Undaunted

by Joss Wood

  When she’d joined Knox’s protection team, his manager made it very clear to her that she was never to discuss Sula, and that instruction also appeared in the nondisclosure agreement she’d signed when she’d started working with Knox. But that resolution made it difficult to explain what she’d found and where. Did he even need to know? Of course he did, she scoffed at herself. She no idea what was on the drive but it could be important. It could also be nothing.

  She didn’t need to tell him tonight, Reagan decided. She could take a few days, a week or two. There were, after all, more important issues—like who was stalking Knox—to deal with.

  “Reagan, are you okay?” Knox asked.

  Reagan jumped at his voice and blinked to get her eyes to refocus. When she did, she saw the concerned look he and Bryn exchanged, the worry on their faces. She quickly pulled on a smile. “I’m fine. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “None of us did.” Knox nodded. “God, I should have been there, with him.”

  Reagan shook her head. “I was with him and you needed a break from him. He’d been whiny and irritable and you were coming off a long week of shooting. It’s not a crime to go out without him, Knox.”

  Over the past couple of months Reagan had come to realize what an exceptional father Knox was: involved, interested, utterly devoted to his son. He was Coe’s primary caregiver and he’d earned Reagan’s deep and abiding respect. He wasn’t a pretty-boy, spoiled movie star. Knox was a father first, and actor second.

  “But—”

  Bryn shook his head. “No buts, bud. He’s fine, we’re fine. It’s all good.” He turned back to Reagan. “You said that you saw a figure running towards the woods between your two trips into the trailer. Do you remember anything more?”

  Reagan shook her head. Reagan hated to disappoint them but she couldn’t allow them to live with fake hope. “No, I didn’t see his face. He was running away from me, dressed in black, his head covered with a hoodie.”

  “Coe is safe, thanks to you, and there’s little chance of the stalker finding us since Caswallawn rented the house on our behalf,” Bryn said, his eyes somber. “We’ve hired extra guards from Caswallawn to man the gates and to patrol the grounds. There are alarms on every door and window. You can relax, Reagan. We’re good.”

  Reagan pulled in a deep breath. “I’ll relax when we have the bastard behind bars. And after I’ve kicked his ass.” She bit her bottom lip. “It’s such a massive leap from breaking into your house to arson, attempted murder.”

  “We’re not sure if he knew that you and Coe were inside,” Knox pointed out.

  “He torched the place. It’s still an escalation of behavior.”

  “Don’t think about it anymore, Reags, give yourself a break,” Bryn commented as he placed his arms on the table, his big biceps stretching the fabric of his T-shirt. With his nut-brown hair and hazel eyes, he was fit and ripped and, she supposed, hot. As in smokin’. And sometimes she thought she caught him looking at her with speculation in his eyes, as if he thought she was a little sexy too.

  Unfortunately, and unlike a certain mouthy boss of hers, he didn’t make her feel like she was connected to an electrical substation.

  Knox stood up and reached for her dessert bowl. Reagan leapt to her feet and tried to tug the bowl from his hand. “I’ll do it.”

  “Reagan,” Knox said, his voice deep but commanding. Reagan forced her eyes up to look into his face. At six two he was tall, but Axl was an inch or two taller.

  “Reagan, you are my bodyguard, not my maid, and I am perfectly able to carry a couple of plates through to the kitchen. I can even—don’t faint now—pack the dishwasher. Sit yourself back down and I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. Actually Bryn will, he makes better coffee than me.”

  Bryn pushed himself to his feet. “That’s the truth.” He tossed Knox an irreverent grin. “Can I take a photo of you being domestic and post it on Instagram?”

  Knox tugged the dish and Reagan finally let it go. “Well you could, but the next time Coe asks what an asshole is, I’ll just point to you,” Knox deadpanned. “Self-explanatory, really.”

  Bryn grinned, winked at Reagan, and followed his old friend and relatively new boss to the kitchen. Bryn, as far as she knew, had only joined Knox as a PPO a month before she did, but their trust and their liking of one another was well established due to their long friendship.

  At the door, Bryn sent her another probing look and Reagan sighed. Even if they weren’t working together she couldn’t see herself hopping into bed with Bryn. It was deeply ironic that she spent her life surrounded by men but she was practically a born-again virgin.

  She’d had a couple of awkward sexual encounters and they’d been so uninspiring that she was happy, when she needed to, to date herself.

  The other reason, and far harder to admit, was that there had been only one man whom she’d ever fantasized about. Her fantasies, at sixteen, had been R-rated, but as the years passed they’d gradually become X-rated.

  She’d never lost her teenage curiosity around Axl, how his mouth would taste under her lips, how his muscles would ripple under her hands. Whether his steel-gray eyes lightened or darkened with passion, whether he would mumble dirty words against her skin, lewd suggestions in her ear.

  She always, always thought of him while she dated herself. Or when she was tired.

  Or when she was breathing.

  Reagan wondered where her coffee was and resisted the urge to put her head into the crook of her arm and fall asleep. Maybe she should go and shower and hit the sack; she could now that she had the added reassurance of Cas guards on the property and a fully alarmed house.

  Reagan stood up and frowned when she heard a loud knock at the front door. Her hand immediately went to her hip, placing her hand on the butt of her Glock and stepping into the hall as Bryn appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

  Bryn looked down to her unsnapped holster and shook his head. “Your guards would never have let anyone as far as the door if they didn’t know him.”

  Ah, good point. God, her brains were scrambled. Annoyed at herself, Reagan walked up to the door and looked through the peephole. Even distorted, Axl looked sexy. Crap. She really wasn’t up to fighting with him tonight.

  Reagan yanked open the door and frowned at him, big and bold in faded blue jeans, a navy-blue button-down shirt, and a camel-colored jacket. Unlike her, Axl had a natural ability to toss clothes together and always look stylish.

  Reagan felt his eyes moving up her solid black jeans tucked into low-heeled knee-length boots, up to her black crewneck jersey, to rest on her face, his expression inscrutable in the light of the porch. “Axl. What are you doing here?”

  Axl pushed his hand through his hair. “Hi. Can we talk?”

  Reagan felt movement by her elbow and looked down to see that Coe had joined her on the porch, wanting to see who their visitor was. The little guy looked up and then dropped his head backward. “Wow. You’re tall.”

  Axl’s mobile, so-sexy mouth twitched with amusement. “Thank you. You’re short.”

  “That’s ’cause I’m only four,” Coe replied, his silent duh implied.

  “That would be a reason.” Axl dropped to his haunches and put his fist out. Coe, being a guy—a small guy but still a guy—bumped his tiny fist against Axl’s.

  “I’m Axl.”

  Coe told him who he was, looked him in the eye, and tipped his head sideways. “Do you know what an asshole is?”

  Reagan rolled her eyes and ushered Coe back into the house with a warning about dirty words. She walked back onto the long porch and pulled the front door shut behind her. Pulling her hair back from her face into a rough tail behind her neck, she secured the strands with a band she’d placed on her wrist hours before. Reagan wrinkled her nose when she inhaled the faint scent of smoke-tinged shampoo. Sh
e could cope with the shakes and feeling cold, with not sleeping. Smelly hair was a step too far.

  As was Axl. It was after nine and she’d had two shitty days. She didn’t think she was up to fighting with him.

  Reagan folded her arms across her chest and knew that she looked belligerent. “Why are you here, Rhodes?”

  Axl walked over to a cluster of Adirondack chairs to the right of the front door, and instead of sitting down in one, he placed his butt on the railing and stretched out his long legs, the muscles of his thighs moving beneath the denim. Reagan followed him and sat down on the arm of a chair and looked up at him. “Well?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Axl said in a gruff voice that Reagan had never heard before. She’d heard pissed and frustrated, could recognize sarcastic and goading at a hundred paces, but she’d never heard this voice: low, sincere, and if she didn’t know better, a little scared. Axl Rhodes, legend, didn’t get scared. Ever.

  “I’m fine. I told you that when we last spoke.”

  “Reagan, you are the queen of under-exaggeration. You’d call a stab wound a scratch if we let you get away with it,” Axl replied, and Reagan sensed his impatience. She took another look at his face and sensed that he genuinely wanted to know if she was okay and, too worn out to argue with him, she capitulated.

  “I’m a little bruised and I have a cut on my shoulder that needed stitches.”

  “From?” Axl barked the word.

  “Climbing through the window. I couldn’t take the time to clear the glass as well as I would’ve liked.”

  “How many stitches?” Axl demanded, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets.

  Reagan sighed at his hard face. “Three. Practically nothing.”

  Axl didn’t react except to ask whether her tetanus shot was up to date. A silly question because he knew it was, all agents had to be up to date to work in the field.

  Axl didn’t speak again and Reagan sucked in the cool, almost cold evening air, enjoying the fresh air on her face. Beyond the rose garden in front of the house, she could see the glinting white-board fences of the paddocks and the deep, dark shadows of the tree-covered hills at the end of the property. Uncomfortable with the silence, she looked for something to say. “This house has such an awesome view. The trees are at their brilliant autumn best, reds and golds and yellows. There are Arabians in the paddocks, the company who owns the place also raises horses.” Reagan crossed her legs and linked her hands around her bouncing knee. “I’m glad we could find this house to stash Knox and Coe.”

  “Reagan?” Axl’s low voice rumbled over her.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re babbling and you never babble, especially to me.” Axl stood up, walked over to her, and gently, oh so gently, separated her hands. Reagan stared at the buttons on his blue shirt and didn’t resist when he pulled her to her feet and held her freezing hands between his.

  “Your hands are ridiculously cold and your bottom lip is wobbling. You’re as pale as a ghost and you’re wired. You feel both energetic and ridiculously tired.”

  “I know! Why?”

  “You’re experiencing the aftermath of an adrenaline rush.”

  Reagan pulled one hand from his, grabbed the edge of Axl’s shirt, and twisted her fist so that the material all but covered her hand. “It happened twenty-four hours ago; shouldn’t I be over it by now?”

  “Some people recover faster than others.”

  Reagan felt his hands move to her hips and his breath skim the top of her head. He smelled like soap and pine needles and peppermint. Rugged, hot, so outdoorsy. So ridiculously sexy.

  Oh, why couldn’t she have the same crazy, strip-me-down reaction to normal men, anyone-other-than-Axl men?

  “You need to distract your thoughts, think about something else,” Axl said, his lips moving against her temple, his grumbly, sexy words drifting down her face. Reagan tipped her head and felt the rasp of the three-day beard soft on her skin, the softness of his lips beneath the black bristles. Her knees were dissolving, so Reagan felt that she had no choice but to slide her hand under his jacket and grab his hip. So warm, she thought, pushing her chest into his, trying to get closer. He was like her personal space heater and she couldn’t get close enough.

  Axl’s hand skimmed up and under her jersey and yanked her thermal running top out of her jeans in order to find some skin. He pushed his hand down the gap between her lower back and the band of her jeans, long fingers sliding under the fabric T of her thong. Reagan lifted her face and pushed her nose into the skin where his shoulder met his neck.

  “So warm,” she muttered.

  Axl’s hand covered the side of her face and his thumb nudged her chin up so that her head tipped back and she could see his eyes, light gray now and filled with lightning. His thumb drifted over her cheekbone and across her bottom lip and she wondered if he was going to kiss her.

  She wanted him too, she realized. She’d always wanted him.

  “God, you are so beautiful,” Axl murmured, and his words, those words, danced across her skin and her soul.

  Since she didn’t have the energy or, to be honest, the desire to push away from him, Reagan just watched the storm in his eyes and wished that he’d just get on with it and kiss her. She needed the physical contact, the affirmation that she was alive.

  Screw that! You need to get laid, her libido corrected her. Or, at the very, very least, kissed by someone who knows how.

  Just when she thought that he’d never kiss her, that he’d changed his mind, Axl wrapped his hand around her neck and gently pulled her up and into him, keeping their eyes connected. His lips slowly brushed hers, ever so gently. Reagan whimpered, wanting more, needing more, and to get her point across, she opened her mouth and lightly sucked on his bottom lip. Her fingernails raked the cords of his neck and across his collarbone.

  Reagan expected Axl to go caveman on her, to cover her mouth with his and, in keeping with his assertive personality, to dominate the kiss with a lot of tongue action. He surprised her when he just explored her lips with his, nibbling, sucking, touching the tip of his tongue to each corner of her mouth. His hand in her jeans stayed exactly where it was, hot and warm without pushing for more, and his other hand continued to cradle her face in a protective and intimate gesture that she was unused to.

  In his arms she felt safe, protected, and worst of all, cherished.

  Reagan placed her hands against his chest and pushed him away from her, taking a small step backward. Oh, God, if he carried on he’d see how close she was to losing it. He’d notice the swirling confusion and need contained within her rock-hard shell, he’d catch a glimpse of how scared and vulnerable she sometimes felt.

  Kissing Axl made her feel uneasy; it felt like she was surrendering control, that she was handing a tiny sliver of her heart over to be stomped on. This was why she didn’t get involved, she reminded herself. It was too difficult, and scary and confusing.

  “Reagan, are you okay?”

  It was the tender note in his voice that ignited her temper, that and the fact that she didn’t know what to do, how to act. A part of her wanted to fall into his arms and rest a while, another part of her was desperate to strip him naked, and the biggest part of her just wanted a whole lot of distance between them so that she could think . . . dammit!

  “I am fine. God, how many times do I have to say it?” Reagan whipped the words out and instantly felt ashamed when hurt surprise flashed in Axl’s eyes.

  Right, time to flip the crazy switch back to normal. She lifted her hands and dropped the volume, trying to be reasonable. “Look, this was a mistake. You’re my boss and we shouldn’t be kissing.” She knew that there were other reasons why they shouldn’t kiss but she couldn’t think of any at the present moment. It seemed that his gentle kiss had fried her brains.

  “You are not directly under my
command, so that’s a weak excuse.”

  Reagan slapped her hands across her chest and took another step back. “Judging by the way you keep interfering in my life and telling me what to do, you act like you are.”

  The lightning faded from Axl’s eyes and storm clouds moved in. “That was a cheap shot, Hudson.”

  Reagan knew that it was and she bit her bottom lip. She placed her hands together and lifted her joined fingers to her lips, banging the sides of her fingers against them. She pulled in a deep breath and looked past his face to the darkness behind him. She wanted to apologize but she couldn’t get the words out, release the I’m sorry that he deserved to hear.

  She didn’t know how to do this, Reagan realized. She was never alone with Axl, and in a group, she could use people as a shield, stop him from getting too close, physically or mentally. Being alone with him stripped her of that protection and she felt like she was a ribbon caught up in a tornado.

  Axl pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and looked at her. “You’re beat, you should go to bed. Try to sleep.”

  Reagan nodded, turned to walk back to the front door, but after two steps she turned and whirled back around. She scrubbed her hand over her face and knew she should walk away, that she shouldn’t speak. That she’d only make things worse . . .

  “I don’t understand you, Axl, I really don’t. You blow hot and cold with me, all the time. You’re constantly on my case about what I do and how I do it. Hell, you pitched a fit when I took this assignment. You offer to fly out to be with me but the next breath you’re rude and dismissive. And then you act concerned and then you kiss me like . . .” Reagan heard her voice rising and wished she had the power to stop it. “. . . like that! I don’t know what you want from me.”

  Axl glowered at her and rubbed the back of his neck, looking, for once in his life, uncomfortable. He just kept his eyes on her, not breaking eye contact, and not speaking, so she hunched her shoulders up to around her ears. If he wasn’t going to talk, if he wasn’t prepared to try to communicate, to explain, then she was done with him. He could play his power games with someone else, anyone else.