"I think we should finish stripping her," one of the men said.
Julie's bare feet peddled against the uneven ground as she tried to move farther away.
The men laughed some more, and the one who'd spoken went onto his haunches in front of her. He caught her bare ankle, immobilizing her.
"Not too much longer, bitch. Morning'll be here before you know it." He stroked her leg, up to her knee, higher. "I bet you're getting anxious, huh?"
Her chest heaved, her lips quivered.
She spit on him.
Clint was on his feet in an instant, striding into the clearing before Mojo or Red's hissed curses could register. The four men, standing in a cluster, turned to look at him with various expressions of astonishment, confusion, and horror. They were slow to react, and Clint realized they were more than a little drunk. Idiots.
One of the young fools reached behind his back.
"You." Clint stabbed him with a fast lethal look while keeping his long, ground-eating pace to Julie. "Touch that weapon and I'll break your leg."
The guy blanched—and promptly dropped his hands.
Clint didn't think of anything other than his need to get between Julie and the most immediate threat. But without giving it conscious thought, he knew that Mojo and Red would back him up. If any guns were drawn, theirs would be first.
The man who'd been abusing Julie snorted in disdain at the interference. He took a step forward, saying, "Just who the hell do you think you—"
Reflexes on automatic, Clint pivoted slightly to the side and kicked out hard and fast. The force of his boot heel caught the man on the chin with sickening impact. He sprawled flat with a raw groan that dwindled into blackness. He didn't move.
Another man leaped forward. Clint stepped to the side, and like clockwork, kicked out a knee. The obscene sounds of breaking bone and cartilage and the accompanying scream of pain split the night, sending nocturnal creatures to scurry through the leaves.
Clint glanced at Julie's white face, saw she was frozen in shock, and headed toward the two remaining men. Eyes wide, they started to back up, and Clint curled his mouth into the semblance of a smile. "I don't think so."
A gun was finally drawn, but not in time to be fired. Clint grabbed the man's wrist and twisted up and back. Still holding him, Clint pulled him forward and into a solid punch to the stomach. Without breath, the painful shouts ended real quick. The second Clint released him, the man turned to hobble into the woods. Clint didn't want to, but he let him go.
Robert Burns had said not to bring anyone in. He couldn't see committing random murder, and that's what it'd be if he started breaking heads now. But in an effort to protect Julie Rose and her apparently already tattered reputation, he wouldn't turn them over to the law either.
Just letting them go stuck in his craw, and Clint, fed up, ready to end it, turned to the fourth man. He threw a punch to the throat and jaw, then watched the guy crumble to his knees, then to his face, wheezing for breath.
Behind Clint, Red's dry tone intruded. "Well, that was efficient."
Clint struggled with himself for only an instant before realizing there was no one left to fight. He turned, saw Julie Rose held in wide-eyed horror, and he jerked. Mojo stepped back out of the way, and Clint lurched to the bushes.
Anger turned to acid in his gut.
Typically, at least for Clint Evans and his weak-ass stomach, he puked.
Julie could hardly believe her eyes. One minute she'd known she would be raped and probably killed, and the fear had been all too consuming, a live clawing dread inside her.
Now… now she didn't know what had happened. Three men, looking like angelic convicts, had burst into the clearing. Well, no, that wasn't right. The first man hadn't burst anywhere. He'd strode in, casual as you please, then proceeded to make mincemeat out of her abductors.
He'd taken on four men as if they were no more than gnats.
She'd never seen that type of brawling. His blows hadn't been designed to slow down an opponent, or to bruise or hurt. One strike—and the men had dropped like dead weights. Even the sight of a gun hadn't fazed him. He moved so fast, so smoothly, the weapon hadn't mattered at all.
When he'd delivered those awesome strikes, his expression, hard and cold, hadn't changed. A kick here, a punch there, and the men who'd held her, taunted her, were no longer a threat.
He was amazing, invincible, he was… throwing up.
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 a 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 her saviors approached her. He was fair, having 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 blonde nodded. "Yeah. Hurtin' people—even people who deserve it—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 feeling in her arms but every place else pulsed with relentless 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, so she did her best to straighten her aching shoulders and looked 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 twice as big as her own.
Eyes closed, he tipped his head back and swallowed several times, drinking in the 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 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 clouded her eyes.
She would not cry, she would not cry …
She rubbed one eye on her shoulder and spok
e 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 had only been a little more than a 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, but rather reached around her while looking over her shoulder and blocked 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 pure agony from her tight lips.
"Shhhh, 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 gravely 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 Julie was comforted.
One thought kept reverberating through her weary brain: He'd really saved her.
Please turn the page for an exciting
preview of Erin McCarthy's
HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM.
Available right now from Brava.
Josie Adkins had to stop waving her hot little ass in Houston's face, or he was going to have to slide his hands across it and squeeze.
Which would fall squarely under the heading of sexual harassment. He could see the headline: State of Florida vs Dr. Houston Hayes. Surgeon fondles resident and loses license.
Sweet little Josie had no idea he was plotting ways to lick her like a cat does cream. She wasn't tempting him with her curvy behind on purpose, so he couldn't really blame her for the detour his thoughts had been taking on a regular basis.
But just how in the hell an orthopedic surgeon could be so damn clumsy was beyond him. And Jesus, was Josie clumsy.
So clumsy that at least six times a day he was subjected to the sight of her, bent full over at the waist, retrieving something from the floor she had dropped. Today was even worse.
They were alone in a semidark alcove, for the purpose of looking at a patient's X ray, only Josie had done her usual butterfinger bit.
The film Josie had been holding had slipped out of her hand, hit the floor, and disappeared under the desk next to her. She was now on her hands and knees, wiggling around searching for it.
God help him.
No one with a body that lush and womanly should be wiggling on her hands and knees unless she was naked and it was part of foreplay.
"Whoops. It just jumped right out of my hand, Dr. Hayes," she said in a cheerful voice.
Houston counted from one to ten and back again until he was in control of himself and his bodily urges. He didn't know what it was about her that had him hiding hard-ons left and right and sweating through three pairs of surgical scrubs a day.
She wasn't his type at all. She was on the short side, with an odd haircut that made her light brown hair flip around at gravity-defying angles. When she smiled, twin dimples appeared and she looked about twenty years old. She talked constantly. He had heard other staff members affectionately refer to her as a dingbat.
Yet here he was, unable to look away, all too aware that her scrubs were worn thin in strategic places.
"It has to be here somewhere." She chattered on, her head half under the desk.
"What the…?"
As she pulled her hand back, Houston saw she was holding a crust of moldy bread.
"Gross." She flung it down.
Time to leave a note for housekeeping.
Josie disappeared back under the desk—at least the front half.
The back half was still in full view.
He could see her underwear.
The thin scrubs hid nothing, and the position she was in on her knees pulled them taut, giving him a clear view of her panties. They were riding up just a little, sliding into the crevice between her cheeks, fitting close and tight. There was a little red lip print stamped on each side of her panties, and he wondered what she would do if he leaned forward and placed his own mouth right on one of those lip prints.
And bit her.
He was fascinated by the full curviness of her behind, and ached all over from the desire to taste her, to cup his hand between her legs and feel her heat pulsing through his fingers.
He wanted to know if there was a matching lip print on the front of her panties. So that if he kissed it he would feel her soft dewy mound give a little beneath his mouth.
It seriously annoyed him, this edgy uncontrollable desire.
Houston had never had a problem maintaining his professional distance with both patients and co-workers. If anything, he had been accused of being too reserved. Now this one woman, this tiny tornado of smiles and klutziness, had successfully breached his aloofness.
Impatient with his thoughts, he glanced at his watch. How long had she been on the floor? It felt like hours.
"Do I need to come back, Dr. Adkins, when you can make your X-ray films behave?" Visions of making her behave with his hand on her soft bottom flitted through his mind, playing like a porno video. He had meant it to sound like a cool rebuke, but it came out sounding suggestive.
Either of which seemed too subtle for Josie. She laughed from under the desk, like he was simply teasing her, than gave a little cough.
"Yuck. I think I inhaled a dust bunny."
Her head reemerged long enough to smile at him in reassurance. "Just give me a sec. I'll get it."
"Really, we can do this later." Since he had learned just about nothing could hurry her up.
Of course he could brush her aside and get the damn thing himself. But he didn't want to hurt her feelings. Josie always tried so hard to gloss over her gaffes. Plus he was a total masochist who didn't want to deny himself the glorious view of her backside, even though he knew he couldn't, shouldn't—wouldn't act on his lust.
So Houston resented the distraction and cursed himself, but still couldn't tear his eyes away from her, not even long enough to pick up the X ray himself.
"Alm
ost got it." She gave him another blinding smile, head cocked to the right as she stretched her hand a little further.
He put his hands on his hips and reminded himself, again, that getting involved with a resident would be a complete nightmare, no matter how freaking adorable she was.
"I need one of those rubber arms, like Stretch Armstrong, that really weird doll my cousin had when we were kids. Remember that?" she asked him.
He shook his head. Rubber dolls were the least of his problems right now.
"Well, it was kind of cool, in a bizarre sort of way, kind of like molded Silly Putty. What did you play with?"
Houston fought the urge to moan. Josie managed to mix innocence with that lush body, all tossed alongside her brains and her quirky personality. It was an unusual combination he was finding damn hard to resist.
Especially in this room that wasn't really a room, but a very small, very crowded alcove cut out of a corner in the hallway. Where Josie was just inches away from him.
"When you were a kid, I mean, what did you play with?" She kept feeling around on the floor. "Risk? World domination seems like your thing."
Should he be offended? "No."
"So what then? Nerf football? Twister? Chess club?"
He folded his arms and rubbed his chin. He'd forgotten to shave that morning and the stubble was irritating and itchy. He was well aware that if another co-worker had engaged in this ridiculous conversation with him he would have walked away.
"I played doctor." Let her figure out what exactly he meant by that. Except that Josie seemed immune to sexual innuendos.
"Here it is!" She pulled the film out and handed it to him.
Josie sat back on her heels and blew her hair out of her eyes. "Oh, well, that makes sense. Like Operation? That game that buzzed at you if you dropped the body part?"
Houston just stared at her as she brushed her knees off. He had read Josie's personnel file. On paper, she was only a few IQ points short of a genius. In person, she was a chatty, clumsy, sex nymph. Who had his nuts in a knot without even trying.
Immortal Bad Boys Page 24
