The Doctor's Guardian & Tempted By His Target

by Marie Ferrarella

  Her throat went tight. “You used me.”

  “And you didn’t use me?” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You snuck out the door as soon as I fell asleep! Tell me that wasn’t planned.”

  She shook her head, mute.

  “Were you just saying what I wanted to hear in bed? Wearing me out so you could slip away?” “Yes.”

  His mouth thinned with anger, though she doubted he believed her.

  “Let’s just forget it happened,” she said.

  “Not a chance. Even if you faked every orgasm, you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, holding the tears at bay. He knew she hadn’t faked anything. “Damn you,” she whispered, wishing she could hate him.

  He stared out the window for a long time, pensive. “I don’t think any charges will be brought against you for the incidents in Mexico. The stabbing was obviously done in self-defense and my reports will reflect that. I have to advise you to cooperate with the D.A.’s office and tell the truth about Jaime Carranza’s death.”

  “Can I call my mother when we get to L.A.?”

  “Of course,” he said, his tone softening. “She’s already been notified. You’ll be able to speak to her as soon as we arrive.”

  Her stomach twisted with tension. She wasn’t sure her mom would be happy to hear from her, after everything Isabel had put her through. “Carranza threatened to pay her a visit,” she said, shuddering at the memory.

  “When?”

  She gave him an abbreviated version of what happened in the tomb before he arrived, describing the conference call from Carranza.

  “He won’t stop hunting you,” Brandon said. “At some point you’ll be asked to enter a Witness Protection Program. For your mother’s safety as well as your own. If she doesn’t know where you are, Carranza has no reason to go after her.”

  She raked a trembling hand through her hair. The news wasn’t unexpected, but she was still devastated by the prospect of assuming another false persona. Which was worse, being locked up or continuing to live in exile?

  “It’s an excellent program,” he said.

  “Who runs it?”

  “The U.S. Marshals Service.”

  Her lips parted in surprise. “Will you know where I am?”

  “No. I don’t work for that department. Even if I did, I wouldn’t have access to your information unless I was assigned to protect you.”

  She nodded, feeling bleak. It wasn’t easy to accept that she was never going to see anyone she loved again.

  “Try to get some rest,” he suggested. “You look exhausted.”

  Taking the pillow and blanket he offered, she turned her face away, hiding the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

  Brandon watched Isabel sleep for few moments, struck by her beauty. He wished he could smooth the dark hair away from her brow and press his lips to her cool forehead. Draw her into his arms, kiss away the pain.

  He glanced out at the snow-white clouds, squinting a little. His eyes felt grainy from lack of sleep, oversensitive to light. Shutting the window shade, he reclined his seat, needing the rest. But his mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

  He hadn’t lied to Isabel—much. He’d loved her article. He missed his friend Jacob. And he’d meant every word he’d said in bed. Every hushed compliment, every hoarse whisper. He regretted the circumstances, not the sex.

  He would probably get fired.

  She shifted beside him, moaning in her sleep. Her face looked troubled, as if she was having a bad dream. He readjusted her pillow against his shoulder and put his arm around her, bringing her head to his chest. When she relaxed instantly, snuggling closer, a strong wave of protectiveness washed over him.

  He didn’t want to let her go.

  Even if he kept his job, and requested a transfer to WITSEC, he couldn’t choose his placement. He wouldn’t be assigned to protect a woman with whom he’d had a personal relationship. And he couldn’t go into hiding with her. Only spouses and children were allowed to enter the program with a witness.

  Feeling numb, he stroked her slender arm. She murmured his name, her soft breath fanning his neck. Her dark hair was spilled over his shoulder, and the hem of her dress had ridden partway up, revealing her slender thighs.

  Smothering a groan, he looked away. But he couldn’t stop the barrage of sensual images. He’d done almost everything he could think of to her in that hotel room. He’d turned her on her belly and rained kisses on her lush little bottom. When that didn’t seem like quite enough, he’d spanked her soft flesh, watching it turn pink. She’d squirmed and moaned and gotten deliciously wet, begging him to finish her.

  He’d always had an active sex life, but he’d never been so insatiable, or so demanding. And she’d given as good as she got, driving him crazy with her hungry mouth.

  He flushed at the memories, his erection swelling against his fly. After burying himself inside her a number of times yesterday, he should have been slow to react, and quick to settle. He wasn’t.

  The flight attendant passed by, preparing a lunch cart. They were in the back row of first class, which was typical for fugitive transport, and the flight was nowhere near capacity. Several empty rows stood between them and a handful of other passengers.

  The extra privacy didn’t help his condition.

  Isabel stirred at the sound of drinks service, lifting her head. He gave her an even stare. She moved her sleepy gaze from his taut face to his distended fly. She straightened abruptly, pushing away from him.

  Brandon lowered his lunch tray, heat creeping up his neck.

  A flight attendant appeared beside him, offering cool refreshments. In addition to lemon-lime soda, she brought a bland lunch that he ate but barely tasted. The only notable item on the menu was a tangerine, and that was because he enjoyed watching Isabel fondle it. She peeled the skin and ate it section by section, her eyes half-lidded.

  “I have to pee,” she announced after the trays were cleared.

  He rose at once, escorting her to the restroom at the back of the plane. It was less than ten feet from their seats, but he waited outside as per procedure. She flushed the toilet and pushed open the sliding door a moment later. Instead of stepping out, she looked down the aisle, as if making sure no one was watching them.

  They exchanged a heated glance.

  Brandon couldn’t have explained what happened next. He’d apologized for touching her and knew better than to do it again. She was his prisoner now, not just his target, and so off-limits it wasn’t even funny.

  But his professional ethics, already in shreds, dissolved under one come-hither gaze. When she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him forward, he went eagerly, locking the door behind him.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair and kissed him, smashing her breasts to his chest, winding her tongue around his. It was a sultry kiss, hot and impatient and a little angry. When she bit his lower lip, harder than was playful, he groaned and trapped her against the door, plundering her mouth.

  She shoved at his chest, as if he was being too aggressive. He released her at once, breaking contact. To his surprise, she drew back her arm and slapped him across the face, hard. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

  He touched his stinging cheek. “What does it mean?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. She wouldn’t say.

  Brandon didn’t want to talk anyway. He crushed his mouth over hers, ending the painful conversation. She made an urgent sound and put her hands all over him, gripping his shoulders and tugging at his shirt buttons. She tasted like citrus, tart and sweet. Desperate to have her, he raked her skirt up, palming her beautiful backside.

  She tore her mouth from his and turned around, gathering the dress at her waist. Then she pushed her panties down her thighs, baring her bottom. “Hurry,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. With limited space, and no flat surface to lift her up against, this was the only position they could manage.

 
Shaking with excitement, he fumbled with the zipper of his pants.

  She braced herself against the door and bent forward slightly, standing on tiptoe to deal with their height differential. He gripped the base of his shaft and placed the tip against her, nudging her hot little sex. “I don’t have a condom.”

  “It should be okay. Wrong time of month.”

  Taking a shocking risk, he entered her with one thrust, plunging into her. She gasped, holding on to the handrail to steady herself. He gritted his teeth at the heady sensation of being inside her with no barriers between them. She felt sleek, wet, tight, luscious. He wasn’t going to last a minute.

  Raising his hands to her breasts, he cupped her soft flesh, squeezing gently. Her nipples poked at the thin fabric of her dress, burning into the centers of his palms. Pushing aside the bodice, he pinched one taut peak, then the other. She shuddered with pleasure, her inner muscles clenching him like a silky fist.

  Groaning, he kissed the side of her neck and smoothed his hand down her belly, feathering his fingertips between her legs. She was stretched open, her tender flesh exposed to his touch. He told her how sweet she felt, panting against her ear. “Wet my fingers,” he said, lifting them to her mouth.

  She licked his fingertips daintily. His erection throbbed inside her.

  “More,” he demanded.

  Drawing two fingers inside her mouth, she sucked harder, getting him really wet.

  “Good,” he said, lowering his slick fingertips to her swollen cleft. He strummed her sweet spot, bringing her to the edge of orgasm. Then he backed off, raising his hand to her lips again. Moaning, she sucked his fingers and squirmed on his shaft, driving him crazy. He grasped her hips tightly, lifting her up and letting her slide back down on him.

  They both groaned, wanting more.

  “Please,” she said, biting the end of his finger.

  He stroked her needy sex again, circling her plump little nub. “Like this?” he asked, flicking his tongue over her earlobe.

  She came apart in his arms, her hips bucking, body convulsing around him. Unable to hold back a moment longer, he withdrew a few inches and buried himself to the hilt. She sobbed his name, lost in the throes of orgasm. Loving the feel of her, loving her, he drove deep, thrusting hard enough to rattle the door. He knew he was using her too vigorously, but she wasn’t complaining, and he couldn’t stop.

  He couldn’t pull out, either.

  Seconds before climaxing, he groaned, gripping her hips. “I’m going to come inside you.” “Yes,” she panted.

  Her permission didn’t make it right, and her assertion that it was the wrong time of month didn’t make it safe. Disregarding the consequences, he slammed into her, driven by a primal urge to fill her any way he could.

  With a muffled shout, he exploded, spilling himself deep inside her.

  For several long seconds, he braced his hand against the door, half-collapsed, still connected to her. When he could breathe again, he moistened a couple of paper towels, handing them to her while he withdrew.

  She straightened, holding the paper towels between her legs. He was too enthralled by the experience to regret his actions.

  Almost.

  She used the paper towels and set her clothes to rights. He tucked in and zipped up, his neck hot with shame. He’d never had unprotected sex before and he wasn’t sure what to say. Apologizing didn’t seem appropriate. Should he tell her he was clean?

  Instead of discussing his health or sexual history, he framed her face with one hand, wanting to say something that really mattered. “I love you.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

  “Don’t say it, or don’t feel it?”

  “Both. It hurts too much.”

  He didn’t want to cause her any more pain, so he respected her request and fell silent. She avoided his gaze, maintaining an emotional distance that cut him to the bone. He’d touched her body, not her heart. There would be no soulful goodbyes.

  Shrugging away from him, she slipped out the door.

  They suffered the rest of the flight in silence. Isabel had never felt more miserable.

  She couldn’t deny her feelings any longer. Although she was mad at Brandon for lying to her, she was also desperately in love with him, and she dreaded their inevitable separation.

  Why did she have to fall for him, of all people? Why now, at the worst possible moment in her life?

  She hated this ending. A down-and-dirty quickie in a public restroom was the least romantic thing she could think of. It wasn’t the bittersweet memory that would sustain her while she pined away for him in prison. Or Antarctica.

  Brandon seemed as devastated by the situation as she was. She didn’t know if she could trust what he’d told her in bed. In her experience, men said a lot of things they didn’t mean. Then they left.

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  They gained time on the way to L.A., so somehow it was still sunny when they arrived. The longest day in the world. Jet-lagged and heartsick, she trudged through the airport with Brandon and two uniformed escorts. They informed her of her rights and handcuffed her in the back of the squad car.

  Brandon’s eyes flashed with annoyance, as if he didn’t feel the measure was necessary, but he probably had no say in the matter. His mission, to deliver her into custody, was complete. He rode along as they drove her to the sheriff’s department for questioning. They brought her in through a side entrance. Her mother was sitting in a chair in the hall.

  Isabel’s face crumpled at the sight.

  Ana leaped to her feet, gathering Isabel into her arms. Isabel couldn’t return the embrace because her wrists were secured behind her back. So she let her mother do all the hugging, but cried along with her.

  “Who’s this?” Ana asked when they broke apart, glancing at Brandon.

  He shook her hand, introducing himself as Deputy Marshal Knox. “I brought your daughter into custody.”

  “Thank you,” Ana said, hugging him, too. “Thank you for bringing her home safe.”

  Brandon patted her mom’s shoulder, visibly uncomfortable. “You’re welcome, ma’am. It’s just my job.”

  Isabel’s handcuffs were removed and she was led to a nearby interrogation room. Her mother waited outside but Brandon couldn’t stay. He also had higher authorities to answer to. “Good luck,” he said, holding her gaze.

  She nodded, blinking back tears.

  After a last look that would haunt her forever, he continued down the hall. Isabel sat at a small table, across from two detectives, a male and a female. For the next several hours, she gave a detailed account of Jaime’s last night, her life on the run and her time with Brandon. The only lies she told were ones of omission. Their sexual encounters were no one’s business, and she didn’t really want him to get fired. He’d served her bravely and she was grateful, even if it was “just his job.”

  When she finished telling her story, the detectives left the room. Isabel sipped a drink from the vending machine and waited for them to return. After a short break, the female detective, Sergeant McAdams, came back without her partner.

  “I have a couple of questions,” she said, offering a hesitant smile.

  Isabel shrugged. Other than an inappropriate relationship with Brandon, she had nothing to hide.

  “Why did you leave Deputy Marshal Knox in the hotel room in San Marcos?”

  “I’d planned to go to the embassy without him.”

  “Why?”

  “Before I knew his real identity, I wanted to protect him. I didn’t see any reason for him to come forward with me and risk being targeted by the drug cartel.”

  “How did you feel when you found out he was a U.S. Marshal?”

  “Betrayed,” she said, taking a sip of soda. “I thought he was my friend.” “Just a friend?” “Yes.”

  “He didn’t make any advances?” “Never,” she said truthfully. Isabel had made all of those herself.

  McAdams folded her hands
on top of the table. “It’s not unusual for sexual assault victims to attempt to erase the traumatic incident with a more pleasurable encounter. They look for a safe partner. A friend, if you will.”

  Her stomach twisted with unease. “I wasn’t assaulted.”

  “Attempted rape is assault.”

  “Oh,” she said, feeling small.

  “In all sexual assault cases we recommend a physical exam, from an E.R. doctor or your own gynecologist. DNA swabs are taken.”

  “There’s no evidence to collect.”

  “It’s just procedure,” McAdams assured her.

  Isabel wasn’t going to comply with a tissue swab, but that was between her and the doctor she visited. “Am I being charged with a crime?”

  Sergeant McAdams leveled with her. “Not at this time. Your statements match Deputy Marshal Knox’s exactly, with one notable exception. He admits to having intercourse with you in the hotel room in San Marcos.”

  Her heart plummeted. Although he’d promised to be honest, she hadn’t expected him to be this honest.

  “Was the encounter consensual?”

  She hesitated, unsure how to respond.

  “Did Deputy Marshal Knox rape you?”

  “No!”

  “Were you afraid of him?”

  “No.”

  “Did he coerce or intimidate you?”

  “Absolutely not,” she said, her temper flaring. “He was a perfect gentleman. If anything, I coerced him. You can put that in your record.”

  McAdams leaned forward in her chair. “Complications like this muddy the legal waters and don’t strengthen a case against the Carranza cartel. If you’re willing to testify to the events you’ve described, refuse a DNA swab and sign a statement denying any unethical behavior by Deputy Marshal Knox, no charges will be brought against you.”

  “Not even for Jaime’s death?”

  “As long as you uphold your promise to testify against Carranza, we’ll honor the deal and close that case.” “Done,” Isabel said.

  After she completed the paperwork, which took several hours, Isabel was allowed to see her mother again. They were visited by a man who worked for the Federal Witness Protection Program. He explained the relocation process while they listened, hand in hand.