The Choice

by Jean Brashear

  “I’ll send her along in a few minutes.”

  “Not if you want me to stay on the job.”

  Jillian blinked, astonished that Cullinane would up the ante so high. Torn between anger and relief, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What kind of testing?”

  He ignored her, eyes locked on Hafner’s.

  When Hafner was the first to look away, she was torn between relief and chagrin. Making herself into bait might very well be the only way to get Hafner away from the others.

  Surprisingly, Hafner chuckled and stepped down from the gazebo. “Your regular day with the ladies, isn’t it, Cullinane? So why isn’t your disposition better?”

  “My disposition will improve once she proves herself. Or she’s gone.” He didn’t seem to care which one.

  “I’ve already spent good money on gowns for her. I expect you to find her sufficient—or finish her training yourself.” Then, good humor restored by reasserting his power, Hafner turned to her. “We must resume our discussion of romance later, I’m afraid. My watchdog wants to beat his chest.”

  Jillian noted the brief flex of Cullinane’s jaw as Hafner walked away, hands in the pockets of his shorts, whistling.

  Cullinane’s eyes were hard as granite as his attention shifted to her. “Come on,” he snapped. “Unless you’d rather give up now.”

  “Not on your life, watchdog.” She brushed past him, hands clenched in fists.

  “MacGregor.” His quiet tone stopped her.

  She didn’t turn.

  “Don’t be alone with him, if you don’t want to play.”

  She swallowed hard. “I think that’s my business, don’t you?”

  He stepped up beside her. “Everything here is my business.” She was all too aware of his nearness.

  After much too long a moment, he stepped around her. “This way, MacGregor. I hope you’ve had your Wheaties.”

  She followed him without a word.

  * * *

  “This place is amazing,” Jillian commented as they entered a wing of the compound he hadn’t yet shown her. Cullinane saw her glance across the hallway to a room filled with mats, two of his men matched against one another in practice combat.

  Fred looked up from where he stood observing, his gaze on her angry but wary. The cast on his foot would be there for weeks. Until it came off, he was stuck with paperwork and video surveillance. He wouldn’t forgive Jillian easily for the ribbing he’d taken from the other men.

  Fred saw that he was looking and flushed, turning back to watch the combatants.

  Cullinane held the door open for her, noting her surprise at the courtesy. Good. Keep her off balance.

  Jillian entered the darkened alcove outside the firing range, heading toward the opening.

  “MacGregor.” When she pivoted, he held out a set of hearing protectors, complete with earplugs.

  She approached him warily, still not meeting his gaze as she opened the small pouch and began inserting them with quick competence, settling the headset around her neck. Walking around him, she plucked a set of goggles from the board behind him, then planted her hands on her hips. “Do you still have my weapon?” she demanded.

  He remembered how she’d balked at going out the other night without one. Walking over to a locked cabinet, he pulled a key ring from his pocket and opened the doors. Plucking her Walther from its slot, he turned and handed it to her, retaining his own grasp on it.

  Irritation flared, quickly masked. Whiskey eyes rose to meet his, her look cool and indifferent.

  Holding on for another moment, he slowly released her weapon. She stepped back, checking it over, her movements quick and clean. No question she’d done this many times.

  Cullinane didn’t reach for his own Sig at the small of his back. He might practice later, but he was here to test her. Gesturing to the doorway, he urged her to precede him.

  Watching the long braid swish across her back, her skin creamy and smooth above the deep green top, he understood completely why Klaus would want her.

  But how much did she want Klaus? He hadn’t missed the quick flare of relief in her eyes when he’d interrupted them. Little fool. She was playing with fire. Klaus was vicious. He’d use her and discard her like used tissues.

  Did she want his money? To get in on his deals? What had brought her here? Surely it was more than just job advancement, though no question that she could name her price after working here, if she did her job right.

  He didn’t know the answers, but he’d break her down and find out. She was a cool customer, but there was fire beneath that ice. He’d keep probing for weakness until he figured her out.

  And hope, in the meantime, that she didn’t screw everything else up. She was dangerous and unpredictable.

  Cullinane didn’t like either one. Joining her on her platform, he decided to start rattling her cage right now.

  “You’re crowding me.” She spoke over her shoulder.

  “Just watching.” He saw her frame tense as she sighted.

  “How do you know I won’t hit you when it recoils?”

  “Good try, MacGregor.”

  She turned halfway toward him, her shoulder landing against his chest. He hadn’t given her room to step away.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Trying to rattle me, huh?”

  He glanced down, thinking he’d be smart to step back himself as his body stirred at the feel of her. “Is it working?”

  “No.” With a dismissive toss of her head, she turned back to the target. Delicate gold earrings dangled with her movement.

  It didn’t matter. He’d seen her gaze waver.

  As if to taunt him, she leaned back slightly and rubbed the cheeks of her delectable ass across the front of his jeans in one slow stroke.

  Hot, dark need seared down his spine. It took all his control not to groan.

  To get even, he slowly brought his hands up her sides, barely brushing fingers along the outside curves of her breasts before sliding them down her arms and closing his hands over hers. Her slender back burned his chest where they touched.

  “Try it this way.”

  She hissed. “Very funny.” She broke away, jerking the headgear down around her neck. “It’s not going to work on me, Cullinane.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “Your image. The dark warrior Cullinane knows all, sees all, hears all—and don’t ever cross him.”

  “It’s not an image. We’re not here to have fun, MacGregor. If this is some adventure for you, then you’d better pack now.” He gripped her shoulders and only too quickly realized that touching her was a mistake.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Eyes sparking, she was the picture of defiance. “Go to hell. I’ve met guys like you before. I’ve had to prove myself every time.” She sniffed, turning away. “I’ll show you, too.” Resettling the headgear, she picked up her weapon again and took aim. “Now back the hell off.”

  She fired, her shot clean and true. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she smirked, then faced front and squeezed off several rounds. Calling for a new target, she loaded a new magazine, studiously ignoring him.

  After firing off the other rounds, she stepped away, lowering the headgear to her neck. “Okay, hotshot. What’s next?”

  Damn her. Eyes bright with temper, chest heaving with repressed emotion, she stirred him more than ever. He wanted to take her here and now, spark that temper into passion, surround himself with the life that brimmed from her and warm his cold, dark soul.

  Instead, he’d have to keep trying to break her, to take that wild spirit and crush it, to make this strong, gutsy woman doubt herself so she’d leave, tail tucked between her legs.

  Of all the hard things he’d ever done in his work, this might be the most obscene.

  Chapter Fice

  “Across the hall,” Cullinane ordered. For a second, Jillian would swear she’d seen the flicker of something that might almost be...regret? He turned away too quickly for her to check again, but
she had to be wrong. He was enjoying every minute of this. And she’d helped him by losing her temper.

  Her temper had always been a problem. She shouldn’t have given him the satisfaction of seeing her angry. Cold and rational just like him, that’s what she had to be.

  However much she could still feel him at her back, his powerful body pouring off a heat some perverse part of her itched to get closer to.

  Then she recalled his physical response as she’d brushed his body. And smiled.

  He wasn’t immune to her, either.

  Two can play this game, Cullinane.

  Pulling off her hearing protectors and goggles, removing the plugs from her ears, she picked up her weapon and followed him to the other room. She handed the protective gear to him but retained her weapon.

  He stood at the gun case, waiting, doors open, watching her.

  For a long moment, she pondered the price of insisting on keeping it. Finally, she turned it butt out and placed it in his palm. Something like understanding flared in his gaze.

  “No weapons allowed in the practice room,” he explained. “Tempers get hot sometimes.” He placed his own weapon inside, closing the door and locking it. “I’ll give it back to you once we’re done.”

  He did understand how naked she felt without it. Maybe he was human, after all.

  The next few moments gave her doubts. Entering the practice room, every eye in the place was on her, and none of them friendly. The blond man she’d bested the night she’d arrived stood against one wall, walking cast on his foot and deep, burning anger in his gaze. If he could have been the one to take her on, she was certain he would have jumped at the chance.

  “Take your pick, MacGregor,” Cullinane offered.

  Jillian scanned the men in the room. Every one of them looked more than willing to be chosen, as though avenging their comrade was top choice on the menu. The second man who’d been in the room that night stood across from her, hands on his hips, all but daring her to pick him.

  She stifled a sigh, understanding how the game was played. You wanted respect, you took on the big dog. “I choose you, Cullinane.”

  He looked startled, then frowned.

  “What’s the matter, hotshot? Afraid I’ll embarrass you in front of your men?”

  A look of reluctant amusement. Still, he had to know that once the challenge was thrown out, he had no choice. “In case you hadn’t noticed, MacGregor, I have a sizable height and reach advantage over you.”

  She saw the smirks on the faces around the room, no doubt hoping she’d blink. “So?” She waved a hand. “Everyone in here’s bigger than me.” She upped the ante. “I’ve done it before.” Tilting her chin out at the man with the cast, she taunted, “They didn’t like it when I won, either.”

  Cullinane almost smiled at that, but she didn’t like the gleam in his eye. He began removing his shoes. “You’re on, hotshot,” he threw her jeer back in her face, “but don’t expect me to take it easy on you.” He nodded toward a closed door, then tied his hair back. “Pads are in there, if you want them.”

  Hoping she didn’t regret this decision, she declined. “I won’t have them on when the bad guys come.” And she had to prove she could take it.

  Cullinane shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  She removed her sandals and set them out of the way. Expectation charged the mood of the room. She could all but hear their lips smacking at the prospect of her defeat.

  It couldn’t happen. She couldn’t let it. Too much needed to be proven to these men, but more importantly, to Cullinane—and herself. She’d won against bigger men before. Bigger wasn’t always better, especially very muscular men who often didn’t have her agility.

  She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, hearing Hiroshi’s maxim in her head: If one acts without fear and with total commitment, a weaker person can defeat a stronger one. The key was using his cockiness against him. Watching for the advantage, and letting him defeat himself. Drawing another deep breath and searching for the mind’s center as she’d been taught, she prepared herself to win.

  When Jillian moved toward him, Cullinane noted the light of battle in her eyes. Resolve spoke from every line of her frame.

  Damn, she was a hellcat—a warrior queen if ever he’d seen one. He’d never encountered a woman like her in his life. A moment’s regret flared that they’d met in these circumstances.

  Then she softened her body into limber waiting, arms out to defend, and he readied himself for her first move. Reluctant admiration struck when he realized she was going to make him move first. Clever—she knew it was a mistake to be the first to commit, but he’d bet anything that she sensed how impatient their audience was and was betting that he’d move first to satisfy the bloodlust of the others.

  But she was wrong. He’d proven himself long ago. His men could wait there until hell froze over, for all he cared.

  Suddenly, she was inside his guard, moving to strike. He reacted quickly, turning her and flipping her onto her back.

  Quick as a cat, she was back on her feet, eyes sparking, cheeks bright with anger. A snort of laughter from Fred didn’t help. To her credit, though, she didn’t lose her composure. She circled him slowly, looking for weakness, head held high and proud.

  He moved in on her, only to have her foot meet his chest hard enough he knew he’d bruise. Before he could unbalance her, however, she’d danced away, eyes alight with challenge.

  Arms in motion, he closed in sideways. Quickly she turned, sliding under his arm, delivering a quick liver kite. Stung, he whirled, grasping her arm and pulling her to him with one quick jerk, arm sliding across her chest to trap her.

  In a motion almost too quick to follow, Jillian’s foot lifted. He barely had time to avoid Fred’s fate, and in jerking away from her, he gave her the room to wiggle free.

  The mood in the room had altered. From jubilant anticipation of her speedy defeat, now he could feel from his men his own reaction. She was good. Unorthodox and wily...and skillful.

  He knew in that moment that he’d better drop all hesitation or she’d embarrass him, too. She was sweating and breathing fast, but her reflexes were still good, her movements limber. He had to take her seriously.

  A flare of triumph in her eyes told him that she knew she’d convinced him. He could stop the match now before he risked hurting her, but he’d better not, for her sake. His men resented her for embarrassing them in front of him. He’d better either defeat her soundly or suffer their same fate. To walk away with this unfinished would help no one.

  And no freaking way was Cullinane suffering their fate.

  Closing his mind to her gender, her size, to desire and everything he wondered about her, he settled deep within, to the part of him that moved on instinct, the animal that knew how to survive any situation. He wasn’t going to injure her seriously if he could help it, but for all of their sakes, he couldn’t let her win.

  She’d issued the challenge; now she had to live with the results.

  Circling one another slowly, her gaze as intense as he felt, they jabbed and kicked, neither getting a decisive hit. Then he reached out to grasp her and bring this to an end—

  And found himself flat on his back on the mat.

  Cullinane reacted quicker than she did, though. Her pause for the flash of a triumphant smile was one second too long. Before she could step out of range, he’d hooked one leg around her, dropping her to the mat. He loomed over her, the killing blow at her throat.

  Around them the men recovered from the shock of her dropping him. Explosions of satisfaction echoed.

  Cullinane only noticed the sudden stillness between them, intensely aware of her body beneath his. In a span of seconds, he’d gone from chagrin to anger to triumph, and his legendary control wavered. Age-old instincts awakened, her slim throat beneath his hand, her pelvis all but joined to his, her fierce will to fight him summoning his own aggression. Watching her eyes darken, a surge of lust rocketed through him.

&nbs
p; He knew, in that moment, that she could spell his destruction.

  Jillian MacGregor was more than dangerous. And he was doomed, if he didn’t stay away.

  Rocking back on his heels, eyes still locked on hers, he slid his hand from her throat, trailing it slowly over one breast. She held his gaze, her chest rising with unsteady breath, taut nipples outlined against her shirt. His hand burned like fire; his mind screamed for release—

  He stood quickly. Walked away before he made the biggest mistake of his life.

  The room was utterly silent.

  * * *

  Jillian stretched under the hot water in her shower, remembering the moments after Cullinane had left the practice room. Head held high, she’d risen slowly from the mat, refusing to let them gloat. As she’d scanned the room, she’d been surprised to see reluctant admiration from the men lining the walls. Even Fred, with his cast, had nodded.

  She’d lost, maybe more than she could bear to think about, but she’d gained their respect. Now if only she didn’t have to think about those last moments with Cullinane.

  Wincing at muscles she knew would be very sore tomorrow, she ducked her head under the water, hoping the impression of him would wash away, too. For those endless, naked moments, she’d felt what she knew he’d felt...a hunger too deep to forget.

  She could still feel him over her, large hand at her throat, his fingertips burning a path across one breast. She’d wanted to part her legs and draw him into her, to drive her fingers into the long dark hair and bring his mouth to hers, to fight him and claw until he satisfied the need that built with every new encounter until she wondered how long before she couldn’t hold out anymore.

  Jillian slapped both hands against the tile, shuddering at the image, the havoc it wreaked within her. It was wrong—he was wrong. She could not, would not, feel this way any longer. She turned her face full up under the pounding water, praying for it to wash away his imprint, to clear her fevered mind. Damn him, damn him, damn him. She’d never had a reaction like this to any man.