Wyatt's War: Hearts & Heroes, Book 1

by Myla Jackson

  Fiona smiled. “My stepfather was in the Marines for twenty-six years. He always said it was the toughest job you’ll ever love.”

  Preston sat in stony silence.

  “Wyatt?” Maddie piped in. “What’s your background?”

  Yeah, Wyatt? What makes you so intense and sexual? Fiona wanted to ask, but she remained quiet, awaiting the man’s response.

  Wyatt seemed to be working through his answer in his head. “Army,” he finally spit out.

  Joe chuckled. “Don’t let him kid you. He’s one of the most decorated soldiers you’ll ever meet. He saved my butt a time or two.”

  Wyatt shrugged. “So, I assume you’ll want to meet at the hotel when the dogs have made their sweep?”

  Fiona recognized the diversionary tactic and let Wyatt have it. “I’m spending my morning at the convention center and from noon on, I’ll be at the hotel managing the details for the evening’s event. Find me when you get there. I’d like to hear what you think are the soft spots for security.”

  The food arrived, thus ending the business portion of the meeting.

  After the waiter removed the plates, Fiona ordered a frozen margarita and sat back to enjoy the music and the soft-scented breeze.

  The band struck up a song with a lively beat.

  Maddie leaped to her feet. “Come on, Wyatt, the music is moving me.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “I’m too full.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “In my neck of the woods, you don’t turn down a lady’s offer to dance.”

  “You’re right.” Wyatt pushed to his feet with a smile. “Forgive my rudeness.”

  Maddie batted her eyes and hooked her arm through his. “Forgiven. Now show me how well you move those sexy hips.” She danced him to the center of the floor and spun to face him, holding out her arms. He spun her into his embrace and moved around the floor like he was built to dance.

  “Magnus was always good on the dance floor.” Joe stood. “If you don’t mind your toes being stepped on, I’d be honored if you’d join me.”

  Fiona hesitated, not liking to leave a man alone at their table.

  Preston settled it by standing as well. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to brief my staff one more time and then hit the rack. I’ll be up before dawn and would like to be rested.”

  Shaking his hand, Fiona bid Preston goodnight and took Joe’s hand, allowing him to lead her onto the small dance floor. She hadn’t danced since college. Busy getting her business up and running, she’d forgone the young social scene.

  It felt good to sway to the music. For what Joe lacked in rhythm, he made up for with enthusiasm. By the time the song ended, Fiona was breathless and smiling. If her eyes drifted over to where Wyatt and Maddie were dancing, she didn’t let it spoil her fun.

  The band shifted to a soft and sensuous salsa. Joe tried a few steps with Fiona leading, but he laughed and gave up.

  “Trade ya,” Maddie said, appearing beside Fiona with Wyatt on her arm. “I think I can teach Joe a few tricks.”

  Wyatt held out his hand.

  With a sense of excitement mixed with dread, Fiona placed her hand in his palm and let him draw her into his arms.

  They fit together all too well, his hips rocking her hips in time to the music. Joe had been right, Wyatt could dance. A man who was strong, ruggedly good looking and could dance was a triple threat to Fiona. He reminded her just how much she loved to dance and made her wonder why she’d given it up for the sake of her career.

  At the same time, being so close to Wyatt only made her infinitely more aware of his hard muscles, thick thighs and massive arms. How would it feel to be naked, her soft breasts pressed against his rock-hard muscles again? For a moment she melted against him, ready to feel the next best thing. When she realized just how close she was, she stiffened and tried to draw away.

  His hand on the small of her back held her in place. “Loosen up,” Wyatt whispered into her ear. “Feel the music and let me show you how to move.”

  “I know how to dance,” she retorted, though her voice sounded weak.

  “Then show me.” He spun her around, his thigh pushing between hers, his hand creeping lower down her back, pressing her against the solid ridge beneath his fly.

  Angry that he thought she couldn’t hold her own on the dance floor and even angrier at herself for caring, she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the music. As far as she was concerned, she could be with any man and still dance the same.

  He twirled her away then back into his arms, his body rubbing hers from his chin to his calves, inciting a riot with her nervous system.

  Holy hell, her body was on fire, raging with need to be with him…in bed…alone, not surrounded by a crowd of vacationing tourists.

  Nearing the end of the passion-filled song, Wyatt swept her up against him and bent her backwards, exposing her throat.

  When the music ended, he held her still, bent over her, his lips so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. Just a half-inch would close the distance.

  “Uh, Fiona, dear,” Maddie said beside her. “The music stopped.”

  Fiona stared up into Wyatt’s eyes and blinked, the moment gone.

  Wyatt set her on her feet. “Thank you for the dance.”

  Brushing her hands down the length of the dress, she pushed her hair back from her face. “Well, I should call it a ni—”

  A loud crash from the direction of the kitchen made everyone jump.

  Wyatt grabbed her around the middle, shoved her to the floor and threw himself on top of her.

  Crushed to the sticky tiles, Fiona could barely breathe, much less move beneath the weight and strength of the man above her.

  “Magnus,” Joe spoke, as if from a distance. “It’s okay. The bus boy dropped a tub of dishes. It’s okay.” He grabbed Wyatt’s elbow and dragged him to his feet.

  Unfettered by Wyatt’s big body, Fiona rolled to her feet and studied the man.

  His face was pale, his brows dipped into a fierce frown, his hands bunched into fists. “Have to go.”

  “Magnus. It’s okay,” Joe repeated. “The reflex will fade. You just have to give it time.”

  Wyatt turned to Fiona, his gaze sweeping over her rumpled, stained dress, his jaw twitching on the side. “I’m sorry.” He tossed some bills on the table, pushed through the throng of people staring at him and left the restaurant.

  Fiona shook her head. “What the hell just happened?”

  Joe stared after his friend. “PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

  “And that makes him throw women to the ground?”

  Joe smiled sadly. “He’d have thrown me to the ground had I been closest to him.” He shook his head. “It’s been the hardest thing for me to deal with since my last deployment. An IED exploded next to my HMMWV. Rattled my brain and I can’t sit still too long. I get punchy. I think Wyatt had it worse.”

  “How so?” Fiona’s gaze followed Wyatt as he took off along the sidewalk bordering the River Walk. She wanted to go after him but knew she couldn’t keep up. Not in heels.

  “From what I heard, Wyatt was captured and tortured on his last mission. I don’t know what all they did to him, but it must have been bad. That’s why he’s here in San Antonio. He just recently was released from the hospital.”

  Maddie touched her arm. “Are you okay, Fiona?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m just a little tired. I think I’ll head back to my room.”

  “I’ll see Maddie to the parking garage,” Joe offered.

  Stunned by Wyatt’s action and abrupt departure, she nodded absently and said, “Thanks. See you two tomorrow.” She left the restaurant. Instead of heading straight for the hotel, she turned the direction Wyatt had gone.

  After walking for several blocks, her feet hurt in the heels and she wishe
d she’d had on her jogging shorts and tennis shoes. Catching up to Wyatt would be impossible, even if she knew which direction he’d gone.

  Her heart heavy, she turned back and arrived at the hotel before ten o’clock.

  The lobby was busy with guests checking in late. Many spoke other languages and had an entourage of staff with them.

  Though she felt as if she should be greeting them and making them feel welcome, Fiona didn’t have it in her to be sociable. The thought of a tortured Wyatt roaming the streets of San Antonio bothered her more than she would have expected.

  She took the elevator up and let herself into the room she’d share with Wyatt…if he returned. As she swiped her card through the locking mechanism, she held her breath, praying he’d be inside, safe and sound.

  Pushing the door open, she let go of the breath she’d held. No Wyatt. The room was cold and empty, much like her life had been up to the point at which she’d been bumped into the river and pulled out by a big strapping soldier.

  Without bothering to duck into the bathroom, Fiona stripped out of her sandals and dress and pulled her nightgown over her head. The blue baby-doll, sheer gown barely came down over her bottom. If she’d known she’d be sharing a room, she might have brought pajamas that covered her from neck to toe. Not knowing if the AC would be sufficient to keep her cool, she’d chosen the lightest gown she had. If she hadn’t been crazy busy all day, she’d have gone home to get less revealing PJs. Or she could have asked Maddie to stop by her place, but she’d sent her off on other more pressing matters than PJs.

  Too tired and dispirited to worry about it, she fluffed her pillow, climbed into the bed and leaned back against the headboard, sitting up, waiting for Wyatt to return to their room.

  Worry kept her awake past midnight. Despite the activities of the day, she couldn’t force her eyelids closed. Instead she slipped down into the sheets, afraid to go to sleep for fear of dreaming of the man who’d thrown her on the floor to protect her from attack.

  After an hour of lying there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what had set the man off, she climbed out of the bed and wandered into the bathroom. A shower might clear her head and let her finally get to sleep. Stripping out of her nightgown, she climbed into the tub and turned on the shower. Cool water to chill the desire rising in her every time her mind drifted back to the soldier who’d be sleeping in her room. Should she let him into her bed to get him out of her system? Or should she keep to her plan and remain abstinent throughout the conference?

  Fiona switched the water colder until she was shivering by the time she stepped out of the shower and still her body warmed from the inside.

  Damn the man for invading her thoughts when he wasn’t even there for her to do anything about.

  Chapter Six

  Wyatt walked to the end of the River Walk and out into the streets of downtown San Antonio with no direction in mind, just the need to move and keep moving. He felt as if he stopped, his demons would catch up to him and take him down, and he couldn’t give in.

  Every loud noise made him jumpy and jittery. The more he reacted, the more sensitive he became to noises, hearing even the slightest sounds like he had when he’d been working his way door-to-door in a poor Somali village, searching for the rogue warriors. When he couldn’t take it any longer, he slipped into a seedy bar and ordered a whiskey.

  One drink would take the edge off. If he let himself, he could drown himself to the point he no longer felt the pain. Alcohol also allowed him to fall into a drunken stupor and sleep until morning without the horrific nightmares that plagued him every time he closed his eyes.

  A redhead with brilliant green eyes kept him from going down the slick path of alcoholic oblivion. She had a plan and he’d by God better toe the line. Showing up for work drunk or hung over was never a good idea when terrorists had already threatened. Thirty minutes, maybe an hour had passed. He wasn’t sure. He would have liked to say he didn’t care as he stared into the glass of amber liquid he had yet to touch.

  Those damned green eyes haunted him and he could almost imagine the disappointment in them if he didn’t take the job seriously and show up for work. His troubles were insignificant. People’s lives depended on him being one step ahead of terrorists. Like in Somalia. Only he hadn’t been far enough ahead to keep his friend from dying. Maybe, just maybe, he could make a difference this time. But not numbed by alcohol.

  He pushed the untouched glass away, slapped a twenty on the counter and left the bar. At a slow jog, he took only fifteen minutes to find his way back to the hotel, ignoring the ache in his knee. He wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened while he was away feeling sorry for himself.

  Wyatt entered the lobby, his strides eating up the distance between him and the elevator. He hit the sublevel that led to the parking garage and the security office with the camera monitors. After checking with the security guard on duty and giving him his cell phone number, Wyatt returned to the elevator, his heartbeat quickening as the car lifted to the floor with the room he’d share with Fiona.

  Fingering the keycard in his pocket, he wondered if she’d managed to convince the concierge to change the lock code on the door to make his key card obsolete. He half expected the lock indicator light to blink red when he slid his card in the reader.

  Ready to turn and walk away, he was surprised to see the light blink green. He gripped the handle and pushed the door, once again expecting the chain to block his entry.

  When the door swung open, he stepped into the darkened room and nearly ran into the rollaway someone must have set up in his absence. Neatly made up with sheets, a blanket and pillow, it stood as far away as it could possibly get from the bed where Fiona would be sleeping. The only light shining from the base of the bathroom door barely provided enough light for Wyatt to locate the king-sized bed. The whir of a blow dryer came to an abrupt stop.

  Wyatt let the door close behind him. He eased his way around the cot, shedding his shirt and shoes.

  The light in the bathroom blinked out, plunging him into complete darkness, the heavy, light-smothering curtains across the window disallowing any streetlight to penetrate the room.

  The soft sound of a metal doorknob twisting and the barely discernible creak of hinges let him know Fiona was done in the bathroom and headed for the king-sized bed.

  A soft thump was followed by a muttered curse. “Damn.”

  Wyatt inched forward, concerned she’d hurt herself, but afraid he’d run into her if he hurried.

  He hadn’t gone far when, the light from the bathroom flickered on and Fiona was silhouetted, wearing a short, baby-doll nightgown, the shape of her body clearly visible through the diaphanous fabric.

  Standing only inches from her, Wyatt’s pulse quickened. He could barely see the expression on her face, but her quick indrawn breath let him know she’d seen him.

  “Oh,” she said, pressing a hand to the gentle swell of her breasts. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  She glanced up at him, the light shining off the side of her face, giving it a sexy glow. “I’m done in the bathroom. It’s all yours.”

  “Thank you.” He didn’t move out of her way. His body warring with his mind. He’d assured her she had nothing to fear from him. That he’d be the perfect gentleman sharing a room with her. But all those promises seemed to fly out the window with her luscious body so close to his, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession, her scent wafting around him like an invitation.

  She swiped her tongue across her lips, drawing Wyatt’s attention to their full, plump dampness. As much as he didn’t trust himself and as much as he didn’t want to get involved, he was afraid it was too late. He gripped her arms and stared down into her eyes. “I didn’t come here to start something,” his voice edged with desperate anger.

  “Then don’t,” she whispered
. “No one’s making you.” She said one thing, her body contradicting her words when she swayed toward him.

  “I made a promise,” he reminded her.

  “I wouldn’t want you to break any promises.” Fiona’s gaze shifted to his naked chest, her hands rising to rest on the muscles. Instead of pushing him away, her fingers curled ever so slightly, her nails grazing his skin. “Then again, sometimes promises are made to be broken.”

  He dragged in a breath, but the air didn’t seem to fill his lungs. Finally, he gave in to his baser desires and bent to claim her lips in a fierce kiss.

  Rather than shy away in alarm by his actions, Fiona raised her arms, entwining her hands at the back of his neck, dragging him closer, her barely clad breasts pressing against his naked skin. The nipples puckered into hard little tips grazing him, making him want to rip the gown over her head.

  He broke the kiss, trailing his lips over her cheek, down her chin, following the long line of her neck to where it crooked at her shoulder.

  She let her head fall back, exposing more skin to his lips and tongue. “Why can’t I stop? You’re like an addiction.” She moaned. “The more I have, the more I want.”

  Her words ignited a flame so bright it burned through him in seconds, consuming him. He slid his hands down her back and cupped the backs of her thighs, lifting her in his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. He spun toward the bed and eased her down onto the crisp clean sheets, bending over her, his mouth poised above hers. When she reached out to pull him down on her, he held back, grasping her wrists in his bigger hands, pinning them to the mattress above her head. “You need to know.”

  “What?” she said, her body writhing beneath his. “That I’m on fire? That I want you?”

  His groin tightened, blood flowing south, engorging his cock, making his jeans so tight he might explode. “You need to know I’m not staying. What we’re about to do means nothing. I’m no good at relationships. Don’t expect me to behave any differently tomorrow. It’ll be back to business as usual.”

  For a moment hurt flashed in her eyes and she lay still, not struggling against his grip on her wrists. Then her lips quirked up on the corner. “Okay, soldier. I’m more than good with that. And I’m glad you clarified, because I don’t have time for a clingy man.” She arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest, the smile spreading across her face. “Now, are you going to fuck me, or am I going to have to break out my vibrator?”