Resisting Her Commander Hero

by Lucy Ryder

  He’d nearly died a week ago because he’d dropped onto that ledge and found not just any rescue worker but the woman he’d promised to protect. But how the heck was he expected to look out for her if she was still wild and reckless?

  “It’s just a scratch.”

  After a brief battle of stares, Frankie snapped, “Fine. Then you won’t mind if I check it myself.”

  He silently weighed his options and decided that letting her patch him up was better than a trip to ER.

  He sighed and shed his outer shirt. Reaching for the T, he sucked in a sharp breath when he felt Frankie’s smooth, warm fingers brush his wet skin.

  For a blinding moment he imagined she was undressing him for something entirely different but then his head cleared because her expression was anything but seductive as she grabbed the hem and lifted. He was forced to raise his arms or get whacked on the nose and took over with a warning growl, whipping the shirt over his head while Frankie muttered something about a “shoddy patch-up job.”

  Annoyed because he’d done it himself, he demanded, “You think you can do better?”

  “Of course I can do better,” she snapped, sounding offended. “I have several advanced diplomas to say that I can do better.” She carefully pulled away the clumsy bandage and sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Omigod!” Her gaze rose to his, stunned and furious. “That is no scratch.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NATE SIGHED AND waited in resignation for her to state the obvious. He didn’t have to wait for more than a couple of beats.

  “You’ve been shot?” Frankie accused, her voice rising. “You’ve been shot and you didn’t tell me?”

  “It’s no big deal—” he began, only to become distracted by the luxurious length of her lashes and the way they made thick lacy curtains on her cheeks. He was so entranced by them it was a couple of seconds before he noticed that her moss green eyes had turned stormy.

  Stormy and sexy and—

  “You let me think it was a matter of you being clumsy,” she clipped out tersely, totally dispelling the idiotic vision growing inside his head. A vision that was far more dangerous than getting shot by modern-day pirates.

  Nate blinked to dispel the sensual web she was weaving around him and sucked in air to clear his head because what the hell was he thinking?

  “It’s no big deal,” he growled, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was more annoyed at himself than at her and was starting to wish he’d never given in to the stupid impulse to come.

  Before he could explain, a sleepy Paige appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on? I heard voices… Oh,” she said, spying him. “Hi, Nate.”

  Grateful for the interruption, Nate turned his attention to the petite doctor. “Hey, Dr. P. How’s it going?”

  She took in the sight of him sitting shirtless on the table, and Frankie standing with an alcohol swab in her hand looking like she was contemplating murder.

  “Better than you apparently.” Her brow wrinkled as she wandered closer, going still when she saw his injury up close. “That’s a—” Her eyes widened as what she was seeing dawned on her. Her mouth dropped open and the sleepy look vanished. “You…you’ve been shot? What happened? Why didn’t you go to the ER?”

  “See,” Frankie said curtly, jabbing a finger at him. “I’m not the only one who knows a gunshot wound when they see one.”

  He grabbed her hand before she could drill him with a fingernail.

  “I didn’t go to the ER because it’s no big deal,” he growled, wondering at the jumble of confusing emotions making him behave like an idiot who didn’t know the score. Especially the ones that urged him to pull Frankie close and prove just how okay he was. And maybe have those long-fingered hands slide all over his body.

  Stunned by the abrupt need knifing through him, Nate dropped her hand and scrubbed a hand over his face, hoping to scrub away the images in his mind. Maybe he was just tired, because there was no way he was contemplating tangling with Frankie.

  No way.

  “I’ve had worse. A lot worse.”

  His assurances did nothing to appease her. She looked ready to punch him. “Seriously, Nate,” she snapped, her eyes going all squinty, “now is not the time to remind me how much you like playing hero.”

  He opened his mouth to deny he’d been a hero but she ignored him, muttering something about heroes being no good to anyone when they’re dead, and he knew she was referring to Jack.

  “This was just me being clumsy, really,” he soothed when she looked ready to snatch his beer bottle away. “I didn’t get out of the way in time.”

  She spun away, eyes shadowed and her mouth pressed in a tight line of unhappiness. “What about next time, genius?”

  He sighed and reached out to brush escaped strands of silky curls off her face but she jerked away, looking like she might bite his hand off at the wrist. He suppressed a smile mostly because, despite her insistence that she didn’t like heroes, she’d been drawn to saving people too.

  Tipping the bottle to his mouth, he taunted softly, “Aw. Worried you’ll miss me, Francis?”

  She reacted just as he’d predicted. “Don’t be an idiot,” she snapped, and he suppressed a private little smile that at least some things hadn’t changed. But then she sprayed his side with disinfectant and demanded, “Why would I miss you? You’re annoying and juvenile and—”

  “There won’t be a next time,” he interrupted, hissing out a pained breath when he realized she’d used Merthiolate to cleanse his side. Probably because—yowza—it would sting more than a million fire ants.

  With her eyes hot and upset, she demanded, “How can you know that, Nate?”

  “Next time I’ll be in full tactical gear,” he rasped through gritted teeth. “Any stray bullets will do nothing but make a hole in my vest. And maybe if you’re lucky, a nice bruise to remind me what an idiot I am.”

  “If they have any brains they’d aim for your stupid head,” she muttered, squeezing a generous amount of antibiotic cream along the shallow furrow and confirming his suspicions that she’d used Merthiolate to punish him.

  He caught her hand to get her attention. “Did you hear the words tactical gear, Francis?”

  “No,” she snapped, pulling away and taking the large adhesive bandage Paige handed her. “All I heard was blah, blah, blah… I’m a stupid macho idiot, trying to get myself killed.”

  “Jack didn’t deliberately get himself killed, Frankie,” he said gently. “It’s just a hazard of the job. A hazard we all accept.”

  “Not me,” she rasped. “And you shouldn’t either.”

  Battling frustration, Nate dropped her hand and shoved his fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to pull out chunks because dealing with Francis always made him a little crazy.

  “Well, there’s a tactical helmet too,” he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “It won’t stop a point-five slug, but pretty much everything else.”

  Paige was silent throughout the exchange and when Frankie fell into a fuming silence she asked Nate, “You okay?”

  “Never better,” he practically snarled.

  Amusement tugged at the corners of her sleepy mouth and her hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. “I can see that.” She shifted her attention back to Frankie. “Need any help?”

  “I’ve got this,” Frankie said curtly. “You go back to sleep. You’re off the clock and there’s no need to patch up idiots in your free time.”

  “You’re sure you don’t need me…?” She paused a moment and when Frankie shook her head, she nodded and said, “Okay, then,” and cleared her throat as though fighting a laugh. She looked around. “Have you seen my car keys?”

  Frankie’s head came up. “You’re leaving?”

  “Hmm?” Paige said, looking around absently. “Exhausting day in the ER on top of the baby clinic.” She gave a huge yawn that looked suspiciously fake. “I could sleep for a week. Besides, you’re a disgustingly earl
y riser and I want to sleep in tomorrow morning.”

  Before Nate could ask the petite doctor what she was up to, Frankie said, “You don’t have to go. Nate is leaving.”

  “No, I’m not,” he contradicted mildly. “You said you’d feed me. Plus, I figured that you owe me for getting injured chasing down bad guys for you.”

  “It’s okay,” Paige said on a chuckle, and leaned forward to kiss Nate on the cheek. “Don’t go catching any more bullets, big guy, you’re clearly not bulletproof.” She hugged Frankie, said “I’ll see myself out,” and disappeared down the passage. There was a short silence before they heard the sound of the front door closing.

  Frankie frowned and looked at the wall clock.

  He wondered why he hadn’t taken the opportunity to escape when it had presented itself. Clearly he wasn’t as smart as all his advanced engineering degrees said he was. He silently drank his beer while Frankie applied a couple of Steri-Strips to the cuts on his face.

  Sound filtered through from the TV that was still on in the sitting room but otherwise the house was quiet.

  And then it hit him.

  They were alone…in a dark, empty house in the middle of the night.

  Not only were they alone but, despite Frankie’s attitude, he had a feeling that she was just as determined to ignore the simmering tension, just waiting for one wrong move from either of them to explode.

  “Relax,” he said wearily, wondering if he was referring to Paige having headed out on her own or…well, the growing tension between them. “This is Port St. John’s. People don’t get blown up here, Francis.”

  “But—”

  “Believe me, I’ve seen bad and this isn’t it.”

  She frowned, clearly not convinced.

  Nate studied her beautiful face; close enough that if he wanted to he could turn his head and their lips would touch.

  He froze, the beer bottle halfway to his mouth. Where had these dangerous thoughts come from all of a sudden? Because they were the absolute last thing he needed right now, especially as he had enough problems juggling all the other responsibilities in his life. Messing with Frankie would be both stupid and dangerous.

  She frowned. “You okay?”

  Oh, yeah he was great, just great. He’d left the SEALs because he’d lost too many people he cared about. He’d transferred to the US Coast Guard for the same reason—to protect those he loved. His mom, Terri, Ty and Paige, and all their friends and colleagues…and Frankie. He couldn’t do that if he allowed himself to get distracted. Which meant… His jaw clenched. It meant that he needed to stay away.

  For her sake as well as his.

  “Peachy.”

  Which also meant that he had to leave now. Because resisting Frankie’s grown-up allure was becoming increasingly difficult. Especially as they were alone in a darkened house and he hadn’t participated in any recreational activities with a woman in far too long.

  Staying was just asking for the kind of trouble he didn’t need or want.

  Coming to an abrupt decision, Nate placed the half-empty beer bottle on the table and with a palm flat against her belly he nudged her back a couple of paces, slid off the table and reached for his wet shirts.

  He caught her baffled frown out of the corner of his eye. “Where are you going? I haven’t finished. Besides, I thought you were hungry.”

  He studied her face silently before turning to head for the front door as fast as he could. “Oh, I am, princess,” he tossed over his shoulder. “But not for food.”

  After a short stunned silence, she demanded behind him, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  With frustration beating at him, he drawled roughly, “It means that if I stay I’ll take you up on more than your offer of free medical care and leftovers.”

  He heard her sharply indrawn breath and turned in time to catch the odd look that flashed across her face before a shutter came down, hiding her thoughts from him. Instead, amused challenge replaced the soft, uncertain—very un-Frankie-like—expression.

  “Oh, please,” she scoffed, folding her arms beneath her breasts and cocking one hip to the side. “The big badass Navy SEAL can’t handle anything more than leftovers. Not that I’m offering,” she said pointedly. “Especially not to you. Not again. Not ever.”

  Ignoring her reference to her eighteenth birthday, he drawled mockingly, “I don’t accept anyone’s leftovers, princess. I’m an all-or-nothing kind of guy.”

  But right now none of that mattered because her pose reminded him that barely five days ago he’d seen her naked. Naked and lush and every man’s fantasy. Something that had tormented him because he knew he wouldn’t get another chance.

  Shouldn’t get another chance if he intended to keep his promise to his friend. He needed to keep his mind on his job. People depended on him to keep them safe. Not just his mother and sister—but his men too.

  Then she challenged his masculinity with a taunted “You couldn’t handle it anyway, Nate.” And something snapped inside his head.

  Knowing he was making a mistake and suddenly not caring—because, God knew, she drove him completely insane—he retraced his steps, stalking her like a leopard stalked its unwary prey.

  Something in his expression had her backing up a step and putting out her hand like a traffic cop. Dark amusement joined the frustration because she actually thought that would stop him.

  She was right to be wary, because something dark and tumultuous was driving him.

  “Are you sure about that, princess?” he drawled softly, advancing slowly, forcing her to retreat another step. “You’re not the only one who’s changed. How do you even know what I can handle anymore?”

  When she realized he’d all but boxed her in between the wall and the coat rack, she growled, her eyes narrowing a warning that he ignored. To her credit she didn’t try to escape, instead letting him advance until his chest bumped against her outstretched palm.

  “Nate,” she said, tilting her head to stare at him as though he’d grown three heads. “What are you doing?”

  Yeah, Nate. What are you doing?

  Ignoring her and the voice in his head, Nate stepped in, pushing her against the wall, forcing her hand to flatten against his chest. And as he stared into the darkening depths of her moss green eyes, the heat of her palm seeped into his flesh and spread warmth and warning across his skin.

  He welcomed the warmth…ignored the warning.

  “I’m showing how much you don’t know about me, babe.”

  Her back snapped straight and she thrust out her chin.

  “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “You’re a man. You couldn’t handle me as a child. What makes you think you can handle me now, Commander Big Shot?”

  Fire began to race across his skin. Against his better judgment he found that he loved that about her—that damn-your-eyes challenge. His muscles tightened and bunched and the skin across his scalp prickled. But Nate was accustomed to ignoring distractions and focusing on his mission. Mostly.

  Right now his mission was to warn her off—hell, warn himself off.

  “Someday, princess,” he murmured, reaching up to brush his knuckles along the clean line of her jaw, “someone might take that challenge seriously.”

  She gasped in outrage, her eyes flashing with a defiance that lit a slow-burning fuse to his long-buried need.

  “Oh, yeah?” she rasped, giving him a not-so-gentle shove. “And I suppose you think you’re the man to do it?”

  A rough laugh escaped him, his gaze drifting from her defiant green eyes to her soft mouth. “I’m not that crazy, princess. You think you’re tough enough to take me on, but you aren’t. Nowhere near.”

  Shoving him with both hands this time, she growled, “And you are, Commander I-Think-I’m-So-Tough?”

  His heart rate doubled and his skin prickled a primitive warning that he ignored because he suddenly knew why he’d come tonight. He wanted—no, needed—this…this wild flood of reckless exhilaration. Somethi
ng he hadn’t experienced in too long.

  “I’m plenty tough, Red.” He leaned forward to growl in her ear. “Now…” his mouth brushed against her neck and he felt her go still, her breath hitching in her throat as though she couldn’t believe his audacity. His mouth curved against her soft skin “…let’s see just how tough you are.”

  The tension thickened and Nate swore he could see sparks zipping through the air between them. He opened his mouth on her delicate skin and a voice in the back of his mind yelled, Pull back, pull back.

  But then Frankie’s nails dug furrows in the skin of his chest and the warning abruptly faded. Drawing back, his gaze locked on her mouth a couple of inches beneath his, the curves soft, plump, moist…inviting. Then her breath quickened in the heated silence and with a muttered curse Nate caught her mouth in a punishing kiss. Although who he’d intended to punish wasn’t so clear, especially when the taste of her filled his mouth and—oh, yeah—sent his senses reeling.

  She gasped as though he’d caught her by surprise. Hell, he’d surprised himself too, so sure that he could taunt her and then leave, unscathed.

  He still could, he assured himself. He’d kiss her breathless and rid himself of this overwhelming need crushing his resistance, making him forget long-held promises. And because he felt driven by something buried too deep to analyze, he wanted to teach her that messing with him came with consequences.

  Consequences he suddenly couldn’t recall, but was all too willing to face…later.

  Much later.

  Once he’d had his fill.

  Thrusting his hands in her hair to hold her so he could wage a sensual war on her soft, pliable mouth, Nate promised himself that he would leave soon. After another few tastes…another few deep drugging kisses…then he would leave. Just as he had last time. Besides, he was the master of control, the master of his own destiny. And he’d prove it.