by Lori Foster
Her heart pounded in slow, deep thumps that hurt her breastbone and made it difficult to draw an even breath. The relief flooding over her in drowning force didn’t feel much different than her fear had.
Her awareness of that man was almost worse.
Like spotting Superman, or a wild animal or a combination of both, she felt awed and amazed and disbelieving.
She was safe now, but was she really?
One of the saviors approached her. He was fair, with blond hair and light eyes, though she couldn’t see the exact color in the dark night with only the fire for illumination. Trying to make himself look less like a convict, he gave her a slight smile.
A wasted effort.
He moved real slow, watchful and gentle. “Don’t pay any mind to Clint.” He spoke in a low, melodic croon. “He always pukes afterward.”
Her savior’s name was Clint.
Julie blinked several times, trying to gather her wits and calm the spinning in her head. “He does?”
Another man approached, equally cautious, just as gentle. But he had black hair and blacker eyes. He didn’t say anything, just stood next to the other man and surveyed her bruised face with an awful frown that should have been alarming, but wasn’t.
The blond nodded. “Yeah. Hurtin’ people—even people who deserve it like these bastards did—always upsets Clint’s stomach. He’ll be all right in a minute.”
Julie ached, her body, her heart, her mind. She’d long ago lost the feeling in her arms, but every place else pulsed with relentless prickling pain. She looked over at Clint. He had his hands on his knees, his head hanging. The poor man. “He was saving me, wasn’t he?”
“Oh. Yes, ma’am. We’re here to take you home. Everything will be okay now.” His glance darted to her chest and quickly away.
Julie realized she wasn’t decently covered, but with her hands tied tightly behind her back, she couldn’t do anything about it. She felt conspicuous and vulnerable and ready to cry. In an effort to better conceal herself, she did her best to hunch her aching shoulders before looking back at Clint.
Just the sight of him, big, powerful, brave, gave her a measure of reassurance. He straightened slowly, drew several deep breaths.
He was an enormous man, layered in sleek muscle with wide shoulders and a tapered waist and long, thick thighs. His biceps were as large as her legs, his hands easily twice the size of her own.
Eyes closed, he tipped his head back and swallowed several times, drinking in the cooler, humid night air. At that moment, he looked very weak.
He hadn’t looked weak while pulverizing those men. Julie licked her dry lips and fought off another wave of the strange dizziness.
Clint flicked a glance toward her, and their gazes locked together with a sharp snap, shocking Julie down to the soles of her bare dirty feet.
He looked annoyed by the near tactile contact.
Julie felt electrified. Her pains faded away into oblivion.
It took a few moments, but his forced smile, meant to be reassuring, was a tad sickly. Still watching her, he reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small silver flask. He tipped it up, swished his mouth out, and spit.
All the while, he held her with that implacable burning gaze.
When he replaced the flask in his pocket and started toward her, every nerve ending in Julie’s body came alive with expectation. Fear, alarm, relief—she wasn’t at all certain what she felt, she just knew she felt it in spades. Her breath rose to choke her, her body quaked, and strangely enough, tears filled her eyes.
I will not cry, I will not cry…
She rubbed her eye on her shoulder and spoke to the two men, just to help pull herself together. “Should he be drinking?”
Blondie said, “Oh, no. It’s mouthwash.” And with a smile, “He always carries it with him, cuz of his stomach and the way he usually—”
The dark man nudged the blonde, and they both fell silent.
Mouthwash. She hadn’t figured on that.
She wanted to ignore him, but her gaze was drawn to him like a lodestone. Fascinated, she watched as Clint drew nearer. During his approach, he peeled his shirt off over his head, then stopped in front of her, blocking her from the others. They took the hint and gave her their backs.
Julie stared at that broad, dark, hairy chest. He was more man than any man she’d ever seen, and the dizziness assailed her again.
With a surprisingly gentle touch, Clint went to one knee and laid the shirt over her chest. It was warm and damp from his body. His voice was low, a little rough when he spoke. “I’m going to cut your hands free. Just hold still a second, okay?”
Julie didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. She’d been scared for so long now, what seemed like weeks but hadn’t even been a full day. And now she was rescued.
She was safe.
A large, lethal blade appeared in Clint’s capable hands, but Julie felt no fear. Not now. Not with him so close.
He didn’t go behind her to free her hands. He reached around her while looking over her shoulder and blocking her body with his own. Absurdly, she became aware of his hot scent, rich with the odor of sweat and anger and man. After smelling her own fear for hours on end, it was a delicious treat for her senses. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the smell of him, on his warmth and obvious strength and stunning ability.
He enveloped her with his size, and with the promise of safety.
She felt a small tug, and the ropes fell away. But as Julie tried to move, red-hot fire rushed through her arms, into her shoulders and wrists, forcing a groan of sharp-edged agony from her tight lips.
“Shhh, easy now.” As if he’d known exactly what she’d feel, Clint sat in front of her. His long legs opened around her, and he braced her against his bare upper body. His flesh was hot, smooth beneath her cheek.
Slowly, carefully, he brought her arms around and allowed her to muffle her moans against his shoulder. He massaged her, kneading and rubbing from her upper back, her shoulders to her elbows to her wrists, and still crooning to her in that low voice. His hard fingers dug deep into her soft flesh, working out the cramps with merciless determination and loosening her stiff joints that seemed frozen in place.
As the pain eased, tiredness sank in, and Julie slumped against him. She’d been living off adrenaline for hours, and now being safe left her utterly drained, unable to stay upright.
It was like propping herself against a warm, vibrant brick wall. There was no give to Clint’s hard shoulder, and that comforted Julie.
One thought kept reverberating through her weary brain: He really saved me.
For a single moment, he seemed wary at her limp acceptance of him. Then, as if handling an infant, his arms came around her. Large, rough hands opened on her back, cradling, soothing.
“Mojo,” he said quietly, “how bad’s the damage?”
The man who was darker than sin lifted one massive shoulder. “Same as usual.”
The blonde filled in with a grin in his tone. “No one’s dead, Clint, but you broke a jaw, busted a knee, broke at least one wrist…”
Clint leaned slightly away from Julie and looked around at the scattered, moaning bodies with a scowl. “Shit.” Julie felt his tension, though his voice and his touch didn’t change. “They can still talk?”
“Yeah.” Grim relish imbued Mojo’s tone. “I’ll make ’em talk.”
“I’d like to kill them,” Clint said in that same moderate tone, “but I suppose I’ve done enough.”
Mojo looked down at Julie, his devil’s gaze filled with tenderness. “They had it coming.”
“Yeah.” Clint’s big hand cradled the side of her face. “Can you stand?”
As in use her legs? “Of course.” But Julie wasn’t sure. Humiliated by her own weakness, she clung to Clint as he lifted them both to their feet. The second she was upright, she burrowed close again. He stood so much taller than her, her face came even with his bare chest. Crisp hair tickled her nose, her chin.
/> Facing the world was more than she could handle just yet. She was…ashamed. Embarrassed. Still shaken. And she felt very needy—something that didn’t sit right with her—but she’d used up all her reserves and couldn’t find the gumption to fight off the feeling.
This man seemed willing to hold her, and for the moment, she was more than willing to let him. God knew, there was no one else.
A strange stillness hummed in the air as all three men went silent. Someone cleared his throat. Someone shifted. The evening breeze swirled around them, mingling the male scents and dispersing the sense of danger with fresh air.
Clint spoke close to her ear, and she detected the minty mouthwash on his breath. “Why don’t you let me get this shirt on you, okay?”
More humiliation swamped her senses. She’d completely forgotten that her nightgown was torn. Remembering how her abductors had gotten increasingly mean as they drank, she shivered. She didn’t want to let Clint go—so she didn’t.
With her nose pressed to his chest, she whispered, “Petie tried to touch me, but I couldn’t…couldn’t let him but he held onto my gown and then it ripped and they…” Her voice dwindled to an embarrassing croak.
“Shhh. I know.” Clint did some more rubbing, then offered as a balm, “I broke his jaw.”
Fierce satisfaction filled her. “Good.”
His whiskered jaw teased her temple when he smiled. “C’mere. Let’s turn you around.” Still holding her close, he rotated them both so that her back was to the other men. To her relief, he didn’t force any space between them. “Your arms feel better now?”
“Yes.” They did, but not much. Petie had tied her hands as soon as he’d taken her, and then kept them tied. Her limbs had first gone to sleep, then gone numb. She ached. Not just her muscles, but deep down inside herself.
Keeping her against him as much as possible, Clint carefully removed his shirt from where it had been draped over her front. He shook it out one-handed, not looking at where her exposed breast flattened against his wide, naked chest.
Julie didn’t need to look. She felt the mingling of their heartbeats, hers too fast, his slow and easy and, given her circumstances, very reassuring.
Using infinite care, he lifted her right arm and began dressing her.
Julie let him, aware of the caution in his touch, his breath on her shoulder, the softness of the worn cotton as it pulled over her head, down her arms. He eased her an inch away, and the material slid over her breast, over her nipple.
She couldn’t meet his gaze.
The shirt hung to the middle of her thighs and would have easily wrapped around her twice. With incredible gentleness, he smoothed it into place. “Better?”
“Yes.” And it really, really was.
Silence, then, “You okay?”
Head down, she nodded. “Yes.”
Clint hesitated before touching her chin and lifting her face until she had to look into his eyes.
“Those are an awful lot of yeses you’re giving me, Julie Rose.”
Mesmerized, Julie got caught in his gaze again. His eyes were…well, there was nothing ordinary about them, though she couldn’t really say the green was anything special. There was just so much intensity, so much emotion there. They’d looked cold earlier, but now they burned with heat.
The bonfire behind her reflected in his face and made pronounced shadows beneath his high cheekbones, his sculpted jaw, his square chin. He wasn’t what she would have termed a classically attractive man, but he was a hero. A bona fide, kick-ass, more than capable hero who offered her safety, and to Julie, that made him the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
When she continued to stare up at him, he tried another smile. This one looked better than the one he’d given her right after throwing up. It was a smile of encouragement, of understanding. A little arrogant, a lot sweet.
He smoothed her tangled hair, lifted it out of the neckline of the shirt. “Did I scare you?”
He’d spoken in a whisper, so Julie did the same. “When?”
“A little bit ago. When I was…” His mouth flattened as he searched for the right word.
“When you were beating them up for me?”
Surprise shone in his face at the way she’d worded that, but he didn’t correct her. “Yeah.”
“I wasn’t afraid.” She turned her cheek into his big hand, wanting him to understand that she wasn’t a coward. “I was relieved.”
“Good.”
Julie almost smiled, too, but then Petie groaned, a broken sound of horrible pain. She turned her head.
“It’s okay, Julie Rose,” Clint told her. “He can’t hurt you now.”
Wondering at the way he’d used her full name, Julie turned away from the man who’d taken her, abused her. She curled into her rescuer’s side. “I know.”
“We should go.”
She was a schoolteacher, a woman used to taking control of unruly classes and dealing with difficult, often exasperating parents. She held her own in all situations, even standing up to Drew whenever necessary. She wouldn’t keep acting like a fool now. It was over. She was safe.
Julie nodded. “Go where?”
Clint stalled. His heavy arm rested over her shoulders. His body was alongside hers, powerful and comforting. He didn’t look at her for the longest time.
“Back to your fiancé,” he finally said.
Julie blinked up at him and then leaned away. She didn’t know if it was the relief of finally being safe or the lack of food and water, but she suddenly felt dizzy.
She swayed, and Clint caught her close. “Hey.”
The other two men moved in, crowding around her, hands reaching out. “What’s wrong with her?” and “Damn, she looks like she’s going to faint,” got said at about the same time that her vision narrowed, closing in.
The bruising male voices were tainted with alarm, and the idea that these big, rough men could be distressed over something so silly struck her.
Julie tried to shake her head and wasn’t sure if she succeeded or not. She’d never fainted in her life, and she didn’t want to faint on them now. She wasn’t a person who had fits of nerves. She was willful and headstrong and stubborn. Her father had always said so.
The world tilted, and she realized someone had scooped her up. Strange, how she felt so boneless, so empty.
“I’ve got you.” Clint’s voice seemed to come from far away, a hollow echo that swirled around her. “We’ll have you home safe and sound in no time.”
Home sounded wonderful—as long as he didn’t leave her yet. That thought brought a measure of panic that shocked her, but couldn’t be suppressed. She tried to grip him, knowing she had to tell him, that she had to explain.
“Easy. Just relax, Julie Rose.”
Clint’s mouth brushed her temple in what might have been a kiss, but was probably just an accident.
She sighed. “Okay.” Everything dimmed, darker and darker. She had to tell him now, before it was too late. “Clint?”
He bent to her. “Yes?”
It wasn’t easy, but she got the words out. “I…”
He started moving, carrying her along in his arms. “What is it, Julie Rose?”
His hold was lax, as if she weighed nothing at all. Her world tilted. “I’m not…engaged.”
Julie felt Clint pause, his arms tighten, and she faded into oblivion.
Clint sat on the floor of the minivan, her slim body partially held in his arms, her head resting on the crook of his knee. The unpaved back road was rough and rutted. She got jostled as Red drove, but she slept on.
He was starting to worry, and damn it, he didn’t want to worry. Worry was for old women and spineless men.
But she was such a small woman. Not short, but fine boned and delicate and, as he’d suspected, skinny. She had a long, elegant throat—though he’d never noticed a woman’s throat before. Now that he had noticed, he could only think of it as elegant.
Her arms were smooth, her thigh
s long, her rib cage narrow. His shirt hung on her, the neckline falling over her shoulder until it nearly exposed her breast again.
Sweat dampened Clint’s back. Using just his fingertips, he eased the shirt back up to her chin. He could take a lot, but he couldn’t take Julie Rose’s partial nudity. Seeing her breast once was enough. Not that he’d stared, because he wasn’t an animal. She’d been through enough without that.
But he hadn’t needed to stare. The impression of that soft, pale flesh, the small pink nipple, was burned into his brain, annoying him, stirring him on some dark, carnal level when all he should have felt was sympathy and the urge to protect.
And he did feel those things, damn it.
But he was also aware of her as a woman.
Earlier, when she’d hugged him, trusting him, he’d absorbed her femininity, the feel of her slender body in his arms, her breast, her stiffened nipple against his flesh, the way a dying man would absorb life.
She wouldn’t act so secure with him if she knew the path his mind had taken. Not that she ever would know, because no way in hell would he tell her, and he sure as certain wouldn’t act on it.
Clint cupped her cheeks, determined to keep his thoughts on the straight and narrow. His thumb brushed her jaw, hoping to revive her.
Mumbling a swear word and swatting at him, Julie Rose stirred.
Mojo turned in his seat and frowned in inquiry.
“She’s coming around.” Relieved, Clint poured a little more water on the towel and stroked her face. She’d been out too long, and he sensed it was her reluctance to face what had happened as much as any possible injury that kept her asleep. “C’mon, Julie Rose. Enough is enough, woman. Quit hiding.”
Her long, golden brown lashes fluttered, and her eyes blinked open. She stared up at him in blank confusion. Her eyes nearly crossed for a long moment before a flash of alarm made her gasp.
“It’s all right.” Clint held her still. “You’re safe, remember? I’m not about to let anyone hurt you.”
Her lips parted; her shoulders relaxed.
In the next heartbeat, she was holding him again, her arms raised so that she clasped his neck. For a woman coming out of a dead faint, she had surprising strength. Her hands slid up and locked around him, forcing him to lean closer to her.
