Underground Guardians: Protector

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Chapter Three

  Mason had helped Holly into the passenger side of his Ford Explorer like a perfect gentleman. It appealed in a big way. The man could easily set her on fire, yet he also made her feel like a lady. The combination did funny things to her.

  Tugged at her heartstrings.

  As he maneuvered into her driveway, she glanced at his profile, staggered by the power of his presence. No words spoken. His silence still held power.

  Something in him reached out to her. Perhaps it was his sense of loneliness. Something she, too, had felt all too often. Deep in his eyes lurked dark shadows of things she didn’t understand.

  But wanted to.

  When he had insisted Roger had feelings for her, she had sworn he was wrong. Yet now, thinking about it, she wondered if he was right. There was something about Mason. He knew things. How, she didn’t know. But he did.

  She wanted, no, needed, to know who Mason Alexander was as a man.

  Looking at her house, Holly noted the abnormal darkness. “My porch light must have burned out.”

  Mason turned off the motor. “Good thing you didn’t walk home alone.”

  She flicked him a look. “Don’t you dare do the I-told-you-so thing or I may have to hit you.”

  He gave her a teasing look as he pushed open his door. “But I did tell you so.”

  He was out of the truck before she could respond. Holly laughed and pushed open her door, not bothering to wait on his assistance.

  Mason was standing in front of her the minute her feet hit the pavement. “You’re supposed to wait for my help.” There was reprimand in his voice.

  She just looked at him. Big, powerful and, oh, so male. He simply took her breath away. How had she lived all these years and never experienced anything like this…so deeply moving?

  The answer was clear—she had only just met Mason.

  He leaned on the doorframe of the truck, successfully caging her. Not that she was an unwilling captive. “You know,” he said softly, his voice hinting at desire, his eyes flaring with smoldering heat. “When you look at me like that, all hot and wanting, it makes it real damn hard for me to do the right thing.” He paused a second. “To be a gentleman.”

  She had always spoken her mind. Her parents had taught her that silence fed confusion. Something no scientist found acceptable. It was the only way she knew to express herself.

  Frankly.

  “You are a gentleman. I was just thinking that a few minutes ago. But sometimes being a gentlemen can be overrated.”

  His eyes flared with something resembling torment. And so much more. Heat. Sexual in nature. No question, he wanted her. And just when she thought he might accept what was between them, he abruptly stepped backwards.

  He glanced at the house, seeming to dismiss what had just passed between them. As if he thought something was wrong.

  The thought made her stiffen. “What is it?”

  He literally thrummed with alertness. Without looking at her, he held out his hand, palm open. “Give me your keys and then get in the truck and lock it.”

  Suddenly her heartfelt like it might jump out of her chest. “Mason, you’re scaring me.”

  He turned to face her, his eyes locking with hers. His hand slid under her hair, settling on her neck, warm and comforting, as he gently caressed with his thumb. “I’m just being cautious. Everything is fine, I’m sure.”

  “You think someone is here.” Intuitively she knew he did.

  His eyes narrowed on hers a long moment as if he was trying to decide what he could get away with saying. Or not saying. “Maybe,” he said cautiously. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Please get in and lock the doors.”

  Something in his voice made her comply.

  She handed him her keys before climbing into the truck. The instant she was inside the cab, he refocused on the house, yet he didn’t move until she clicked the locks into place. It was strange how he moved the second she hit the button.

  As if he knew when she did it without seeing her action.

  * * * * *

  Someone was watching them.

  Mason didn’t want to scare Holly. But he was quite certain they had company. Besides, he didn’t want to explain who and what he was just yet. Not tonight.

  Stepping onto the porch, he quickly surmised the light had been purposely broken. He eased around the side of the house, tuning in to his unique sensory abilities. He picked up Walsh’s scent. Clearly he had traveled the backside of the house.

  And there was another scent…Arion soldier. One of his enemies. No doubt following Walsh. The bastard was drawing attention to Holly that she couldn’t afford.

  Mason inwardly cursed. This was a cold, hard reminder that he was running out of time. He needed to convince Holly to help him before the Arions targeted her. If it wasn’t already too late. They’d kill her rather than let her join the war against them.

  Squatting by the wall, fading into the darkness, using it as a cloak, he scanned the perimeter. A tiny movement, not perceivable by normal human eyes, caught and held his gaze. And then it was gone.

  No fight, no attack, just gone.

  The intruder had one intent—surveillance. No Arion shied away from a fight. They were too aggressive by nature.

  Cautiously, Mason moved around the house. A window was broken. Someone had been inside. He unlocked the back door and flipped on the inside light, already certain whoever had been there was gone. He’d sense a presence. A quick walk-through of the house confirmed nothing appeared disturbed. At least, nothing obvious.

  Walsh had been the intruder. Not the Arions.

  He’d come for Holly’s research.

  Sighing, Mason headed toward the front door. He was in a damn difficult position. His hope of easing Holly into the reality of who and what he was, was quickly dissolving.

  He would have to move much more quickly than planned.

  * * * * *

  By the time Mason walked through her front door, Holly was about to lose her mind. She unlocked the truck door and shoved open the door. In a split second, she was running toward him. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms.

  “You had a break-in,” he said, leaning back to look down at her and she realized how much safer she felt with him touching her. He continued, “It appears the intruder was scared off before anything was taken. You’ll have to inspect things yourself to be certain.”

  She blinked, stunned. “What?”

  He nodded, calmly stating the facts. “They broke out your front light and there is a broken window in the back.”

  She swallowed hard. Her little neighborhood had always felt safe. What if she had come home alone? Had this person been there waiting on her? Why else would the porch light be knocked out? She could have been killed. Had Mason not been here, who knew what might have happened?

  “But I was here,” Mason said softly.

  She looked at him with shock in her eyes. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “It was written all over your face.” He traced her jaw with his finger. “You have a very expressive face, you know.”

  She had never thought she needed anyone, for anything. Now Mason was here, a force so comforting, she didn’t want to let him leave. It felt good to have someone, to have him, with her. And as crazy as she knew it was, especially in such a short time, she felt linked to him.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, “for being here.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, with the tiniest hint of emotion in his voice, “I was meant to be.”

  “I’ve always loved this little house.” There was a slight quiver in her voice despite her desire to seem strong. “This is the first time I haven’t felt safe here.”

  He ran his hand down her hair in a comforting caress. “I’m sorry.” His voice was laced with sincerity.

  She sighed heavily and looked toward the front door. “I should call the police.”

  This was her home, the place where her parents had
lived and raised her, one of the few things she had that kept her connected to them. She eyed the red brick, the large concrete porch and the big white swing to the left, beside the door.

  She didn’t want to be afraid here. This was her safety zone, her place to process life’s ups and downs.

  “You can call if you like,” he offered, “but they won’t find anything. If it will make you feel better though…” he let his voice trail off, clearly letting her know he would support whatever she decided.

  “I want to call.” Determination laced her words. “I’m here alone a lot. If the police say this isn’t anything to worry about, it will make me feel better.”

  He nodded. “Then call,” he said, motioning toward the house. “While they are here, I’ll go get a new glass to fix your window.”

  Holly looped her arm around his elbow. “You fix windows, too?” she teased, though it came out a bit lame. Somehow, she managed a small smile.

  He covered her hand with his. “Ask and you shall receive,” he said, looking down at her with hard-to-read, dark eyes.

  “Interesting,” she said. “I like the sound of that.”

  Keeping him around for the night could be comforting in more ways than one.

  * * * * *

  Holly pressed her hand to her stomach, amazed by the fact that she was still hungry even after the chaos of the night. Scooping pasta into a pot to warm, she turned on the burner. Her mind replayed the police visit.

  They hadn’t been as comforting as she had hoped. With the recent crime waves in the city, they were being cautious about downplaying potential risks. They had encouraged her to be on the lookout for strangers and definitely not to walk home alone.

  By the time they left, she was more apprehensive, not less.

  A cold shiver ran down her spine. She couldn’t shake the weird vibe that something beyond a simple break-in had been planned.

  That someone had come for her.

  She could hear Mason working on the window just outside the kitchen. She looked heavenward and said a silent thank you. What if he hadn’t been with her?

  One thought led to another and, for about the millionth time, she wondered why she felt so drawn to him, a complete stranger.

  As if she had willed him to appear with her thoughts, he walked in the back door, brushing his feet on her kitchen floor mat. “Done,” he said and sniffed the air. “Smells good. I’m starved.”

  “Ten minutes and we can eat,” she told him with a small smile. “The bathroom is in the hall if you need to clean up or,” she pointed behind her, “you’re welcome to use the kitchen sink.”

  He walked into the kitchen. “I’ll just use the kitchen sink.” She could hear him moving around, the water coming on, the soap bottle making a sound. After a few seconds, he said, “I hate that the police weren’t more comforting.”

  Holly cut slices of garlic bread and laid them out on a cookie sheet. “I’d rather them be honest than comforting.”

  She turned to find him shaking the excess water from his hands. He turned off the faucet before grabbing a towel. As he dried his hands he studied her, leaning his hip against the cabinet. “You’ve had a rough day.”

  She laughed only half with humor. “And it seems I’ve dragged you along for the ride.” She turned the broiler on. “The bread will only take a couple of minutes. I’m sorry but I don’t have wine or beer or anything to offer you.”

  Shrugging he said, “I don’t drink anyway. How about tea or juice?”

  She leaned against the cabinet facing him. “You don’t drink, as in ever, not even socially?”

  He seemed to tense. “That’s right. Is that a problem for you?”

  She made a face. “Why would it be?”

  He delivered the words nonchalantly but they felt like a test. One that wasn’t necessary. “Some people think it’s strange.”

  She laughed bitterly and turned away from him, opening a cabinet and pulling down several glasses. “Not me. I don’t drink either.”

  His gaze was fixed on her. She felt it. Probing. She turned, the refrigerator her destination. But his eyes stopped her. He pinned her in a questioning stare.

  A bit defensively, she said, “What?”

  “I’d like it if you told me why you are suddenly tense.” The words were a gentle prod and they spun a soft web of comfort.

  Her lashes fluttered to her cheeks. Being outspoken about general topics was one thing. She rarely shared her personal history or emotions with anyone.

  She had always been an immensely private person.

  Oddly, she didn’t mind sharing her history with Mason. She even felt it necessary. “My parents were killed by a drunk driver.” Slowly she looked up at him. “I don’t talk about it.” She paused a split second and then added, “To anyone. Ever.”

  He was silent a moment, his dark eyes holding hers. And his look was understanding. Even knowing in some deep way. “But you told me.”

  She nodded, her eyes now fixed on his. “Yes,” she whispered. “I told you.”

  His eyes seemed to almost wrap her in warmth. “I’m honored.”

  Her teeth found their way to her bottom lip. For once in her life, words failed her. Silence lingering between them, their gazes locked together. She sensed their shared confusion.

  Neither understood what was happening between them.

  The timer on the oven buzzed. Her gaze jerked toward the sound. “The bread,” she said, just because it was better than saying nothing. Of course, he knew it was the bread.

  He gave her an understanding smile as she glanced back at him. “I’ll fill the glasses.”

  A few minutes later, they sat at her rather small glass table. Mason took a bite and sighed with pleasure. “Awesome. I never had neighbors like yours.”

  She laughed. “There’s plenty, so feel free to get seconds. Don’t expect this kind of fare from me without the neighbor’s help. I microwave or open cans only. My parents were both scientists, not domestic at all.”

  “I’m not here for your cooking,” he said and immediately looked down at his plate as if he didn’t want to elaborate.

  She knew an opening when it was handed to her. “What are you here for?”

  He took a drink of his tea as if he was buying time to think of a response. In fact, Holly was quite certain he was. When he sat the glass down though, he didn’t hesitate to make eye contact.

  He kept his eyes carefully shielded, though his tone was raw and sexual. “You,” he said simply. “I’m here because of you and all you are.” A beat. “Not what you aren’t.”

  What did that mean? “You don’t know who or what I am. Unless, of course, you mean on a completely physical level.” There, she said it. Inwardly fretting, she waited for a response.

  He sat down his fork. “There is that, of course.” His voice held a soft hint of admiration in his eyes. As if he approved of her straightforwardness.

  “You already know I’m attracted to you, as I believe you are to me. But there is more going on here than mere physical attraction.” There was subtle challenge in his voice as if he dared her to deny the obvious. He even let several heartbeats pass to allow her time to object.

  When she didn’t speak, he continued, “I know more about you than most do and I only just met you.” His eyes seemed to darken. “Just as you do of me.” He let the words sink in a moment. “Why?” he asked, with a lift to his brow. “I can’t answer that any more than I imagine you can.”

  She swallowed nervously, his words ringing true while still defying reason. “I’m not sure how to respond,” she said, after several long moments of deliberation.

  “You don’t have to,” he offered. “I’d like to know more about you. You cured that chimp, which was nothing short of amazing. Your work is obviously critical to the world of medicine.”

  He picked up his fork and began to eat again as if he was trying to lighten the mood, which had somehow become heavy.

  She followed his lead. “I know
how to fix most of the challenges previously encountered with genetic replacement therapy but the government won’t let me prove it on humans.” She sat her fork back down, suddenly not hungry.

  “This obviously upsets you,” he commented eyeing her closely.

  She nodded. “It does bother me. I’ve dedicated my life to healing. It’s hard to know people are dying and I have a cure I can’t offer them. To make matters worse, the government is trying to get me to help make super soldiers by dangling opportunities to test humans again. The man you saw bothering me, he was from the government.”

  “And you’re not interested,” he stated.

  “I’m not about to help make war. I save lives, not take them,” she said firmly.

  “Soldiers save lives, too. They just do it in a different way.”

  “By killing,” she said with harsh disapproval.

  “By defending our nation and, yes, sometimes that means taking a life. Our country has the freedoms it does because of men who fought and protected our rights.” He paused a beat. “You would never have been able to study medicine or science as a female had wars not been fought many years ago.”

  She grimaced. “But times change,” she argued. “There is no reason to use physical force to make the world a good place to live.”

  “I disagree,” he said softly. “To prevent war, others must know you can defend yourself. The weak are victims. Our last war was in 2003, a mere twelve years ago. Clearly we are not so far away from times when battle saved our freedoms.”

  She glowered at him. “I should dislike you. People with your opinions are usually not my close friends.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you, Holly? Do you dislike me now that you know my views are different?”

  She countered him. “I could ask you the same about myself.”

  He laughed and shook his head, pushing his plate to the side and leaning forward, resting his arms on the table. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to dislike anything about you. In fact, I find I quite like debating with you.”