A Hero to Hold

by Linda Castillo

  “He is a pretty good dancer.”

  “Let’s see how I do.” Taking her hands in his, he eased her closer and began to sway with the music. John wasn’t sure why he did it; he knew better than to court trouble. But the instant her body came against his, the doubts no longer mattered.

  “You’re blushing,” he said.

  “I’m totally embarrassed. I don’t normally dance with…you know…dogs.”

  “Honeybear’s not just any dog, you know. He’s an ex-search-and-rescue dog.”

  “Ah, a hero. Like you.”

  “I’m no hero, Red.” She had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. The color of fine cognac through fluted crystal and so clear they took his breath. He liked the way the outer edges tilted up. The way her left cheek dimpled when she smiled.

  “The cabin looks…nice.” He breathed in her scent, fought a bout of dizziness. “So do you.”

  “Well, I…um, didn’t have anything else to wear. I hope you don’t mind my borrowing your T-shirt.”

  “It looks a lot better on you than it does me.”

  “I suppose that depends on the eye of the beholder.”

  He grinned at her. “You’re flirting with me, aren’t you?”

  She grinned back. “My heart belongs to Honeybear.”

  Putting his hand over his heart, John feigned heartbreak. “And to think I called him my best friend.”

  He swept her into an overstated dip. Their gazes locked, and John felt the heat twist low in his belly. For an instant, his mouth was just an inch from hers. Her breath smelled like peppermint. Her lips looked soft and inviting. How he wanted to kiss her.

  “I learned something about myself today,” she said breathlessly.

  He pulled her out of the dip. “That you like to dance with Newfoundlands?”

  She smiled again. “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”

  Yeah, he definitely liked her smile. “Not a chance.”

  “I realized I like to stay busy,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I straightened the cabin some.”

  “Thanks. It needed it.” He smelled something delectable simmering on the stove. “What’s on the stove?”

  “Spaghetti.” She shot him a tentative smile. “After those crackers this morning, I sort of worked up an appetite.”

  “Feeling better?”

  “Lots.” She stopped dancing. “Would you like to eat?”

  “I want to dance.”

  The music changed to a slow song about a woman taking a man to heaven. John barely noticed the change in tempo. His senses were completely overwhelmed by the woman he held in his arms. A small voice of reason cried out for him to be cautious, to pull back and regroup and not react impulsively to the situation. He knew the dangers of getting too close. He’d once paid a lofty price for caring for the wrong woman. Combine that with his past, and he knew that to care for Hannah was a disaster waiting to happen. Not only for him, but for her.

  But when he eased her closer, and she laid her head on his shoulder, he crushed the voice with a single blow.

  “You’re tense,” he whispered.

  “I just—I’m not used to dancing, I guess.”

  “You were doing fine until I walked in.”

  “Well, um, I was just goofing off.”

  “You look really good goofing off.”

  “Honeybear was stepping all over my toes.”

  “I’ll have to talk to him about that.” He grinned at her. She smiled back, and John felt an odd quiver in his chest. He wasn’t sure what it meant, wasn’t sure he wanted to know at this point. All he knew for certain was that she felt like heaven against him, and he would have sold his soul for a kiss.

  “I want your hair down.” Raising his hand, he tugged the band loose. Red hair cascaded down, flowing over his hand, brushing against his face. Setting his chin atop her head, he breathed in her scent, let it intoxicate him.

  “My hair is a mess.”

  “I love your hair.” His intellect ordered him to pull away and stop the situation before things got out of hand. He knew better than to give in to needs as simple and as dangerous as lust. A roll in the hay with a willing partner was one thing, but a woman who could turn his brain to mush—and his willpower to dust—by merely dancing with his dog was something else entirely.

  He was about to pull away—he really was—when she sighed and relaxed against him. At the soft brush of her body against his, slow pleasure wound around him and squeezed like a snake, cutting off the flow of blood to the place in his brain where common sense resided. Her body conformed to his like gelatin to a mold. Even as an alarm clanged in the back of his mind, he knew he wasn’t going to stop what he knew would happen next. He knew the mistake would cost him in the long run. But for the first time in a long time, John didn’t let himself think about consequences.

  Shoving the last vestiges of reason aside, he put his hand under her chin. Startled brown eyes met his. In their depths he saw the realization of what was about he was about to do. He gave her two seconds to stop him. When she didn’t, he lowered his mouth to hers and stepped into heaven.

  * * *

  The power of the kiss made Hannah’s legs go weak. Every nerve ending in her body stood up and took notice. By the time the message of what was happening reached her brain, it was too late. Her arms went around his neck and she kissed him back.

  In the back of her mind, she knew she shouldn’t have let it go this far. She may not have her memory to draw upon, but she damn well knew better than to court disaster.

  Kissing John Maitland was definitely a disaster.

  Her brain told her to pull away and stop the madness, but her body scoffed at the command. His lips were firm and gently demanding against hers. His scent filled her nostrils, titillating her senses, teasing her body with dark promises she knew he could keep. When he probed with his tongue, the shock of pleasure made her gasp. She opened to him. Growling low in his throat, he moved closer and went in deep. A sharp pang of arousal coursed through her. Heat built low in her belly and spread like smoldering flames until she felt feverish. Her sound of surprise came out as a purr.

  Her tongue tangled with his. Seeking. Tasting. Wanting. His breath caressed her cheek like the tip of a feather. His hands skimmed along her back, sending shivers all the way down to her toes. A little voice of reason reminded her this was a mistake. But the taste of his mouth, the feel of his hard shaft against the fire burning low and hot blinded her to the gravity of it. She told herself she merely needed to be held, needed the gentleness and warmth of his touch. But she knew they were nothing more than rationalizations.

  His mouth worked dark magic on hers until she was dizzy with a thousand sensations that crumpled her logic, like a tattered scrap of paper. The onslaught of pleasure overwhelmed her intellect. Instinct usurped the bedraggled remnants of her good judgment, and she kissed him back with wanton abandon.

  The music filled her ears and flowed through her like a drug. All the while, John filled her senses until she was mindless to everything but the feel of him against her.

  He brushed a kiss next to her ear. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today.”

  She tilted her head, offering her throat. Goose bumps raced down her body when he kissed the tender flesh there. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “I know. This is crazy.”

  “Totally insane.”

  “Not a good idea at all.” She yelped when he grasped her hips and lifted her onto the counter. “I want you where I can get at you.”

  Before she could speak, he’d pulled her to the edge of the counter and moved between her legs. The music faded until all she could hear was a heartbeat. She wasn’t sure if it was hers or his, but it was racing out of control, and pounded through every inch of her body. The heat in her belly augmented to a ball of fire. She felt herself go wet, but knew the dampness between her legs would do nothing to cool the fire burning there. The situation had become serious. A
lapse in judgment on both their parts that would surely lead to a mistake they wouldn’t be able to repair. As if the kiss wasn’t enough of a mistake. But the feel of him against her fed something ravenous inside her. She gave the beast free rein, let it guide her.

  A loud rap on the back door made her jump.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, John shot a glare toward the door. “Oh, hell.”

  Hannah glanced up to see Buzz Malone standing outside, staring at them as if he’d walked up on Bonnie and Clyde.

  * * *

  John knew what this was going to look like to Buzz. Like he’d given in to a weak moment for a woman who could very well be taking advantage of an all-too-common male weakness.

  Dammit, he did not want to be in this situation.

  John figured he could handle Buzz. What he wasn’t so sure about was how he was going to handle Hannah. Closer to the truth, he wasn’t sure how he was going to handle his growing feelings for her. As impossible as it seemed, she’d gotten to him. She’d touched John the Untouchable. Not only physically, but she’d gotten under his skin—and inside his head.

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, John looked at Hannah. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay.” She looked shaken and incredibly beautiful sitting on the counter with her cheeks flushed and desire sparking like gold dust in her eyes.

  “Uh, I’ve got to get the door.” Reaching for her, he eased her down off the counter. He tried sorely not to notice when a lock of red hair tumbled over his arm, but he reached out and tucked it behind her ear. When she looked up at him, the urge to kiss her was so strong, he had to turn away.

  Lord have mercy, he was in deep.

  Resisting the need to rearrange himself, clamping his jaw down in annoyance, John walked to the rear door and jerked it open. Buzz Malone wasn’t smiling.

  “Don’t say it,” John growled in a low voice.

  Buzz gave him a narrow-eyed glare. “It’s your ass.”

  “It’s my ass, and it’s my life. Stay out of it.”

  Frowning, he glanced past John toward Hannah. “She still claiming amnesia?” he asked in a low tone.

  “She’s not claiming anything. She’s recovering from a concussion. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it loud and clear the moment I saw you two—”

  John cut him off with a curse.

  “I thought you had more sense than this. I can’t believe you’re getting involved with—”

  “What do you want, Buzz?”

  Scowling, the older man lifted the battered case at his side. “I brought over a fingerprint kit. Since you didn’t have time to drive to Denver today, I thought I’d lend a hand.”

  John sighed. “Come on in.”

  Buzz strode inside and set the case on the kitchen table. Hannah stood near the stove, looking like a woman who’d just been thoroughly kissed. Her hair tumbled wildly around her shoulders. Her mouth was kiss-bruised and wet. The tinge of pink in her cheeks told him she was just as uncomfortable with the situation as he was.

  John sighed again. Oh, boy, this was going to be fun. “Hannah, you remember Buzz Malone?”

  “Yes, of course.” She strode forward and extended her bandaged hand to Buzz. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Malone.”

  Buzz was too much of a gentleman to refuse a woman’s handshake—even if he didn’t trust her—but it was evident he didn’t approve of John’s keeping house with her. He gently grasped her hand and shook it. “You seem to be feeling better.”

  She shot John an uncertain look. “Uh…yes, I am. Thank you.”

  He motioned toward the kit on the table. “I thought I’d get your prints and run them through the computer.”

  If Buzz had suspected she wouldn’t be pleased by the prospect of finding her identity, her expression proved him wrong. Relief and hope and jumble of other emotions scrolled across her features. For a moment, John thought she would cry, but she didn’t. Her eyes filled, but at the same time she dazzled both men with a hesitant smile. “Thank you,” she said. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  Surprise flickered in the older man’s eyes, but he quickly resumed his scowl. Motioning toward the table, he said, “Sit down and we’ll get this over with.”

  John pulled out a chair for her, and Hannah took it.

  “Let’s start with your right hand.”

  She lifted her hand to Buzz. With the smooth efficiency of a man who’d done the procedure a hundred times, Buzz removed the bandages. He stopped when her peeling fingertips came into view.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  “What is it?” Hannah asked.

  Buzz grimaced. “I didn’t realize how extensive your frostbite was. The tissue is too damaged for me to get a full set of prints.”

  She stared down at the hand Buzz held in his. “Are you sure? I mean, can you get a partial?” Helplessly, she looked at John. “Isn’t there something else we can do?”

  John didn’t miss the quiver that ran the length of her. He looked at Buzz. “What do you think?”

  The older man studied her fingertips. “I can probably get a pretty good thumb print. Maybe a palm.” He pointed to the undamaged pad of her thumb. “We can run a partial, plug it in to the computer and see if anything comes back.”

  “How long before my fingers heal enough to get a good print?”

  “The damaged tissue will slough off naturally,” John said. “That might take a week or so.”

  “That’s too long.” She looked from man to man. “I need to know who I am. I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

  “I’ll run it and see what comes up.” Fishing the white fingerprint card from the case, Buzz took her hand, pressed her thumb into the ink, then rolled it side to side on the card. Gently, he did the same with her palm.

  “That’s all I can get for now.” He shot John a hard look. “I’d like a word with you.”

  John met the other man’s stare head-on. He admired and respected Buzz, but he was only going to let him push this so far. “Fine.”

  “Alone.” Buzz looked over at Hannah. “You might want to go into the bathroom and wash off that ink. Use warm water. Don’t scrub. You don’t want to break the skin.”

  Her eyes swept from John to Buzz. Squaring her shoulders, she rose, her eyes seeking Buzz’s. For a moment, John thought she would say something, but she didn’t. Without a word she turned and strode from the room.

  “You’ve really got a way with subtle, Buzz. Maybe you should have just cuffed her and hauled her out to the car while you questioned me.”

  For the first time Buzz looked chagrined. “I’m not a cop anymore, but I know a con when I see one.”

  “Someone hurt her, Buzz. Someone left her up on that mountain to die. Was that part of the con, too?”

  “I’m not disputing that she’s in trouble. What I’m concerned about is that she’s involved you.”

  “It’s my choice.”

  “You know what happened the last time you hooked up with a woman in trouble.”

  “This is different.”

  “You’re not using your head, John. At least not the one stuck on the top of your neck.”

  “This isn’t how it looks. Even if it was, that’s no reason for her to be at the top of your hit list.”

  “I know what I saw when I knocked on the door. You’re playing house with a woman who nearly shot you. Any woman who points a gun at one of my team members is automatically on my hit list. Not to mention when the media gets a whiff—”

  “The media isn’t going to find out.”

  “People gossip in hospitals, John. This woman’s story was a hot topic among the nurses and you know it. Eventually, some hotshot reporter is going to get a whiff of it and you’re going to be right in the middle of it. That puts RMSAR in the center of it, and I damn well don’t like it.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “Don’t let what happened in Philly make your decisions for you. You don’t need to make
up for what’s already been done.”

  John winced at the mention of his past but recovered quickly. “This isn’t about Philly, and it isn’t about me. It’s about a woman who needs my help.”

  “It’s about your judgment and a woman who could cause you serious problems—”

  “Don’t let what Kelly did to you skew your thinking when it comes to women.”

  It was Buzz’s turn to wince, and John knew he’d hit a nerve dead center. Never taking his eyes from John’s, Buzz closed the fingerprint case and rose. “I’ll run the prints.”

  John rose, aware that his heart rate was up, that he was angry, not only with Buzz, but at himself, as well.

  Buzz started toward the door, opened it, then turned back toward him. “Watch your back,” he said, and walked into the cold.

  CHAPTER 11

  It took Hannah all of two minutes to toss her meager belongings into the canvas bag. By the time she zipped the top and threw the strap over the shoulder, she was shaking. She told herself the shaking was the result of anger. Buzz Malone didn’t know anything about her; he had no right to judge her. But she knew that wasn’t the only reason she felt the sudden need to walk back to Denver.

  Her attraction to John had become a serious problem that could no longer be ignored. Three earth-shattering, mind-blowing kisses in less than twenty-four hours promised to complicate a situation that was already infinitely complex. If she was married or otherwise involved in a serious relationship, how could she live with herself if she let this go any farther?

  Worse, Hannah also knew her being here might have endangered John. She didn’t know what kind of a person she’d been in the past; she hadn’t a clue what she was involved in. All she knew for certain was that John was a decent man with a good heart, and she had absolutely no intention of involving him any more deeply.

  Taking a breath, she started toward the bedroom door. The sight of John standing at threshold froze her in her tracks.

  “I’m not letting you walk back to Denver if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said evenly.

  “I was hoping you’d offer to drive me.”

  “After what happened at Angela Pearl’s, I don’t think your staying there is a very good idea.”