Bodyguard Rescue. Donna Young
ceiling, he gritted his teeth and ignored the pressure between his legs. Oh, he wanted her. He also wanted her to be loved unconditionally, to have children, to grow old with someone. Everything he couldn’t give her. “Doc, I had no right—”
“I agree,” she interrupted, her voice cool, the control back in place. “You don’t. Once, I gave you the right, but you handed it back.” Her chin tilted with an academic arrogance. “No, you did worse. You tossed it aside on your way out the door. I won’t give you the opportunity to do it again.”
She swung away. When she reached the bottom step to the loft, she stopped, not bothering to face him, her spine rigid, her hand curled tightly around the railing. “It was ridiculous of me to turn you down earlier. I’m not going to make excuses for my behavior, but I do apologize. If the offer for the ride is still open, I accept.” She started up the stairs. “But don’t expect me to thank you.”
His gaze followed her until the bathroom door closed with a quiet emphasis. He rubbed his hand over his chest, trying to ease the tightness. So much for the trusting approach.
KATE STEPPED from the shower, wincing when the cool air stung her heated skin. How could her emotions have gotten out of control so quickly?
She had scrubbed her lips with trembling fingers, washing away the last of his taste as she faced the harsh truth—she was no more immune to Roman now than she had been two years ago.
The humiliation swarmed over her, making her skin crawl. In spite of their past—the animosity she felt— Roman could still arouse her passion to a fever pitch, defying all logic.
It was difficult to believe that his kiss had been little more than a means to punish her. Then their lips met and she simply hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught of emotion that emerged.
If her instincts were right, neither had he.
With quick, jerky movements, she dried her body with a bath sheet, rubbing hard to erase the imprint of him from her skin.
If she hadn’t felt so safe and protected, she wouldn’t have given in to the raw passion that surged to the surface. But when his strong arms surrounded her and she felt the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat against hers, she’d folded into him.
Again.
Despite it all, she had to admit she was terribly relieved he’d shown up yesterday when he did. His presence made her feel less vulnerable, more secure.
Common sense told her the safest option would be to stay here with Roman until she could contact Cain. Still, could she trust Roman? And did she have the right to put his life in jeopardy? From what Marcus had told her on the phone, this Nigel Threader was a dangerous man. A man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill to get what he wanted.
Realistically, having an able-bodied male around gave the formula more protection. Roman was resourceful, intelligent and too chivalrous to turn away from a damsel in distress—or an ex-lover in distress, for that matter.
He was also connected. Most of Roman’s jobs were government contracts. It was very possible he would know someone who could be trusted enough to help her out of this situation.
Kate wrapped the thick bath sheet around her, anchoring it with a knot between her breasts and stepped onto the earth-toned tile.
A quick search in the bathroom cabinet produced a half-used tube of toothpaste. Smiling at her small discovery, she finger-scrubbed her teeth while studying her reflection in the mirror.
Grudgingly she admitted the drugged sleep had done its job. She looked much better than she had the day before. The dark smudges under her eyes were almost transparent against her skin. But the signs of stress remained, visible in the tightness around her mouth and the pinched area between her brows.
It wasn’t until she searched her eyes, finding the terror lurking in the depths of her pupils, that Kate made her decision. “You can’t trust him with your love,” she said to her reflection. “It will be up to you to keep your heart safe.” Tapping the mirror for emphasis, she ignored the smears of paste left on the glass. “But right now you’ve only one option if you want to save the world, and he’s downstairs.”
Five minutes later Kate pitched her beige skirt and matching vest into the bathroom wastebasket. The clothes were grimy, and too battered from her trudge up the mountain to be of any use. After a few minutes of scrounging in the bedroom closet, her search revealed only one other wardrobe choice—her brother’s frayed Naval Academy T-shirt, a pair of his sweats that had been cut off above the knee and an old, shriveled pair of ladies’ canvas shoes, a half size too big.
She tied the drawstring of the sweats tightly around her waist, rolled the cuffs, then donned the T-shirt and shoes. Her ponytail, tied with some extra string from her shorts, swished damply against her back as she descended the stairs.
After steadying herself, she noticed the unusual silence that filled the room. Uneasily she scanned the cabin.
“Roman?”
No answer. The nape of her neck prickled and her unease took a quantum leap.
“Damn it, Roman where are you?” she called, keeping her voice pitched low before heading for the kitchen. Empty.
Backtracking into the living room, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nervousness. He wouldn’t leave without letting her know, she was certain. Which meant he had to be outside.
She scolded herself for overreacting and reached for the doorknob, only to smile at her silliness when the creak of the porch steps echoed through the door. Certain it was Roman, she threw it open in relief. “You had me worried.”
But it wasn’t Roman. Fear, stark and vivid, swept through her.
“Dr. Katherine MacAlister?”
Two men, modestly suited, stood in the doorway, both looking ridiculously out of place on the cabin porch as they presented their badges and identification. Central Intelligence Agency.
Kate remembered to breathe.
The older of the two, a tall man with trim brown hair, removed his mirrored sunglasses. His blue eyes flashed with impatience. An impatience, Kate noticed, not revealed in the politeness of his next statement.
“I’m Carl Dempsey.” He nodded toward the whipcord-thin man to his side, and the faint scent of peppermint drifted toward Kate. “This is my associate, Robert Jackson. May we talk with you, Doctor?”
She didn’t know what she was expecting, but calm civility wasn’t it. “I’m not sure…” Kate grappled for an answer while her mind worked overtime. Where was Roman? Her gaze quickly swept the area behind the two agents, but he didn’t appear. A bead of sweat tickled her shoulder blade.
“We can understand your hesitancy, ma’am, but we have reason to believe your life may be in danger.” Jackson spoke, his voice liberally laced with a warm, Southern accent that matched his blond, boyish features. “Would it help to know we were sent by your brother Cain?”
She was stunned. “Cain?” Was it possible he’d found out about her situation and sent help? Like Roman, Cain’s business put him in a position of making friends with high government officials. He could’ve learned about her disappearance.
She had tightened her grip on the door, ready to slam it shut, but now she hesitated. If they were working for Threader, they wouldn’t be announcing themselves, would they?
For the hundredth time, Kate wished she had her mother’s talent for reading people at a glance. Unfortunately, Ian was the only one of the siblings that seemed to have inherited that particular trait.
Kate stared into Jackson’s deep, brown eyes searching for the truth, but when he met her gaze, she saw only sincerity in their depths.
“May we come in?” he asked again, quietly this time.
Sincerity and sympathy.
Nodding, Kate loosened her grasp on