Someone To Protect Her

The discomfort of having her too appealing rescuer mere feet away, separated from her merely by a flimsy—and unlocked—door.

HE WAS HIT.

“Get out! Get out!”

No time to think…eject.

A plume of smoke surrounded him, choking him. The crippled jet veered off, nose down, spinning, its death scream sounding in his head.

Explosion…his ears imploded.

He flew down, wingless, through a momentarily silent world.

A world of jagged peaks and valleys coming closer fast.

The chute shot open behind him. He jerked back. Stomach lurched. Then all righted.

He was coming down…but to what?

The ravaged earth met his feet. The stink of fire burned his nostrils. Folds of material enveloped him, taking him prisoner.

He fought, knowing his very life depended on it….

THUMPING…POUNDING…groaning…

Terrifying noises awakened C.J. from an already restless sleep. Heart lurching, pulse pounding, she sat straight up in bed. An intruder? She groped for the telephone, had the slender receiver in hand before remembering.

Frank Connolly.

Her heart thudded. What was going on in her living room? Was Frank fighting off the intruder once more? Half asleep, he would be vulnerable. He could be dead by the time the authorities arrived.

Dropping the phone and grabbing an empty vase, she flung open the door. Barely able to make out thrashing on the couch in the dark, she yelled, “Stop that!” and flew across the room.

“Huh? What’s going on?”

The deep-throated grumble replaced the more threatening noises and stopped C.J. dead in her tracks. Closer now, she realized Frank was alone. And asleep. At least he had been until she’d come charging in.

A lamp clicked on. C.J. blinked at the magnificent display of Frank’s naked torso, cast in gold from the lamplight. The very breath caught in her throat as she allowed her gaze to explore the planes and angles, the muscular perfection that begged to be touched….

“I must have been dreaming,” he mumbled, shifting on the couch so that the sheet dropped lower.

Not seeing a band of white—or any other color—along his hip, she wasn’t certain he wore anything beneath.

“Or h-having a n-nightmare.” The very thought of a naked man on her couch—especially this man—was disconcerting. “I, uh, thought you were in trouble.”

“And you were going to save me?”

Frank stared at her somewhat in wonder, as if he were really seeing her for the first time. His expression changed subtly. Heat creeping up her neck, C.J. set the vase on a table and shoved her hands behind her back.

“Tea,” she offered in desperation as he continued to pin her with his intense gaze. “I have a calming herbal if you would like to try it.”

“Sure. That would be great.”

Relieved for the respite from the odd tension he caused in her, she fled to the kitchen.

FRANK HAD PULLED ON a T-shirt and his jeans by the time C.J. returned to the living room.

“This should settle you down,” she murmured, placing a tray heavy with a porcelain teapot and cups and saucers on the table before the couch.

“I’m fine.”

Not appearing to believe him, she sat down on a chair opposite.

Frank watched closely as she poured the tea. Her hands were graceful, her ringless fingers long, her short nails glossy as if she’d just buffed them. She held out a cup on a saucer, and he suddenly realized the delicate set decorated with flowers and dragons was the only really personal item he’d seen in her apartment.

Even that vase she’d commandeered as an impromptu weapon was colorless, like the rest of the apartment. A furnished rental unit, no doubt. Bland, but easy. Still, he wondered why she’d done nothing to make the place her own. It was devoid of the little things he usually noticed in a woman’s place.

“Thanks,” he said, adding more sugar than was good for him—at least if he wanted to sleep.

She didn’t comment, merely raised one pale eyebrow.

“If you need someone to talk to, I’m available.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” she murmured, her voice as soothing as she’d promised the tea would be. She took a sip. “But sometimes talking helps.”

“Talking can’t change anything, can’t bring someone back!” Frank said heatedly before catching himself. “Okay, so what’s the giveaway?”

“Other than you scaring me half to death in your sleep? Your eyes. You try to hide it, Frank, but when you’re not vigilant, they tell me that you’re troubled…haunted by your past.”

Certain she didn’t know about his background—how could she when she hadn’t even known who was coming for her—he said, “Perceptive as well as intelligent and beautiful, huh?”

She blinked at him and he could see that she was thrown. “I’m not beautiful—I’m a scientist.”

Frank started. Maybe she didn’t get many compliments of that sort, considering she hid behind lab coats and glasses and an unflattering hairstyle. But without the glasses, her hair tousled and brushing her shoulders, C.J. indeed appeared beautiful, if in a starched, stiff-upper-lip kind of way. Her body wasn’t encased in a lab coat now. Rather, satiny material drowned her curves. The peach-and-cream stripes of her pajamas complemented her honey-gold hair and flawless ivory complexion.

But again, she seemed to be hiding.

And Frank couldn’t help but wonder what he might find under the baggy garments.

Cup halfway to her mouth, C.J. hesitated. Their gazes locked for a moment, and Frank felt as if he’d just caught a doe in his headlights. He watched the subtle change in her expression before she hid that, too.

She took a quick sip of her tea, then rose, snatching up her saucer. “Since you’re not inclined to talk, anyway, I’ll just finish this in my room.”

“Something I didn’t say?”

But if his comment amused her, she hid it well.