by Dana Volney
“Later tonight, in whatever country we’re in, when I inevitably freak out, remember this moment.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I don’t have any clothes.” Like at all. Shit. She was homeless and all of her possessions were ash. She didn’t need to be leaving the country—she needed to be figuring out reality.
“Yes, you do.”
“Remember my house blowing up? I know it’s all been a little crazy, but that was a pretty big event.”
“I mean, yes, you do have clothes.” He looked at her then back to the road. “We’ll buy everything we need when we get to where we’re going. And,” he took a deep breath, “I wanted to surprise you when we got back, but the penthouse on the opposite side of mine is being stocked with clothes, groceries, and anything else you might need. I have a contractor who is going to start re-building your house.”
He what? She studied him, his face, the smile on his five o’clock–shadowed cheeks. “What?” was all she could voice. She wasn’t sure she fully understood. “I could’ve been dead when you arranged all of this.”
He squeezed her hand. “I didn’t believe that for a moment.”
“How were you so sure?”
“Because that’s not how our lives work out. Not anymore.”
She felt the tears well and couldn’t stop them from falling. “So now you think I’m just going to leave the country with you?”
He pulled up to a private plane hangar and cut the engine. He didn’t say a word while he got out of the car and came around to her side to open her door. She used his hand to keep her balance while she slid out of the seat. There was a tiny chance she should really be checked out by a doctor instead of flying away.
Eliam gathered her in his arms. “I think you love me as much as I love you.”
“Really.” She smiled into the face of the man she loved with every fiber of her being.
“Yep. And, from the starfish and seashell décor in your former guest bedroom, I’m guessing you’d like a tropical trip as much as I would.”
She nodded. “You may have missed your calling as a detective as well.”
“I’ve missed a lot of things in my life.” His eyes were no longer playful as they searched hers. “That stops now. Now,” he grazed his lips over hers, “we live in the present.”
He kissed her again and she let herself melt into him. She loved Eliam. She loved him so much it scared her. But, when he laced their fingers together and kissed her like she was his world, life was more bearable, the future wasn’t so daunting, and she knew she was finally in the right place at the right time—because he was her prince.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Crimson Romance and Tara Gelsomino for being such an awesome publisher! You are a fun and accomplished group of people who make the process enjoyable every step of the way. Thank you for continuing to let me be a part of your business. The lively and professional environment you’ve cultivated is one of which I’m proud to be a part.
Julie Sturgeon, thank you, once again, for being my editing rock. Working together with you on this project was a treat and exciting and lively and inspiring and a billion other synonyms for awesome. Also, the name of the book is pretty cool, too—thanks for that!
Jami Wagner—I’ve enjoyed being on this #goaltrain with you. Motivation is an important part of my every day—and you help with that all of the time! I appreciate your friendship so much in a world that can be isolating.
Mary Billiter—I miss your smiling face, but I am glad we had time for critique meetings (and general gab fests) before you moved. We’ll always be keeping the hustle alive. You are one hell of a friend and beta reader!
To my unfailingly supportive family, thank you for embracing the path I’ve chosen. You help me through the ups and downs, talking out ideas and ways to succeed in life. I appreciate your support more than I’ll ever be able to express.
Holla to all my Wednesday night writing mates: our lively discussions, laughter, and friendships go a long way!
Thank you to my friends and family who have and continue to support my dreams. You inspire me every day and are appreciated!
Copyright © 2015 by Dana Volney.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
Published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
57 Littlefield Street
Avon, MA 02322
www.crimsonromance.com
ISBN 10: 1-4405-9490-2
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9490-8
eISBN 10: 1-4405-9488-0
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9488-5
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © iStockphoto.com/gmutlu, iStockphoto.com/AnnaPoguliaeva, The Killion Group, Inc..
Protecting His Heart
Dana Volney
Avon, Massachusetts
To all those who are tenaciously following your dreams: Keep going.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Acknowledgments
Copyright
Chapter One
Felix Ibarra threw his keys on the catchall surface by his front door. His new Wyn Security office in the Prince Industries building was comfortable, but he’d had to get the hell out of there. It had been a week of meetings, vetting locations, and setting up cameras around the perimeter. While he didn’t mind the bodyguard work, what he really wanted was some peace and quiet.
He paused in the darkness of his apartment’s small entryway. The air was off; something wasn’t right. His eyes darted in all directions, but he couldn’t see anything. He wasn’t alone; he could feel it. This thief picked the wrong place and the wrong target to mess with. He drew his side arm and waited for his eyes to adjust to his surroundings.
He moved farther into the living room and listened. But it wasn’t what he heard, it was what he smelled that made his heart beat faster. Oh hell to the no. Pulsations of soft amber floated in the air. Fu-uck. Here we go again.
His gut flopped, and he forgot to exhale the scent he knew too well. Why would she be here, in his apartment, now? He’d never admit it to anyone, but he kept tabs on her schedule. He needed to know her whereabouts so they didn’t accidentally run into each other.
I can’t locate her. The last time he’d reached out to ping her location was a couple months ago and that’s what he’d been told. He’d figured it had been because she was undercover. He had to avoid her. It was his only line of defense when it came to Arabella Nox.
He let his Glock fall to his side. He wasn’t going to shoot anyone tonight. Probably. If she were there to kill him, he’d already be dead. Not that she hadn’t tried in the past, but the woman always learned from her mistakes. He wished he could say the same.
The only question in his mind was whether or not the Italian vixen from his past would be sleeping, awake, and/or naked. And fuck him that he didn’t know which one he was rooting for. He headed for his bedroom on instinct.
His bedroom door was wide open, and he stopped short of his king-size bed.
“Took you long enough.” Her sultry voice cut through the darkness. “I coul
d’ve shot you five times already.”
“Arabella,” he ground out and took a step back. She was, indeed, naked. “Get out of my bed.”
“There’s a sentence I don’t hear . . . mmm, ever.” Sheets swished, and he could make out her curvy silhouette. She found a robe he didn’t know he owned and draped it around her dark olive skin, careful to leave a shoulder bare.
“Why are you here?” He didn’t actually want to ask, but, fuck, she was in his bed naked and hadn’t picked a fight yet. They either fought or made love—there was rarely an in-between when it came to their relationship.
“An old friend can’t stop in for a visit?” She took a step toward him.
“I don’t think visit is in your wheelhouse.” He backed out of his room and into the open spread of the living room/kitchen area. “Tell me why you’re here.” He couldn’t have a conversation with her in his bedroom knowing what was under her robe. This wasn’t much better, but considering the only comfortable piece of furniture he owned in the living room was a big boy recliner, there was less chance of a compromising situation happening. He’d never been great at not giving into temptation when it came to her.
“I came to warn you.” She played with the belt on the robe and sank into his brown microfiber recliner.
He flipped on the switch that controlled a skinny floor lamp in the far corner of the living room, by a bank of windows overlooking a port for local fishermen. “About what?” He dug in his fridge for a beer.
“A threat.”
“Arabella.” God, her name flowed off his tongue so easily. Her name alone was sexy. Besides her obvious spec-fucking-tacular figure and eyes that could haunt a dead man, her name had sealed the deal for him. A man could get used to uttering it when he came. It was also a name he’d thought he was going to get to say for the rest of his life. What an idiot he’d been.
She stared at him, her alluring, bright, amber eyes cut through the expanse that separated them and tugged at memories buried down deep. “There’s a price on your head.”
He took a swig from his beer. “Nothing new.” Is this an excuse to get in my bed? She’d have to do better than that. Shit. Who was he kidding?
“But this time he’s found you.”
Her words sucker punched him in the gut, but all he did was grit his teeth and concentrate on keeping his breathing steady. He’d shown her weakness once; for shame if he did it again.
“Define found.” New identity, cash, travel arrangements. Most of what he needed was already in a hidden go bag.
“Darek’s sending a team. At least one I know about. I think I’m ahead of them by about a day, maybe as little as twelve hours.”
God, he wanted to believe she was sincere, that she was being a Good Samaritan. But with Arabella, nothing was ever what it seemed. There’d be a catch or something in it for her.
“While you’re being helpful, you may as well tell me now if you had anything to do with this sudden epiphany about my location and the need to do something about it.” The issue she warned him about was nothing new. He used his real name to this day; he wasn’t trying to hide. Something must have changed for Darek to be after him now.
She smiled, stood, and stepped closer—one slow hip swing at a time. With each movement, his body tensed. He didn’t know what the hell to do—walk out of his own damn place, grab her hips and kiss her, or use a little bit of the psychological warfare he’d picked up from the years in the army.
“I’m not going to pretend to be offended. I rather enjoy that you think I could do that to you. Puts us on even ground.”
“For the last time, I didn’t get you captured on purpose.”
She didn’t have a quick response, but the set to her lips and the momentary ice in her stare said plenty. Their past was a holy goat-fuck of a read. Not that any files officially existed of their missions together, and if they did, they’d be so redacted it would be one big pile of black paper.
There was no trust left between them.
He blinked first. He always fucking blinked first. “I raided the compound, but you’d already been moved. No one was still alive to tell me where. They forced me to hand the retrieval to another team.” Worst thirty hours of his life.
He chugged his beer again, needing to push down the lumps of “what ifs” that clamored to escape every time he thought about how he’d failed her.
He would challenge anyone who thought they had a fucked-up relationship to the details of his, and he was 100 percent certain he’d win every time.
When he stared back in her intense, brown eyes, he saw it. He’d struck a nerve. He smiled to himself. Arabella didn’t have many tells, but the one he’d learned—an oh-so-slight twitch in her right eye—was a dead giveaway every time. If a person wasn’t concentrating on seeing it, it was easily missed. He’d never told her about it, because the gesture was clearly involuntary, and he enjoyed having something of hers she couldn’t take from him.
“No one has ever accused militants of moving slowly. They don’t have bureaucrats to go through.” She pivoted on her red-polished toes and walked farther into his living room. “Sparse.”
“I’m not big on decorations.” He checked out her ass, mostly out of habit, because the robe was clunky. Even though he couldn’t see much, he knew her body was part of her arsenal and she kept it tight. “Why don’t we get back to figuring out if you’re telling me the whole truth about this new development on my whereabouts?”
She whirled around and faced him, her long, flowing, brown curls swooshing past her shoulder to rest on her chest. “He’s coming for you, Felix. Full force. You need to run.”
There was no smile on her cheeks, no teasing in her eyes. He’d known that someday this moment would come—a person couldn’t successfully run from their past while laying down roots. He just hadn’t expected Arabella to be the one to warn him.
“I’m not running,” he partially lied.
Fleeing was definitely still on the table. The appeal was there—the documents for a new identity were already prepared. He’d made a lot of enemies in his military career. Maybe it was the new fucking office, the security team he trusted, or the woman standing in front of him telling him what to do, but he didn’t want to take the coward’s way out. If Darek was coming for him, he’d stand his ground and fight. At least that way, if he died, he’d go defending his love, his honor, and his country. Dying for glory. Heh, wouldn’t that make the angels laugh.
“Then you better be ready for one hell of a fight.”
“I am.”
“Have you kept up with world events? Are you dialed in to the base? It’s not good, and if I’m saying that . . . ” She shook her head. “What’s your plan then?”
“You just told me minutes ago there was a problem. I don’t have a plan yet.” Did she think he was a novice now, too? He wasn’t about to share his plan to leave the country or the route he’d take once he was on foreign soil.
“That’s not the Felix I know. The Felix that I know would’ve had a plan in place and already made three more while we were speaking.”
“There is no ‘Felix you know.’ Not anymore,” he muttered and finished his beer.
“Don’t feed me that bullshit.”
He snorted. She deserved nothing else.
He’d been out of her type of game for a long time—two years constituted a lifetime in espionage. He’d been placed in the army’s Company A unit under the command of Louis Jackson to scout dignitaries in the Middle East and leaders on the opposing side. Mostly. The other reason was the unit stationed in southern Afghanistan had given him great cover and access to locations to do missions for Delta Force—a part of the army that didn’t officially exist. All of his training as a sharpshooter, recon specialist, and undercover expert had made him damn useful in that part of the world. He had never talked about it with Louis, and the old man was smart and had never asked questions when Felix disappeared for weeks or months at a time.
Felix stared at he
r all-too-innocent stance. “How do you know Darek found me?”
“I have my ways.” She winked, and he was suddenly more annoyed. If possible. Did she really think that basic shit would work on him? They were past being teammates, friends, and lovers. They weren’t anything now, so an attempt at flirting or softening him up wasn’t going to get her anywhere.
“How do you know your intel is good?”
“It is.”
“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it? Did you really think you could waltz in here and I would drop to my knees and thank my lucky stars you decided I was worthy enough to know a hit team is coming for me?” Maybe he was being too harsh, but, shit, this woman brought a tsunami of emotions with her and he wasn’t thinking straight.
“You’re such an ass.” She walked back to his bedroom door and dropped the robe to the ground. “And to think I couldn’t remember why we weren’t together anymore.”
He watched her bare curves fade into darkness.
Fuck. There was no way she’d forgotten why they couldn’t share the same zip code. They were horrible together—neither one of them had been disillusioned enough not to see that. He swiped another bottle from his fridge and leaned on the island that separated the two spaces.
Arabella was a lot of things to a lot of people, but she’d never lied to him about a job before. Lied about her feelings and what she saw for their future, yes. Work? No. Yet distrust nagged at him.
She appeared in front of him in a fitted red pants romper and damn near made him jump. “I see you still move like a cat.” He glanced at her feet. “Even in heels.”
“Helps with the job.” She took the beer out of his hand and sipped it.