by Mikell, Beth
His scrumptious appearance threw her off balance the moment he had arrived. He had stolen her breath. He wasn’t the classic kind of man-crush beauty, but he wasn’t forgettable. Ever.
Donavan walked up to her bedside, holding her gaze. “I’ll find whoever did this,” he had said.
The velvet firmness of his voice stung. Tears she didn’t want to shed, fell without her permission. She hated to break down in front of the sexy G. I. Joe, but his concern had pulled at her heartstrings.
No one had ever gone to bat for her.
And all she could think to say was, “You don’t owe me anything,” she had said in a small, tight voice. “Don’t do me any favors, He-Man.”
She closed her eyes, feeling like a fool. Why couldn’t life be simpler?
She hated hospitals because she had no say-so of her own. Do this, do that. Go here, go there. She was poked and prodded more than a holiday turkey. The suggestion to perform a rape kit had been the last straw. But she had consented, only because she hadn’t been conscious after the blows to her head. Right now, she’d kill for her Jacuzzi right about now, similar to a slow roasting bag. There wasn’t any part of her body that didn’t hurt—even her eyelashes.
She didn’t remember much about the attack. After she and Carson exited the movie theater, she recalled walking across the parking lot to her car. He’d been hit first. Then her. The asshole who did this had stolen her purse, but thank goodness, her phone had been in her jeans pocket. After that? Nothing.
Her best friend chose this moment to arrive. Brooke Stone. As their eyes connected, relief hit her in the chest. She knew she appeared like some zombie apocalypse victim.
Tears gathered in Brooke’s lavender eyes, and Jennifer hated to see them, but they fell. She needed her friend’s quiet strength, not her meltdown. With quiet steps, Brooke moved to her bedside, grasping her hand.
Jennifer shook her head. “Don’t cry, baby doll,” she said, her voice gravelly.
“I can’t help it,” her friend rasped. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
She tried to smile, but winced. “Are you kidding? I’m not butt-hurt over this. I’ll get time off from work and get pampered by my parents. I win either way.”
Yeah, tell that to her cracked ribs. Ugh.
“I can’t help but think it’s my fault.”
“How, exactly?” she asked with a glare. “Some nutjob did this, and then stole my purse and Carson’s wallet and watch.” She paused. “Speaking of Carson, did you meet him yet?” Her good eye glowed with blue excitement, though deep down, her feelings were fake.
Brooke’s shoulders hiked up and down in a slight shrug, pushing back the remnants of her tears. “Not formally.”
“At a glance, isn’t he dreamy?” Jennifer smiled, and kept going, “Well, he’s awesome. He’s been waiting to see me.” She tried to sound more upbeat about Carson than she felt. He was great and cute, but sadly, not for her.
“How do you know that?” Brooke asked with a frown. “As far as I know, I’m the first of your family and friends to see you.”
Thank heaven Brooke didn’t know Donavan had been here first. There was an awkward pause as her gaze slid to the door, and then looked back at Brooke. She pulled her phone out from under her blanket. “We’ve been texting,” she said with a wink and a dismissive wave of her hand. “He says we can run away together and join the circus. I told him I can’t do my high wire act yet, but he’s certain his clown routine will win everyone over. We’ll be stars.”
Brooke didn’t need to know that the most they’d said was ‘Are you okay?’ She didn’t want her friend to worry. “How are things with Hottie Sinclair?”
Brooke inclined her head toward the door. “He’s outside waiting for me.”
Jennifer sighed. “What a guy! Escorting you all the way here—”
“Flew me in his helicopter, actually.”
“Even better. He’s scoring mega points,” she said, thinking she needed a man like him. Too bad Donavan wasn’t on the menu. “Any luck on finding out who vandalized your apartment and business?” Keeping the topic off her made her feel empowered.
Brook blew out a breath. “No leads, but I feel certain your attack is linked, especially after Harry was hurt.”
Ah, Harry Brewster, God bless him. He was a sweet old bird that had helped raise Brooke.
Jennifer squeezed her hand. “Even if it’s related, there’s no reason for you to feel guilty about this.” Her chin jutted out, determination lighting up her face. “Just because some sicko jumped me and my date, doesn’t give you the right to drown in a guilty conscience, doll face. No way, José.”
They visited for another ten minutes until Jennifer’s parents came. The buzzing concern of her mother and father helped ease away her fears.
Her mother, Marla, had a direct approach to life. She met life head-on, taking no prisoners. She’d managed to move her daughter into a private room. No matter her mother’s rigid exterior to the world, Jennifer basked in her mother’s love and protection. Classically beautiful and always stylish, her red hair was pulled up with the same blue eyes as her daughter.
Marla caressed a hand over Jennifer’s cheek. “How are you, my love?”
Her tears fell. “I’m so sorry.” She wasn’t even sure why she was sorry. Perhaps the effects of her attack were catching up with her. Nothing felt right, not even her thoughts. She wanted to crawl into a big hole and never emerge.
“It’s not your fault, Pumpkin,” her father said, his soft gray eyes shining with love.
“The doctors say,” Marla began, “You’ll need to stay a few days, but they’re certain you’ll make a full recovery.”
Jennifer nodded, unable to find words.
“Also,” her mother continued, “I’ve made arrangements for you to come home with us, at least until you can move around on your own. How will that be, sweetie?”
“Thank you, Mom.” She closed her eyes, willing herself to relax, but her mind kept replaying the violence.
****
Donavan hated Carson’s scrawny body the moment he came into view. He was thin, preppy, and a dark haired “pretty boy” type. Every instinct in him wanted to throw him to the ground and pound him to a bloody pulp. What was Jennifer thinking? How could she believe that such a guy was good enough for her? But he wasn’t much better, he knew. A crusty soldier with a painful past. Not ideal.
“What’s this about?” Carson asked, raising his chin, jerking his arm from Anderson.
Wasn’t he the scrapper?
Donavan answered him with a question of his own, “What is the nature of your relationship with Ms. West?”
The other guy paled. “What’s it to you?”
More anger seethed through his insides, aching to snatch him up and smash him. His gaze flicked to Anderson. “You can leave now.” He waited until his order was followed, not wishing for a witness to his questions. Threading his fingers together, he cracked his knuckles.
Carson backed away. “Look, I’m not telling you squat. I don’t care if you are the head of security for some big shot. I know my rights. You’re not in law enforcement and I don’t have to answer to you. Besides, I’ve had a shitty night and I’d like to go home.”
The scrapper had balls. Donavan would give him that. “You may not care who I am or who I work for, but I take my job seriously.” He kept going when the other man tried to respond, “In case it escaped your notice, your date was beaten, while you walked away with an ice pack. Details like that do not escape my notice. So, if you have information that could help, I suggest that you cough it up.” He decided to back down his DEFCON 1 reaction. Bullying the other man wouldn’t get him the answers he sought. A serious tactic would show Mr. Mayes that he meant business.
Carson sighed. “Like I told the police, I was hit from behind. They stole my wallet and my watch. I didn’t see anything—I didn’t hear anything.”
“Who knew about your date with Ms. West?”
&
nbsp; For a moment, Carson looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. “My roommate, Jason Vaughn.” He tacked on, “To my knowledge, he’s never met Jennifer and he wouldn’t have done this.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said in a flat tone. “In my line of work, no one is without suspicion.”
“I didn’t hurt her,” Carson said softly.
“But you could have paid someone to do it for you,” Donavan countered.
“Why would I do that? We just met.” The other man huffed. “Are we done here?”
He strode closer to the scrapper, holding his gaze. “If I find out that you had anything to do with this, you’ll not only receive her injuries, but a few that I specialize in.” He leaned closer, almost nose to nose with the scrapper. “You’ll be sipping your meals through a straw for the rest of your fucking life. Understand?”
Mayes nodded and scurried away.
Donavan turned away, stalking back to the Hummer. He beat two hands on the roof. The driver’s door opened and out popped his most trustworthy: T-Bone. They’d served together in Afghanistan and ran ops in Iraq. There was no one he trusted more. He was dressed in all black military gear—two hundred and fifty pounds of I-take-no-shit-off-of-anyone.
“Commander,” T-Bone said.
“Put a two-man team on Carson Mayes. If he so much as sneezes, I want to know. Also, exchange Anderson from his current security detail. I want him with me at all times.” A niggling sensation wormed through his gut. Anderson was questioning his orders and that was unacceptable. For Donavan, making sure Damon Sinclair was safe was his primary objective; he needed men that would follow his orders without question. “I want a security detail for Jennifer West until I say otherwise.”
“Yes, sir.”
He’d keep her safe, no matter what. “Call into S-Tec Security and have Kirk run a background check on both Mayes and his roommate, Jason Vaughn. I need to know their story.”
“Will do.”
Donavan would do what he could do. He’d damn sure fight for her life.
~ 5 ~
One Month Ago.
Donavan and Jennifer made it back to her apartment. They were a tangle of lips and hands as the front door banged shut. Neither of them bothered to ask questions. Their clothes falling fast.
She gasped as the cool air pricked her heated flesh. “More.”
Donavan yanked Jennifer close and sought her lips. His tongue mingled with hers and fed. It was raw, silky, and hot. The man knew how to kiss and wasn’t ashamed to show her—a stranger.
A deep moan shook Jennifer’s throat. Her tongue gave chase, darting across his in a heated dance. His scent drove her mad, causing her to inhale him down as fast as her lungs would allow.
She arched closer. Her nipples tightened harder against the friction of their meshed bodies. To hell with reckless.
****
Donavan’s insides tightened hard as he stared down at the beautiful redhead. Her wild cloud of hair shimmered against the paleness of her shoulders, a few tendrils teasing the deep hollow at her collarbone. His gaze lowered, and his mouth went dry. He wanted his mouth exactly there, licking and tasting. She challenged his restraint, her sexiness too much.
“Red, you are…”
Her finger trailed across his lips. “Shh, keep this simple.”
He could do that. A deep shudder sizzled his veins. “Simple, but fucking hot,” he whispered with a promising ring.
She exhaled, wavering on her feet. “Please.”
He scooped her up in his arms, relishing the skin-to-skin contact. He leaned forward to brush his lips over her mouth. She tasted smooth, clean, and refreshing. A groan lit his throat, and Donavan angled his head, staring down at the beautiful woman in his arms.
“Tell me where to go, Red,” he said, squeezing her closer.
“Down the hall,” she rasped. “First door on the right.” As she tingled with anticipation, she said, “What do I call you?”
“Donavan.”
He found the room easily, laying her on the bed. She was all woman. Her slender curves summoned his hands, aching to fist her hair as he tunneled through her mouth. He drew a deep breath, chancing a look downward and his toleration left him.
****
Jennifer couldn’t have dreamed Donavan up, even if she wanted to. If anything, he appeared more gorgeous. Large, beautiful, strong—he encompassed manly without even trying.
Long gone were the trappings of modesty into smooth naked flesh and cords of muscles. His dark eyes were narrowed. His prominent nose slid down to firm lips, and she had a feeling he knew how to drive her insane with his wicked tongue.
****
Donavan sank on the bed, cupping her face. She mystified him. Such softness. He closed his eyes against the onslaught, floating as never in his life. “I’ve never…”
She bit her bottom lip. “Never what? Tell me,” she rasped.
His eyes flicked open, meeting her glittering gaze. “Touch me.”
She shifted on the bed, straddling his thighs. His hard length shimmied close to her.
“Shit, too much,” he pushed through clenched teeth. He grabbed her hips.
She tilted her head, as her hands caressed up his stomach. She shook her head. “Be savage. Wild. Even crazy. Don’t hold back.”
A hoarse cry jerked from his throat, flexing his hands on her flesh, pulling her closer. The heat of her body teased him, and sucked away his sanity.
Donavan pushed her back on the pillows, laying over her, supporting his upper body on his hands. He stared down into her eyes. He leaned forward, brushing his lips over hers.
He licked, soothed, and chased through her mouth, so hypnotic and thrilling. He’d never sampled such a refreshing flavor, melting him from the inside out. Unconsciously, his hips flexed against the heart of her body, and a shudder raced over his muscles.
A soft mewl ripped from her as Donavan’s hand skated over her skin.
She arched into him.
His lips broke free, skimming across her cheek to ear. He scored the edge of his teeth over the plump curve of her earlobe. “You taste so sweet, Red.”
“Please,” she purred, her hands rubbing his head, urging him closer.
Donavan moved down her neck, placing a kiss over her rapid pulse. “I want you to reach the edge,” he said, moving lower.
His hand shaped her breasts. He laved her taut peak with his tongue, releasing slowly until his teeth grazed the tip with long intensity. Donavan willed himself to draw out her pleasure, but damn if she didn’t excite him into urgency. He flicked the other nipple with the same probing precision, teasing the point with equal fever. Her hips shifted under him. He about lost his mind as her heat danced over him.
He hissed a guttural groan. “Stay still, Red,” he gritted out.
“I want—” She began, his caress stealing her words. “Oh…”
“Burn, Red. Burn.” His mouth traveled over her stomach and lower.
He made her writhe, enjoying her.
****
Jennifer was an aching mess. Her heart pounded her blood fast through her veins as she hit a wave of pleasure.
Before she could catch her breath, he eased back, adjusting his position. He hovered over her. She needed completion. Her hands caressed up his shoulders, drinking him in. He was feral, tightly drawn. His dark lashes framed his beautiful eyes. His muscles were bunched and poised.
A guttural growl tore from him. “Tell me, Red—”
“Now!”
He sank into her…
~ 6 ~
Present Day.
The pain meds were good, but nothing helped Jennifer’s twisting dreams. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard a dark voice. He always said the same thing, this is what you get, whore! Then he’d hit her with something heavy and hard. A terrible, aching pain paralyzed her until she hit the ground. Blackness took her each time, cushioning her fall and absorbing her trauma.
Warm heat always came. He felt real
and strong, while a blessed relief bathed her. But her protector always disappeared, fading into the darkness before she could catch a glimpse of his face. He took his peace, leaving her stranded in another hole of pain. Her attacker would return, mocking her. Beating her. Each time his abuse lasted a bit longer.
She shifted on the hospital bed, misery slicing through her. She hissed, wanting desperately to wake up from this nightmare and discover it had all been a bad dream.
“Red.”
She heard his voice. All from a man that was good at hiding in the shadows and observing from afar. She angled her head his way, her eyes cracking open. In the dim light, she could see his face. There were shadows lurking under his eyes and his lips were set in a firm line. He appeared tired, worn and scruffy, as if he had been out in the field. His black military clothes were covered in a white film. Dark stubble dusted his jaw. A few smears of something black streaked across his face, adding to his disorderly appearance. He looked as if he’d been through a battle.
“Jake,” she said, moving a little more, wincing. “What time is it?”
“About 3AM.” He leaned closer, his eyes steady and unwavering. “I had to see you.”
That was when she realized he held her right hand. Between the gentle texture of his voice, his words, and his warmth, tears stung her eyes. “H-has something happened?”
“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll look after you.”
He didn’t answer her question, but she was too groggy to insist. She swallowed, trying to gather moisture in her mouth. He let go of her hand, reaching for something out of her line of sight. Without asking, he offered a cup with a straw.
“Drink,” he ordered in a firm but raspy timbre.
Automatically, her lips parted. Cool, refreshing water bathed her parched mouth, replacing the desert type feeling. “Thank you,” she murmured, her gaze meeting his again.