by Sabrina York
Once they hit town, he took the back streets to her hotel. They were less crowded and if anyone happened to be watching for her, it was less likely they’d be spotted. To that end, he took her up to her room not through the fancy glittering lobby, but through the austere utilitarian service passages.
As they emerged from the elevator, he held her back while he scanned the hall. It was quiet, deserted, but he didn’t lower his guard as he escorted her to her door. It took her a while to find her card key in the impossibly tiny wallet she had tucked in her bodice—which matched the print of her dress. But then, she was shaking.
When she found it he took it from her and met her eyes. “Let me go in and make sure it’s all clear.”
She opened her mouth as though to protest, but he gave her no time. It was entirely possible that the crew waiting for her at the club had a backup team stationed here. That’s what he would have done.
He swiped the key and pushed through the door.
It was dark beyond the slice of light from the doorway. He pulled out his Sig and hunched lower—motioning that she do the same—and peered through the murk, making out the shapes of furniture in a sprawling suite. Not a sound. Not a hint of movement. Still he would need to—
A low growl resonated through the room—the sound a Chupacabra might make. It sent chills up his spine. He moved—just a fraction of an inch—and the growl rose. He glanced at the wall where a sliver of light created a shadow; he made out the outline of an enormous creature with large ears, a slavering maw and barrel chest. The creature quivered with fury.
Why hadn’t he known she had a Rottweiler?
Fuck that. Whatever it was, he wasn’t facing it blind. He felt for the light switch and flicked it on and…
Holy crap.
The growl erupted into a flurry of high pitched yips and snarls that Mason had trouble processing. Because he was utterly befuddled.
This hulking, snarling beast, one that made his bowels go cold, was a Chihuahua. And not just any Chihuahua. A Chihuahua wearing a frilly pink tutu with matching booties.
Apparently it was pissed about the tutu—or something—because it charged.
Mason launched to his feet—he was not having his groin mauled by anything in a pink tutu. He yelped as the dog closed its fangs on his ankle. Naturally, he tried to shake the beast off. Because shit, those teeth hurt.
To his consternation, Pansy, who was supposed to be staying behind him while he checked out her suite, pushed past him and snatched up the dog, cuddling it to her cheek as though the little monster wasn’t still snapping and growling.
“Hush baby, hush,” she cooed. “It’s okay.”
Okay?
It was not okay.
Why she glared at him, he had no idea. “What?” he snapped.
“You tried to kick her,” she said.
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I was trying to shake her off.”
“She’s much smaller than you, you brute!”
“She was biting me.”
“She’s a guard dog. What did you expect?”
He stared at the creature quivering in her arms. When it noticed his attention, it made some more nasty sounds; saliva spattered him. “That? That is not a guard dog.” Guard dogs did not wear tutus. He was pretty fucking sure.
Pansy Hightower sniffed. “She scared you.”
“She most certainly did not scare me.”
“You yelped.”
“I was startled.” Her expression made it clear she did not believe him, or she failed to see the very subtle difference between startled and scared. He pushed out his chest. “Now please. If you don’t mind. Shall I continue searching your rooms? To make sure you are safe?”
She humphed and made little kissy noises against her dog’s head. “Go ahead. But there’s no one here.”
He gaped at her. “And how do you know that?”
“It’s pretty obvious. If anyone was here, Lola would have had them cornered.”
“Lola?” Her name was Lola? A song that had always annoyed him skirled through his head.
“We were going to name her Spartacus—”
“What, not Ratacus?” He couldn’t resist.
She glared at him. “We were going to name her Spartacus but then she turned out to be a girl.”
He had nothing to say to that. Didn’t even want to ask. “Right. Stay here.”
He made a quick but thorough search of her suite—the living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom and enormous bath—and found nothing. Part of him kind of wished he had found someone skulking behind the curtains just so he could say something like, “so there,” but he didn’t. He should be glad of it. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was damn tired. He trudged back into the living room and pulled out his phone.
Her brow rumpled. “Who are you calling?” Her voice was sharp, reflective of the stressful night she’d had. He scuttled the urge to needle her. As much as she annoyed him on a bone deep level, she touched him there too. Part of him—the soft squishy center—wanted to reassure her. See the lines on her brow smooth. See her body relax.
“I’m calling my boss. He needs to know what happened. And I’d like to get an update on your aunt. She needs to be warned.”
Apparently his simple words hit her hard.
Her eyes widened. Her lips trembled. Something inside him lurched.
Damn. He wanted to fold her into his arms and hold her. Just hold her.
It was an unfortunate urge, and a foolish one.
With ruthless determination, he thrust it away.
Pansy stared after Mason as he stalked into the kitchen with his cell phone to his ear. She wanted to follow, to hear at least his half of the conversation, but she didn’t have the energy. Her muscles were like noodles and her mind was in a fog.
All the way back from the desert, she’d clung to him, this big, strong mountain of a man—a man who had saved her from certain death, a man who had used his fists like battering rams, pummeling her assailants into submission. He incited feelings in her she’d never felt before.
Oh, there was the lust. There was no doubt about that. Especially now that she’d gotten a good look at him in the light. He was far more handsome up close than she’d suspected. But it was more than his gorgeous raw-boned face or his incredible build. More than the sheer power of his muscles.
It was the force of his presence. The aura that clung to him.
He made her feel small and feminine—but in a way that made her feel empowered as well. He made her want things she’d never wanted before.
As the daughter of a famous personality, with a career and platform of her own, she’d always been the leader in a relationship. She’d been the one in charge. The one on top, as it were.
This man made her ache for something else. Made her crave the power of his body over hers, thrusting into hers, holding her helpless and making her his.
But shit. That was probably just reaction talking. No doubt it was her mind’s way of dealing with the trauma of the night. She’d been overpowered. Snatched. She’d nearly been killed. Possibly almost raped. There was a lot of emotional baggage that came along with an experience like that. No doubt her brain was just trying to find balance in the chaos of her emotions.
She’d have to ask Dr. Rosenthal the next time she saw him.
Mason stepped back into the room, capturing her complete attention. Good God, he was beautiful. Filthy, but beautiful. But then she probably looked like hell too. She glanced down at her leg, suddenly aware of a sharp sting, and was surprised to see it was bleeding from a series of cuts and scrapes. Her whole body was probably savaged. Tomorrow she’d be black and blue.
When he sat down in the easy chair at her side, a cloud of dust poofed up. Also, Lola began growling again. Pansy calmed her with the slow strokes she liked. Still, she showed Mason her teeth.
He seemed moderately alarmed. He kept his attention on the dog, but spoke to her. “
There is no word about your aunt.”
She nearly collapsed.
His brow furrowed. “But don’t worry. She has an excellent team on her. It’s you we need to think about, now that we know the danger your aunt suspected is very real.”
Pansy gave a little nod. Upon reflection, she’d been an idiot to refuse the security team in the first place. She’d just never expected that Steven would try something so ballsy.
“Her directions made it very clear. She wants us to stay on your six no matter what.”
“My…six?”
Mason scrubbed at his face with a palm. He shouldn’t have. It just moved the dirt around. “It’s a military term. It means we have your back. Our boss wants us to set up an overt security team. The thinking is that if the bad guys know you’re being protected, they are less likely to strike. But…” He shot her a tense look. “Only if you want us around.”
“And if I don’t?”
He shrugged. His grin was beyond dazzling. It stole her breath. “Then we go back to skulking.”
Pansy fiddled with the hem of her dress. It was ripped. The entire outfit was no doubt a total write off. It was one of her favorites from the new line. She pushed the thought away and tried to focus on what he was telling her.
“So this security team?”
“Yeah?”
“Would it include you?”
He stilled, glanced away. “I…that depends.”
“On what?”
“If you want me.”
Oh good lord. She did. For one thing, she trusted him. She wasn’t sure why, but she did. And for another, plain and simple, she wanted him.
Not that anything would happen between them. How could it if they were under surveillance all the time?
And not that it should. He was hardly her type after all. All the guys she’d ever dated had been in the fashion industry, or movie stars. It was her life. Her persona. Her world.
There wasn’t room for a big burly muscled man in her bed. There wasn’t time for a fling.
Was there?
She glanced at him again and realized with a start he was staring at her expectantly, waiting for her response…to something. What was it again?
“Do you?” he prompted. “Want me?” Was that a hint of hunger in his tone? A simmering undercurrent of need? Did his eyes glimmer as he stared at her? His lips work? Was that his tongue peeping out to wet them as he imagined tasting her?
Or was she delusional?
“I trust you.” She did. She couldn’t deny it. She trusted him with her life. It was just something in his eyes.
Those eyes widened, as though surprised by her words; his cheek bunched. “You do?”
“I do. But the other men?”
“Yeah?” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers and fixed her with an intent stare.
“Do you know them?”
He lifted a large shoulder. “Most of them.”
“How can I trust them?”
“GAPS only hires the best.”
“GAPS?”
“Guardian Angel Protective Services.”
She tried not to grin. “Are you an angel?”
“Not hardly.” He was wrong. He was a fallen one, at least.
“Are you good?”
“One of the best.”
“What kind of experience do you have?”
He stared at her. “Are you interviewing me?”
Yes. She supposed she was. “Well?”
“All right. He settled back in the chair and crossed his arms. He’d taken off his leather jacket and his biceps bulged in the arms of his black t-shirt. The sight made her mouth water. “For starters, I saved your ass tonight.”
She growled at him. Lola’s ears perked up and she growled as well.
Mason glanced at the dog, now somewhat quiescent in her lap, and his lips kicked up. “Do you dress her up every day?”
Was that a hint of derision in his tone? “She likes it.”
“Yeah, I can guarantee you, she does not like it. Did you see the way she pranced around with those booties on? Dogs hate booties.”
“What do you know about dogs? Or booties?” Or fashion? Really. Did he have to be exasperating? But when he wasn’t looking, she slipped them off anyway.
“I used to put socks on my Lab. Trust me. Dogs hate booties.”
“Why did you put socks on your Lab?”
He shrugged and shot her that evil grin once more. “Because it was fun to watch. But it was a terrible mistake, I later discovered.”
She had no idea why she was fascinated. Why she leaned forward and asked, “How so?”
“He discovered a bitter hatred for my socks, and any chance he got, he ripped them to shreds.”
“Humph,” she sniffed. “Serves you right.”
“That’s what my mother said.”
He stilled then and his jovial expression shut down, as though someone had flipped a switch.
She thought to diffuse the tension with a joke. “I don’t know why I’m surprised to discover you have a mother.”
“Most of us do, somewhere in our past.”
And clearly, the past was not a place he wanted to visit at the moment. “As entertaining as this conversation is, I would really like to know what you bring to the table. As a guard dog.”
His eyes narrowed, but she could tell from the shift in his expression he was pleased she’d changed the topic. “First of all, I am not a guard dog.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
“What we do is so much more than that.”
“Okay.” Whatever. “Tell me about your qualifications.” She was dying to know more about him. Though God alone knew why.
Or maybe she knew too.
“I was a SEAL.”
She blinked. “A SEAL? As in a Navy SEAL?”
“No. The kind you find at the zoo.” He clapped his hands together and made a barking sound. Lola hopped to her feet and stared at him with her head tipped to the side. She was too bemused to remember to growl. “Of course a Navy SEAL.”
“Like SEAL Team 6?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah.” A grunt. “Just like that. My specialties are threat assessment, hand to hand and navigation. I’m a sharpshooter—”
“A sniper?”
“Not a sniper. I’m not that good. But don’t get me wrong. I am good.”
“So why aren’t you a SEAL anymore?”
Ooh. He really didn’t like that question. His muscles bunched and his jaw firmed. “I got shot.” This he spat out, like it tasted bad.
“Where?”
“In Somalia.”
“No…I mean where did they shoot you?”
“In the chest.”
She gaped at him. “Isn’t that usually fatal?”
“I died.”
Well hell. What did one say to that? “Were there…angels?”
“I…what?”
“Were there angels?”
“How the hell should I know? I was dead.”
“There’s no reason to snap. I was just asking. I’ve never died before and I have to admit I’m a little curious…”
“Look, I don’t remember anything. Okay? Just a helluva lot of pain.”
She frowned. “I wouldn’t think you’d feel pain when you’re dead.”
“The pain was after they revived me.” He rubbed his chest. “My buddies did CPR and cracked a couple ribs. And then they zapped me out of v-fib. On top of that, there was the impact where the bullet hit the plates.”
“Plates?”
He sighed again. It must be so trying to have to explain everything to an idiot civilian. “Ballistic plates. In the vests we wear.”
Fascinating. But still. “So why aren’t you a SEAL anymore?”
That same expression descended. One threaded in regret and anger and pain.
“They didn’t want me anymore,” he said, but he said it so softly she barely heard.
It nearly broke
her heart.
Chapter Four
“All right then.” Pansy’s surprisingly chipper voice cut through his dismal mood. It had been mortifying admitting his weakness, his failure, especially to her. It was something of a relief that she didn’t seem to understand the deep implications of his confession.
He dared a glance at her. Even bedraggled and tattered as she was, he wanted her. She shot him a bright smile. It made him glower. “All right then, what?” he muttered.
“All right, then. You’ll do.”
You’ll do? You’ll do? Irritation riffled through him. When she tipped her head and her ponytail swung, his ire blossomed.
“But I don’t know about the others.”
“The others are excellent.” He wasn’t sure why he was arguing with her. He wanted this job. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to keep her safe. And for some reason, thought of some other dude, even one of his brothers in arms, stepping into the duty rankled.
“But I don’t know them.”
“We’ll arrange a meet.” It was standard procedure…when they weren’t on a covert job.
She put out a lip. God he wanted to suckle it. Maybe it would be better if someone else took over. He was far too attracted to her to keep a clear mind. “But I want you,” she said.
Again, her words made something hard and needy sizzle through his bowels. He knew what she meant. He knew she was talking about her protection and not some scalding, savage coupling in the big bed in the next room that was far too close to be successfully ignored.
It was a testament to his delusional state that all he could think about was sex. All he could think about was stripping her naked and taking her here and now. That she wanted it as much as he did.
He imagined he could smell her arousal in the air, which was ridiculous.
A woman like her and a guy like him?
Yeah. Nucking futs.
“No worries. I’ll be on your team. But we’ll have at least three others.” Two on days and two on nights. Although, if he had his way, she wouldn’t be going out again. Certainly not to clubs where he couldn’t guarantee her safety. On that note, he fixed her with a dark look. “We need to talk about security. You’re going to have to make some lifestyle changes until this threat is contained.”
