HER SECRET GUARDIAN

by Sally Tyler Hayes

  There'd been such meaning in their lives, such purpose. A lot of hard work, but joy, as well. They'd found joy in each other, in every little moment along the way.

  Was Sean right? Had she wasted so much of the last twenty years? He'd made it sound like a cowardly thing, and she hated thinking of herself as a coward in any way. But maybe he was right. Was her father looking down upon her, ashamed? She hated that thought, as well.

  And then she thought of regrets. If she died right here in this cave, if this was all the time she got, what would she regret? What would she wish she'd done differently?

  So many things, she feared. So many…

  She sat there for a long, long time. What seemed an eternity.

  As much faith as she had in Sean and his abilities, she kept remembering what he'd told her over and over again. He was just a man. Obviously an exceptional one. But his blood was red as hers and as easily spilled.

  She didn't want to ever see him hurt, didn't want to think about trying to patch him back together, working over his battered body with hands she was sure she'd never be able to keep steady.

  And she had no supplies. There was nothing as frustrating as knowing you could save someone, if only you had the proper supplies and equipment. Nothing like watching life slip needlessly away.

  She couldn't watch that happen to him. Couldn't.

  God, she thought. She cared too much already.

  She'd promised herself. Promised. And what had she done?

  Grace felt a flash of out-and-out terror and anger directed squarely at herself. She could fight it off, she told herself. It wasn't too late. She was very, very smart, very careful. She knew all about loss. Surely she could fight this and win. Fight both him and her feelings for him.

  She was berating herself soundly when she heard something over the roar of the wind and the rain.

  She lifted the pistol, pointed it at the passageway leading to the entrance, her arms straight, sighted it at what she thought was chest-high to a man and cursed the ever-present lack of light in her life.

  How could she shoot anyone if she couldn't see?

  And then Sean called her name.

  She was scarcely breathing, thinking maybe she'd simply heard what she so desperately wanted to hear. She sat there and stared at the entrance to the cave until he appeared and only then did she lower the weapon. He gave her an encouraging nod for that and came to her, absolutely dripping wet and still wearing nothing but his boxers. Still he was every inch the soldier, the darkly handsome, dangerous man, capable of doing most anything, it seemed.

  Staying alive, even? No matter what?

  Of course not. As he'd told her, he was just a man.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  She nodded and looked away.

  "Sure?"

  "Yes. What was it?"

  "I don't know. I didn't see anything. Except a lot of brush on the ground, a few trees here and there. It may have been one of those. Maybe something blowing down the beach that hit something and then went flying again. But I think the wind's picking up. We need to check on the weather forecast. We won't have a big window in which to operate. If the storm's doing something, we need to know about it. We have to be ready to move."

  "What are we going to do?" she asked.

  "Find a place to meet the others, and then get the hell out of here."

  She nodded. It was for the best.

  "Grace…" he began.

  She colored profusely, for once grateful for the shallow light.

  What was there to say? She'd been all over him.

  "It's for the best," he said. "We agreed."

  "I know."

  "I want to," he groaned.

  "I know." So why was he holding back?

  "Oh, hell, I don't even have a condom. This is one thing I wasn't prepared for, and you're … you're a doctor. There's nothing I could possibly tell you about stupid sexual risks."

  "No. Nothing. Except…because of my job, I came into contact with all sorts of things… I get tested. For everything. Regularly. I'm clean."

  She looked up to find him frowning at her yet again. "Go ahead," he said. "Make it even harder."

  "Well…" She frowned herself, taking his words like a dare. "I take birth control shots."

  "What?"

  "It's like the pill. Except in a shot. Just once every three months," she said. She wouldn't get pregnant. "It's standard procedure. For any woman going into hostile territory for the IRC … just in case. I won't get pregnant."

  He went as still as a statue then, a look of pure disgust on his face.

  "What?" she asked.

  He came to her and grabbed her and kissed her. Hard and deep and hot, soaking her through and through and leaving her digging her hands into his shoulders to hang on to him, to keep him there.

  "Why the hell did you have to tell me that?" he muttered against her mouth.

  "I don't know."

  "I need all the help I can get resisting you," he complained. "The thought of making you pregnant might have been enough to keep my hands off you."

  "And that's a good thing?" she dared.

  "Yes. It's a very good thing." He kissed her yet again, was working hard for each breath by the time he lifted his head. "Because I don't have anything, either, sweetheart. I have to get tested for all sorts of things myself from time to time, and I… Oh, hell. I haven't been with a woman in a year and half."

  She blinked up at him, trying to make sense of the idea. Him? "Not for a year and a half?"

  "Not since I kissed you. Which means my self-control isn't what it should be at the moment, and you… Grace, how the hell am I supposed to keep my hands off you now?"

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  Grace decided it was the sexiest thing any man had ever said to her. A compliment and a source of frustration all at the same time.

  Why did he have to keep his hands off her? They'd worked their way through most all the objections she knew of. She would not get pregnant, and neither one of them had any diseases. They were both adults, both free as a bird. He couldn't have a girlfriend or a wife he'd been ignoring sexually for a year and a half.

  She got excited all over again just thinking about that part.

  He hadn't been with anyone. Not since her. And all he'd done was kiss her. Granted, it had been an astonishingly good kiss. And she'd ached for him afterward. Somehow, she just couldn't see him as the kind of man who'd lie in his bed alone every night aching for her. She thought he was a man who'd do something about it.

  "Something tells me," he groaned, so close his breath brushed past her right ear, "that you don't appreciate the seriousness of my predicament. That you're not going to be cooperative at all."

  "I'm just trying to understand," she said.

  He wanted her. He didn't seem to want anyone else, and yet he wouldn't make love to her? It didn't make any sense at all.

  "You're not married."

  "No!"

  "I didn't think so, but … a woman has to ask these days. And you don't have a girlfriend?"

  "No, Grace. I meant it. I haven't touched a woman in too damned long. Except you."

  "And you don't want to touch me again. I mean … you want to, but you're not going to let yourself?"

  "That's right."

  "Why?"

  "What the hell kind of question is that?"

  "I'm just curious. I've found that most men aren't interested in exercising restraint where a woman's concerned. Certainly not a willing one."

  He swore viciously, and she laughed.

  "You're trying to make me crazy," he said.

  "No. I'm trying to understand you. I don't – well, I'm not the most experienced woman on earth, but…"

  He was still frowning, but put his hand on her arm and stroked it lightly. Up and down with a fingertip on her upper arm. "I know, sweetheart. That's one of the reasons I'm trying to be a gentleman."

  She stroked a fingertip of he
r own down his chest, felt the skin ripple in reaction to her touch. She thought about teasing him, about telling him she'd still respect him in the morning.

  But she was starting to worry. She liked him too much already.

  She was actually worrying that they'd get off this island soon, and he'd be gone. She found she wanted to stay here. Quite happily, she could live with him in this cave. She could use him for a bed and even learn to put up with the hurricane outside and eating MREs all the time. For him.

  Which meant it was likely time to think seriously about slowing this down. Before it was too late. Before she fell in love with him.

  She felt another twinge in the region of her heart, something for which she had no medical explanation. Not pain, like the kind she'd felt when he'd explained he truly did know what had happened to her family and insisted on talking to her about it. This was different. This was … pleasant. Warm and tingly. Something she suspected could put a giddy, silly smile on her face, if she let it.

  She had that ridiculous schoolgirl feeling again. As if he was going to be her first serious boyfriend, except she was way too old for that. He could be her first outrageously sexy lover. Other women had those. She wasn't totally out of it. Women gossiped everywhere, a campfire in the middle of nowhere being no exception.

  The talk would turn to sex, and Grace always felt as if they were speaking a different language at times. She knew a bit of a lot of languages, but not the man-woman one. It was pure gibberish to her. Grown women would be giggling and swapping stories; she'd smile and nod and hope no one ever noticed that she didn't have any stories of her own to contribute.

  Looking at him, she couldn't help but think he could give her stories. He could explain every sexual thing in the world to her, could likely demonstrate it all in great detail, and he'd be so good at it. She knew. There was something so wickedly sexy about him. His scent, his look, his touch. Those big, hot hands and all those muscles. He was so gentle with her, so careful, but she knew instinctively that he could be wild, as well.

  She wanted all of that. The gentleness. The wildness.

  "Grace," he complained.

  She looked up to find him staring at her, in that hotly sexual way that had her shivering and even more curious about him than before.

  Okay, so they weren't going to have wild, wicked sex at the moment. She fought off her disappointment at that and remembered they'd left out a big chunk of the conversation somewhere yesterday, in the middle of her running out of the cave and then, scaring him and herself, finding sheer bliss in his arms. Somehow she'd forgotten about the way he watched over her and all that he knew about her family.

  "You never told me how you know all these things about me," she said. "You watch me? All the time?"

  "When I think you're in a spot that has the potential to turn ugly fast, someone's keeping track of you," he said.

  "Who? And why?"

  "I think you deserve to live a long, healthy, happy life."

  "Because of what happened to my family?"

  He nodded. "And because of who your father was. I think his country owes you a debt that I intend to see repaid."

  "But … how? Why?"

  "The United States government keeps track of all sorts of people. For all sorts of reasons," he said evasively.

  "So someone's always been there? Watching me?" She hated that idea.

  "Well, we didn't think you could get into that much trouble in boarding school in Kent. But later, when you started in relief work… You kept showing up in places that make people nervous on your behalf."

  "But how?"

  "It's not difficult to put a trace on a passport," he said. "Or to find out where an IRC medical team is going."

  "And when I show up someplace dangerous, there you are?"

  "Someone sees where you're going. Someone puts a little red flag somewhere on a map, watches the situation. Maybe alerts the military commander in the area that we have Americans there. Relief workers. We'd appreciate being able to get them out in time, if the situation turns ugly."

  "Professional courtesy? Among warring factions?"

  "We watch all kinds of hot spots, for all kinds of things. All the time."

  "So you're in military intelligence."

  He nodded.

  "And I just happened to be your person to watch over?"

  "Actually, I think I found you, remember?" He grinned. "You looked about sixteen, like a kid playing dress-up with that stethoscope around your neck. I remember trying to kick you out of Kuwait while your patient was insisting on knowing exactly how old you were at the time, because he was sure you couldn't possibly be a doctor."

  "So you just happened to be in the area…"

  "I was working there," he said. "I'd seen you, and … you reminded me of someone."

  "Who?"

  "My baby sister. She's about your age and nearly as reckless."

  "So you just happened to see me, and I reminded you of your sister—"

  "At first. You were so young back then," he whispered. "Or you seemed so young."

  Which reminded her of something else. "How old are you?"

  "Forty-three," he said with a slight grimace.

  She frowned at him. "Practically decrepit."

  "You want me to kiss you again, Grace?" he said, as a dare.

  She took him up on it. "Yes."

  He swore yet again.

  She forgot for a moment that she was finally getting some answers out of him. "So I just got to be … what? Your person to watch?"

  "Let's just say I tend to make the most of my opportunities," he said. "Watched that little flag of yours hopscotch across the map. And I worried. And I let myself get too close. At the church."

  "Not close enough," she contended.

  "And then in San Reino, I didn't watch carefully enough."

  "Oh, Sean. You don't think I blame you for what happened here, do you? Because I don't. You've saved me so many times. Me and the friends who work with me, and I'm so grateful for that," she said, then wondered if she'd embarrassed him. "Everybody wants to work with me. Did I tell you that?"

  "No. Although I'm not surprised people love being around you."

  "It's because of you. They've all heard stories about you. The most outlandish stories. You're a legend among the volunteers. They trust you, too. Or maybe we're just superstitious about some things. I haven't ever lost a member of my team in the field, and everybody thinks it's because of you. They see you and me as a package deal. Being with me, they get your protection, too."

  He opened his mouth to say something, and she shut it for him. She closed it and brushed her fingertips across his lips and then her mouth. Softly, thankfully, almost reverently. "Thank you."

  He stepped back and took her hands away. She'd definitely made him uncomfortable.

  "I'm not allowed to thank you?" she asked.

  "I'm just doing my job," he said.

  "That's it? It's just a job to you?"

  "No, dammit. It's not. You're not. But I have a job to do here. I have to keep you safe, and you're damned distracting," he complained.

  "Sorry." She grinned. This was sounding better and better all the time.

  "This is serious, Grace," he growled. "Our situation is incredibly precarious. I think I can handle it. I promised you I would, and I don't make promises lightly. Which means I need to be able to think, to pay attention to what's going on around us, and I can't do that if I have my hands all over you all the time."

  "Oh. I'm sorry."

  He groaned yet again. "I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you."

  "I wouldn't forgive you if anything happened to you, either," she said.

  "Grace—"

  "I mean it."

  She had to step back, to think, suddenly finding it hard to catch her breath. If anything happened to him… The thought scared the hell out of her. She cared about him already, she realized. As she hadn't allowed herself to care about anyone in a long, long tim
e. And caring seemed like a totally washed-out, watered-down word for her feelings.

  She looked up at him and felt that little lurch in her heart once again. It had only been a few days, she told herself. Surely it wasn't too late to back away, to slam on the brakes.

  She'd lost too many people she loved. She knew how that felt. She wouldn't do it again.

  Obviously, she hadn't realized just how dangerous he was to her peace of mind, to her very existence, the carefully controlled chaos of her life.

  "I suppose you're right," she admitted. "We really shouldn't do this."

  He studied her face, looking very stern, as if he didn't like hearing her say it at all. But he agreed with her. "No, we shouldn't. We can't."

  She nodded. "Okay. I…" Damn, she'd been the one who'd pushed. She'd had her hands and her mouth all over him. "I'm sorry."

  He shrugged, as if it didn't matter at all. "We're both grown-ups. We can handle this."

  Of course they could. She glanced around the cave, looking once again for something to do and seeing nothing. Stuck here, she thought once again. For days. Just her and him. They might as well be locked in a cell together, and all the time trying to keep their hands off each other.

  This was going to be interesting.

  * * *

  He pulled out a very sturdy-looking radio and a GPS, a global positioning satellite link. Grace was seriously envious of that little gadget. It beamed a signal to a series of satellites and could tell a person exactly where he was – to within a few feet – anywhere in the world. There were times when Grace had a serious interest in knowing exactly where she was, as well.

  He took a reading, then pulled out a set of maps and began plotting. When he was done, he said, "I think it's time to get ready to go."

  "Where?"

  "To meet Duncan and Reed," he said. "The other two agents on the island. And their hostage. The hurricane's finally moving. It looks like we'll get the eye sometime within the next few hours. The eye's wide enough and moving slowly enough that we should have enough time to get to them before the backside of the storm comes through."

  "You want to go traipsing across this island in the eye of a hurricane?" she said, not liking the sound of that at all.