoying this. I decide to let her have her fun.

  She turns to face me, letting her eyes meet mine, and holds the handgun up for me to see.

  “Are you ready? —Scratch that.” She squints her eyes, assuming I would most likely fight the question if given the opportunity. “Let’s just begin. First things first, you always treat any firearm as if it were loaded, even if you think it isn’t. It’s the most important safety precaution, and I can tell you right now that this gun is very much loaded, OK?” She wiggles the deadly object for emphasis.

  I’d trust her with my life, but can I let a girl teach me how to shoot?

  Don’t be so sexist.

  Her tone get’s me to pay close attention, and I nod my understanding, knowing that she knows a lot more than I give her credit for.

  She continues, “Also, you, of course, want the gun pointed in the safest direction. Meaning, away from harms way. Before I hand this off to you the next most important tip is: Always keep your trigger finger off the trigger, and outside of the trigger guard until you have made a conscious decision to shoot. OK, did you get all that? Recap the safety rules for me.”

  She bobs on her heels as if excited for the next step in the lesson, but has a stern look to her.

  I raise a brow at her disciplinary tone but know it is for my own good, due to my lack of experience and distaste for the damn thing. I am bound to make a mistake. An Unfortunate truth that I will not admit aloud.

  Taking a deep breath and nodding my way through it I respond, “Always treat the gun like it’s loaded, point it in a safe direction, and don’t put my fi
nger on the trigger until I am sure of the shot.”

  She smirks at my words, possibly proud. “Good. Okay, next. I want you to use two hands to hold the gun. First, grip the hand of the gun with your dominant hand on the back strap. The back strap is the back of the grip on the gun. This gives you more leverage against the weapon, which will help you control the recoil when you fire the gun. It’s gonna give you quite a jolt.”

  I can’t help but gulp down at the sound of her words. When I really think about it there must be a big bang to shooting a gun. I am so clueless about things like this, and it annoys me that I’m so ignorant about the topic even though I have no interest in the thing.

  “Gimme your hands.”

  Without question I watch her seriously as I raise my hands for her. Knowing I am right handed she grabs for it, and wraps it around the handle.

  The metal of the gun gives me the chills at its hardy, heavy feeling.

  “Now, we are going to place what we call your support hand, which is your non-dominant hand, so that it is pressed firmly against the exposed portion of the grip not covered by the gun hand. See here?” She grabs for my left hand and wraps around where it should be. “All four fingers of your support hand should be under the trigger guard with the index finger pressed hard underneath it. You see what I mean?”

  Catching me off guard, she raises my hands bracing the gun, and extends my arms out straight, as if preparing me for a shot. Her hands are soft and meticulous as she makes a few adjustments on my grip, but then she let’s go. Now it is just me holding this weapon, looking like I know what I am doing. Yeah right.

  I can’t help my wide-eyed, stark look as she takes a deliberate step off to the side, smiling wryly at me as she examines me freely.

  “Glad you find me amusing, Miss Turner.”

  She grins this time. “Always, Mr. Hunt.” She steps forward to place a chaste kiss on my cheek.

  Leaning into her kiss she laughs as she sees my outstretched arms falling.