Wyatt's War: Hearts & Heroes, Book 1

by Myla Jackson

  Maybe he’d consider leaving her, once he found her and was certain she was safely outside the building.

  Where could she be? Wyatt closed his eyes for a moment and used a technique he’d used to find Al-Qaeda militants, by thinking like they’d think.

  What would Fiona do? How would she think? As organized as she was, she’d have counted heads of her guests to ensure all had made it out safely. Then she would have checked for all her security personnel. The woman was almost obsessive about tying up all the loose strings. She wouldn’t rest until she had all her little chicks accounted for. In that case, she might be looking for him while he was looking for her.

  He’d told her all the places he’d go to inspect. Logic dictated she’d look for him in those places, most of which he’d already covered since coming up from the garage. Could she have gone down while he’d been racing up? Damn. She’d be heading straight into the blast zone.

  His eyes popped open and he ran for the closest staircase leading into the parking garage. When he reached first level, he shoved open the door and burst into the coolness.

  A scream ripped through the air. Wyatt swung toward the sound, his gun drawn. That’s when he saw her.

  Preston had Fiona, his arm around her neck, dragging her backward toward a van. “Stay back, Magnus, or I’ll hurt her.”

  “Let her go, Preston. She’s not the problem.”

  “Maybe not, but she’s my ticket out of here.”

  “Put down the gun, Preston,” Fiona urged, her voice tight, constrained by the arm choking off the air to her vocal chords.

  “No way. If I put it down, your boyfriend will shoot me.”

  Fiona’s gaze met Wyatt’s. “Put your gun down, Wyatt,” she said. “Please.”

  Wyatt hesitated. Preston had already shot at him. The man was on the edge and could easily blow a gasket. “I’m going to put my weapon down, Preston. Don’t shoot me and, be smart and don’t hurt the lady. She’s done nothing to hurt you or your buddies who died in the war.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her, but I will if you do anything stupid.” Preston nodded. “Drop it and kick it toward me.”

  Wyatt eased his arm down ever so slightly. Already Preston’s gun dipped and his arm seemed to loosen.

  Fiona jabbed her elbow into Preston’s gut, slammed her high heel into his instep and ducked.

  Wyatt yanked his weapon up and fired off a round at the same time as Preston.

  Preston’s shot went wide, hitting the concrete wall behind Wyatt.

  Wyatt’s shot flew true, crashing into Preston’s chest, knocking him backward onto his ass. Because Fiona had been leaning against him, when he fell, she fell with him. She landed hard, rolled to the side, snatched up Preston’s gun and turned before Wyatt could reach her.

  She didn’t need it. Preston was dead, but he was very much a threat to them and everyone else in the building. The remote detonator device was still clutched in his hand, though the man lay with his eyes open, staring vacantly at the ceiling.

  Wyatt eased the device from the man’s hand and laid it on the ground, gently, afraid if he left it in Preston’s hand, he might have a dying man’s muscle spasm and set off the explosives Wyatt hadn’t found.

  When he rose, Fiona flung herself into his arms, nearly knocking him off his feet. “Thank God he didn’t hurt you.”

  “Me?” Wyatt chuckled, loving the feel of her warm body against his and holding her like there would be no tomorrow. For the two of them, it had nearly been the truth.

  In those few short minutes when Preston had held Fiona, threatening to kill her, all the doubts Wyatt had about a real relationship with a woman blew out of his mind and his thoughts had become crystal clear. He wanted the chance to get to know Fiona. Not just her incredible body, but the brave, slightly high-strung, incredibly smart and sassy woman who might not have lived to see the next day of her life had Preston succeeded in his plan to blow a hole in downtown San Antonio.

  “I was so afraid for you,” he whispered against her hair, holding her so close he could feel her breath against his neck.

  “I thought Preston had killed you or left you wounded somewhere.” She leaned back, tears trickling down her face. “You don’t know how happy I was to see you show up alive.”

  “Ditto, sweetheart.” He crushed her lips with his, drawing the kiss out as long as they both had breath. When he finally raised his head, he cupped her cheeks in his palms. “I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

  “It goes both ways, babe.” Her gaze traveled over him. “I’m so sorry your uniform got so messed up—Wyatt, you’re bleeding!” She tried to open his jacket, but he stopped her.

  “I’m okay. The bullet only nicked me.”

  “Yeah and you’re still bleeding.” She glanced down at Preston. “Is it true he was planning to blow up the building with everyone in it?”

  Wyatt’s arm slipped around her waist. “Yes.”

  Fiona glanced around the parking lot. “Are there charges positioned down here?”

  “I got what I could find, but I’m not sure I got them all. We should get out of here, just in case.” Wyatt gripped her arm and led her toward the stairs.

  Fiona dug her feet in, bringing him to a stop. “Are we going to leave him here?”

  “There’s nothing we can do for him.”

  She stared down at the man who’d tried to kill her and a lot of other people. “He must have been very unhappy.”

  “I suspect PTSD.” His gaze captured hers. “It happens to the best of soldiers.”

  She slipped an arm around Wyatt’s waist. “And that’s why you don’t want to stay.” Her words were a statement, not a question. “But you know, it doesn’t have to be that way. You don’t have to leave.”

  “I can’t put you in harm’s way. Especially if the harm is in me.”

  “But you can’t run from it. Wouldn’t you be better off working through your issues with someone who cares than going it alone?” She smiled. “Joe seems to have recovered nicely with his friend, Bacchus.”

  “Are you volunteering to be my pet dog?” Wyatt grinned. “Sorry. Although you can wield a pretty wicked puppy-dog stare, you’re not a dog.” Gripping her hips, he pulled her against the hardness of his cock, straining against the fabric of his trousers. “You’re one hundred percent woman and what you did tonight was purely heroic.”

  Color flew like pink flags in her cheeks. “No more than you did. Come on. Let’s get out of here. I have to get back to the guests before we have another international incident.” She poked a finger in his chest. “But you’re not off the hook, so don’t go disappearing on me. And we’re going to have the medical personnel look at that wound, whether you think you need it or not.”

  Using his good arm, Wyatt popped a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Fiona sniffed and gave him a satisfied nod. “Let’s go, mister.”

  A chuckle rose up his throat and escaped, echoing off the walls of the stairwell, all the way up to the ground floor.

  Wyatt couldn’t believe his good luck getting to Preston before he could blow up the building, and to Fiona before Preston could kill her. Today just wasn’t their day to die.

  Early the next morning, after answering hundreds of questions for the police and then helping to coordinate the relocation of all the guests to other hotels throughout the city of San Antonio, Fiona lay naked in the bed in her apartment, exhausted, but too wound up to fall to sleep.

  “I asked my commander to put me in for a training assignment at Fort Sam Houston, at least for the next six months.” Wyatt emerged from the bathroom, strutting across the carpet naked from his toes to his very short haircut.

  “And?” Fiona leaned up, her eyes wide, her breath hitched, waiting for his response.

  “He gave me three months.”

  She fell back against th
e pillows. “Is that all?”

  With a nod, he dropped onto the sheets beside her and stretched his long body out, pulling hers against him, his cock nudging her sex. “If you’d known how hard I pushed him to get out of here, you’d understand why that was a big concession on his part.”

  “And now?” Fiona kissed his beard-stubbled chin. “You don’t want to leave so soon?”

  He bent to nuzzle the pulse beating at the base of her throat. “Not so much. I’ve barely had time to get to know San Antonio.”

  She swatted at his uninjured arm, happy that he’d been correct that the bullet wound had only been superficial. Although it had ruined his uniform jacket. “Only San Antonio?”

  “Oh yeah. And one hot, little redhead with a wicked elbow jab.” He cupped her chin and kissed her, urging her to part her teeth and let him slide in to caress her tongue with his.

  Fiona was amazed that such a big, rough man could be so gentle. All hard angles and scars, he knew exactly what to say and where to touch her to make her body sing.

  When he ended the kiss, his finger trailed down her arm until his palm caressed her hip. “Are you sure about this…you and me…all night?” He let go of a long breath. “What if my nightmares get violent? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Fiona leaned up on her elbow. “Positive. I’ll take my chances, since the rewards outweigh the danger.” She drew her finger down his chest. “And I know, deep down in that soldier’s heart of yours, that you’re a good man.”

  “I can’t control my dreams.”

  “Then I’ll help you. I’m a light sleeper anyway and if you get restless, I’ll move.”

  “Promise me you will.” His finger tightened on her hips. “I could never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

  She smiled down at him and ran her hand along his rough beard. “I won’t let you hurt me, so stop worrying and start loving me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He rolled her onto her back and came up over her. “How about I begin my attack here?” Dropping low, he captured one of her nipples between his teeth and nibbled gently before sucking it fully into his mouth.

  Fiona’s heart swelled and she arched up to offer him the full benefit of her breast. “Now you’re talking.”

  He didn’t stop there, working his lips and tongued over the other breast before skimming across her ribs and lower to the mound of curls covering her sex. Pausing there, he parted her folds with the tips of his rough fingers and blew a warm stream of air over her heated center.

  Too impatient to wait for it, Fiona gripped his ears and urged him down.

  He settled between her legs and thrust his tongue into her channel, swirling around before coming up to lay siege to her clit.

  Fiona cried out and surrendered to his attack, digging her heels into the mattress and rising up to press her pussy into his mouth.

  One finger, then two and finally three entered her channel, another poked at the tight entrance to her anus. With his tongue teasing the nubbin packed full of exquisitely throbbing nerves, she shot to the heavens, screaming out his name. “Wyatt!”

  His relentless pursuit wore away her will to live in a world without him and she rode the passionate wave to the pulsing end.

  When she thought it couldn’t get any better, he climbed up her body, rolled on a condom and thrust his thickened shaft into her, sliding through her slick entrance until his balls bumped against her ass.

  “Oh yes!” she shouted, not caring whether or not the neighbors could hear her.

  The mattress bounced, the springs squeaked and the headboard rammed the wall more than once before they reached a shared climax to beat all climaxes and slowly drifted back to earth.

  Without breaking their connection, he pulled her into his arms and held her.

  Fiona trailed a finger across his chest, tweaking the hard brown nipples, loving how solid his chest felt beneath her fingertips. She tipped his chin down and brushed her lips across his.

  “Umm. I could go for more of this.” Capturing his cheeks in between her palms, she deepened the kiss, sliding her tongue along the length of his, her thigh climbing up over his. “Got another condom?”

  “Hell yeah.” He rolled on another in record time.

  She pressed her pussy down over his shaft, stirring him back to full thickness.

  Wyatt laughed, his chest rumbling beneath hers. “All this because of a perky pair of pink shorts.” Then he flipped her onto her back and thrust deep into her.

  Fiona wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her heels into his ass, urging him to fuck harder, faster and longer. Her breath caught and she held it as she shot over the top, her senses cascading around her in tingling electrical bursts.

  Wyatt slammed home one last time and held steady, his jaw tight, his dick pulsing inside her. When he dropped back down to the mattress beside her, he flung an arm over his face. “That was fucking amazing.”

  “I thought so.” With a smile on her face, she snuggled up to his side, draping her hand across his middle, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Content to lie there in silence, she pressed her lips to his closest nipple, noting the steady rhythm of his breathing.

  Wyatt had fallen asleep.

  Well into the morning, Fiona lay awake, waiting for soldier’s nightmares.

  They never came. Wyatt slept through without twitching, calling out or trying to choke her. With daylight edging around the corners of the blinds, Fiona let herself drift into a half-dream, half-awake state, more determined than ever and confident that with a little care and a lot of love, she could help declare a victory in Wyatt’s War.

  About the Author

  Twenty years of livin’ and lovin’ on a South Texas ranch raising horses, cattle, ostriches and emus left an indelible impression on Myla Jackson, one she likes to instill in her red-hot stories. Myla pens wildly sexy, fun adventures of all kinds including historical westerns, medieval, romantic suspense, contemporary and paranormals with beasties of all shapes and sexy sizes. When she’s not wrangling words from her computer she’s snow skiing, boating, riding her ATV or spending time with family. She lives in the tree-covered hills of Northwest Arkansas with her husband of twenty-plus years and her muses—human-wanna-be canines—Chewy and Sweetpea.

  To learn more about Myla Jackson and her stories visit her website at www.mylajackson.com.

  Look for these titles by Myla Jackson

  Now Available:

  Ugly Stick Saloon

  Boots and Chaps

  Boots and Leather

  Boots and Bareback

  Boots and Lace

  Boots and Roses

  Boots and Buckles

  Boots and Twisters

  Bound and Tied

  Honor Bound

  Duty Bound

  River Bound

  Coming Soon:

  Mack’s Witness

  Two ranchers are about to get Lucky—in more ways than one.

  Boots and Twisters

  © 2014 Myla Jackson

  Ugly Stick Saloon, Book 7

  Lucky Albright’s unlucky streak is so long and wide that she’s been run out of one town and it looks like it may happen again.

  When she finds herself out of money and out of gas in Temptation, Texas, a part-time job from the kind owner of the Ugly Stick Saloon gives her a glimmer of hope that this time things will be different.

  Trent Jameson and Isaac Moore have always believed you make your own luck, but a black cloud of disaster seems to hover over their new hand. Under a tumbling stack of hay, Isaac discovers what Lucky’s hiding beneath baggy clothes and a tough exterior. Enough sexy curves to satisfy both men’s appetites.

  But it isn’t long before Lucky’s history starts wreaking havoc all over town. It’ll take a force of nature to help the ranchers convince the law, the Garden Club—even Luc
ky herself—that now is no time to hit the road.

  Warning: Hot cowboys meet hot cowgirl, and there’s a whole lotta shakin’ goin’ on in Temptation. Get your twist-and-shout on at the Ugly Stick Saloon!

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Boots and Twisters:

  Trent went to work stacking the hay on another wall, one bale at a time. Halfway through the stack, his muscles burned and he’d worked up a good sweat. He was feeling better and had almost forgotten the woman at the saloon.

  With several tall columns of bales leaning against one wall, Trent was about to start a stack in front of them when a noise made him turn around.

  A slim figure in jeans and a chambray shirt entered Thunder’s horse stall.

  Thunder hadn’t been ridden since Dusty the ranch foreman had been tossed and ended up in the hospital.

  Trent started to say something to the new ranch hand about the horse and his temperament. Before he could, the hand emerged, leading a placid Thunder out by his lead rope. If the horse had an attitude, it wasn’t on display that morning.

  The cowboy had his head dipped, his cowboy hat pulled low. Between the dim lighting in the barn and the shadows from the rim of his hat, Trent couldn’t see the cowboy’s face. Covered in sweat and hay, Trent didn’t feel much like introducing himself yet. But he watched as the young man led the horse out of the barn. A few minutes later, he returned and entered the stall with the wheelbarrow, and soon had a pile of soiled straw loaded into it.

  Trent resumed his work on the hay, keeping a watch on the new guy from the corner of his eye.

  One stall after the other the young cowboy worked. When he completed the last stall and was pushing the last wheelbarrow load of soiled straw toward the door, Trent decided it was time to inspect the job and introduce himself.

  “Wait up, there.” Trent tossed the bale he’d been carrying, dusted the straw off his gloves and crossed to the ranch hand. He glanced past the man’s shoulder into the cleaned stall and noted it was cleaner than he or Isaac usually got it. “Name’s Trent Jameson.” He held out his hand. “Nice work you’ve been doin’ there.”