by Gail Barrett
Then Amir pinned Rasheed. He plunged his knife downward, and Nadine choked back a cry. And for one agonizing moment, the blade hovered over his vulnerable throat, the terrorist’s arm shaking visibly as he strained to drive it home.
Rasheed struggled to hold him off. The veins stood out in his face. Nadine rushed over and picked up his gun, determined to stop Amir at any cost. But miraculously, Rasheed heaved him away. He leaped to his feet, and they instantly collided again.
The two men continued to circle, their breathing ragged and harsh. Amir lunged again, and Rasheed jumped back, but a dark line formed on his chest.
Nadine nearly cried out. He’d been stabbed.
Amir’s tooth gleamed. He clearly had the advantage now. Rasheed backed up, seeming to falter, and his attacker drew closer, victory at hand.
But in an instant, everything changed. Rasheed went on the offensive, and in a series of moves too fast to follow, he flipped the terrorist onto the ground, knocked his weapon away and held his own knife under his jaw.
And Nadine realized in that moment that he’d been toying with Amir. Rasheed was a highly skilled, highly trained, highly dangerous man.
Tension-fraught seconds ticked past. Dead silence gripped the air as she waited for the final thrust. Would he kill him? Unable to watch it, she closed her eyes.
“Yield,” Rasheed ordered instead. “From now on you’ll leave Nadine alone.”
The terrorist didn’t answer. Pure hatred blazed in his eyes.
“I said to yield,” Rasheed repeated, his voice hard.
“All right. She’s yours.”
Rasheed waited another heartbeat. Then he rose, his eyes still clamped on the terrorist lying at his feet. Finally, he turned on his heel and headed toward her. Relief barreled through her, so intense her knees went weak.
Still breathing hard, he reached her side. Sweat glistened on his craggy face. Blood dripped down his washboard abs. His eyes burned black, the smell of testosterone and adrenaline evoking a swarm of feelings she couldn’t control. He looked terrifying, violent, primitive.
But for the first time in her life, she wasn’t afraid.
Chapter 10
Nadine paced around her cottage a short time later, the sound of the shower in her bathroom adding to the tumult inside her nerves. She was grateful to Rasheed. She owed him more than she could ever repay for saving her life again. And she couldn’t bear to think what might have happened if he hadn’t won that fight. Just the thought of it made her sick.
But now, with the adrenaline beginning to wear off, the shocking brutality was sinking in. That knife fight had appalled her. The sight of them wielding those weapons had confirmed what she most feared about men—that violence ruled their lives. And Rasheed had just proven that he wasn’t that different. Whether he was on her side or not, whether he made her feel safe at the moment or not, he was the most lethal fighter she’d ever seen.
The shower abruptly cut off. Her composure completely shattered, she took refuge behind the table and started rearranging her first aid supplies. A moment later the bathroom door swung open and Rasheed strolled out, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans.
Her gaze flew to his sculpted shoulders, traveled over the impressive contours of his biceps, and her heart skittered a beat. His hair was wet, and stray droplets slithered loose, gliding down his unshaven jaw. He raised his arm, using a hand towel to mop the moisture from his face, his flat belly rippling as he moved. Blood still welled from the slice on his chest.
Tearing her eyes away, she cleared her suddenly thick throat. She set down the roll of gauze she was mangling, then picked up the cotton balls and antiseptic she’d brought over from the clinic when she cut her arm.
Trying hard not to stare at his body, she joined him near the sink. “Let me look at that cut.”
“It’s not serious.”
She shifted closer to see. The slash began near his heart and crossed his sternum, slicing down the rock-hard planes of his abs. Her gaze crept to the thick tendons padding his shoulders, the massive swells of his powerful biceps, the taut sinews cording his arms. Crisp, dark hair dusted his chest beneath his clavicle, tapering down to the waistband of his jeans.
Feeling her face flush, she looked away. Determined to keep her mind in check, she gave herself a mental shake. Rasheed was a patient, a man she needed to treat, even if he did have an amazing physique. He scooted closer, and she struggled not to notice the heat rising from his muscled frame, the rogue drop of water forging a track down his chest, the scent of his shaggy, damp hair.
Uncapping the antiseptic, she risked a close-up glance at his face. His hot, black eyes collided with hers, the impact scattering her thoughts. Every time she looked at him, he grew more appealing, with his straight, black brows; his high-bridged, noble nose; that wickedly sensual mouth. He looked like an ancient warrior, all dark, sexy angles and feral planes. More water dripped off his midnight hair, running through the heavy beard stubble coating his jaw, adding to his virile look.
And she was ogling him like an idiot while his cut was beginning to bleed.
Her face turned even hotter. She moistened a pad with the antiseptic, then leaned toward him again. Bracing herself for the rush of awareness, she met his gaze again. “This might sting.”
Crinkles fanned his eyes. The edge of his mouth kicked up, causing a riot inside her chest. “Is that doctorspeak for it’s going to hurt like hell?”
She couldn’t help but smile back. “I guess we’ll find out.”
She applied the pad to his wound. His muscles contracted, and he sucked in a hissing breath.
“Sorry,” she murmured. This close, she inhaled the musky scent of his skin, caught the gleam of his wet hair as he bent his head toward hers.
Still struggling to maintain her equilibrium, she slid the pad down his granite abs, across his rock-hard stomach to the edge of his jeans. Then she paused. His belly went tight, a sudden movement behind his zipper drawing her gaze. She jerked her eyes to his, his blatant sexual interest wicking every remaining drop of moisture from her throat.
She yanked her hand away. “You don’t need stitches. The wound is superficial.” She sounded breathless.
“I thought so.” His voice came out low and deep.
A maelstrom swirling inside her, she turned back to the table, trying to hide his effect on her. Hoping distance would help, she picked up the antibiotic ointment and held it out. “Here. Put this on. We need to keep the wound from getting infected. I’ll wrap gauze around it when you’re done.”
Thankfully, he didn’t argue. While he dabbed ointment on the gash, she unwrapped several sterile pads. But he had a primitive male beauty, a battle-honed strength she was finding increasingly hard to ignore.
She waited for him to finish, then placed the sterile pads over the gash, and pulled out the roll of gauze. “We need to wrap that, just for a day or two until the wound starts to heal.”
While he held one end, she made several circuits around him, trying vainly not to touch his skin. She cut off the gauze and secured it, tucking the end against his chest. “That’s good.” Relieved, she stepped away.
But Rasheed grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her back. Her pulse tripped. His iron grip held her immobile, trapping her palm against his chest. Startled, she tipped her head back to meet his eyes.
They burned.
Her heart made a crazy thud, then took off at a maniacal pace. She couldn’t mistake his hunger—or her own desire rooting her in place.
It was probably the adrenaline from the fight. It was probably their isolation and the danger they were in that made her respond this way. God knew, he was all wrong for her, exactly the kind of man she’d always feared. But standing in his embrace with the warm, male scent of him swamping her senses, she couldn’t seem to make herself ca
re.
He tugged her closer against him. Then he released her wrist and encompassed her jaw with his rough hands. Her entire body going haywire, she dropped the forgotten roll of gauze and wrapped her arms around his back.
And then his mouth was on hers, the amazing feel of him like gasoline on a wildfire, igniting every nerve ending she possessed. His hard thighs pressed against hers. His back muscles went rigid beneath her palms. His kiss was hard, relentless, demanding, the unshackled sensations pulling her under in a sensual onslaught she couldn’t withstand.
A faint moan filled the air. She heard it from a distance, vaguely aware it had come from her. He felt so good—the thrilling roughness of his jaw, the dizzying feel of his lips on hers, the latent power in his massive frame.
She knew that he was violent. She knew he was capable of repugnant deeds. And she knew that if Amir hadn’t conceded, Rasheed would have killed him in a heartbeat to keep her safe.
But at the moment, none of that seemed to matter. With his mouth gliding down her neck, sending pleasure spinning through her veins, any objections seemed to disappear.
With a groan, she pulled him closer. He slid his hands under her shirt. Her nipples tightened, her body aching for his touch. Thrills shuddered through her, the delirious feel of his callused hands on her skin drugging her senseless. Needing him closer, she urged his mouth back to hers.
The kisses grew hotter and deeper. Her womb moistened and pulsed. She plunged her hand through his damp, shaggy hair, lost in the glorious sensations, knowing she’d go crazy if he tried to stop.
Panting hard, he broke away. He rested his forehead against hers, his hoarse breath dueling with hers. Her lungs heaved and sawed, her heart pattering in frenzied beats, her entire body on fire for this man.
“If we’re going to stop, it has to be soon,” he ground out.
She struggled to think. A hazy warning arose that this wasn’t wise, that there was too much danger around them, that they still had a terror attack to thwart.
And he was wrong for her. A man who lived in a savage world.
But just for this moment she wanted to forget the case, forget the family trying to kill her, forget the fear that had dogged her all her life. For once she wanted to throw caution to the wind, lose herself in this sensual madness and surrender to her body’s demands.
“I don’t want to stop,” she admitted in a whisper.
His dark eyes flared. Before she realized what he intended, he scooped her off her feet, then carried her across the cottage to the king-size bed.
“Wait,” she protested. “Your cut. It’ll start bleeding again.”
“Let it.” He set her on the bed, and in one quick motion, stripped off his jeans.
Her throat went bone dry. Riveted, she devoured every bunched sinew and angle of his fabulous frame—his impressively roped thighs, the silver scars webbing his skin, the blatant male part of him pulsing with life. He was a warrior from head to toe—battle-scarred, potent, tough—his sheer potency overwhelming.
But instead of making her want to flee, she found his power exciting. More arousing than she’d ever dreamed.
He followed her onto the bed. She slipped to one side and tugged off her shirt, the heat in his eyes as he watched her tempting her to draw the action out.
She dropped her pants and kicked them aside. His gaze went to her legs, his blatant approval spurring her on. Encouraged, she unclasped her bra and slid it off, thrilled when a muscle jumped in his jaw. She peeled off the rest of her clothes.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes turned molten, his breath suddenly harsh. She returned to the bed, and he swept her beneath him in one swift move, his fiery gaze scorching her skin. Then he braced himself above her and with excruciating thoroughness ran his hand over her breasts and belly and legs, exploring every sensitive inch of her, trailing a riot of heat in its wake.
“You’re so beautiful.”
So was he. His black eyes held her spellbound. His face looked chiseled from stone. The skin tightened over his high cheekbones, shadows pooling in the hollows, emphasizing the taut cords roping his throat.
And a swarm of emotions welled up from deep inside her—tenderness, lust and something she’d never felt before, as if her heart could no longer fit in her chest.
Then his mouth claimed hers again—and this time he didn’t hold back. This kiss was insistent, possessive, urgent, touching off a restlessness deep inside her. She grew frantic, desperate, consumed with a craving so delirious it brought her close to the breaking point.
But once again he stopped. His rough hands framed her face. His eyes captured hers. “You’re sure about this?” His voice was guttural, hoarse.
She swallowed hard. She wasn’t a virgin. She’d dated occasionally over the years, and sometimes those dates had led to sex. But she’d always chosen gentle, cerebral men, men who didn’t incite this out-of-control feeling, who didn’t make her teeter on the edge of insanity.
Men who were safe.
But Rasheed...he was ruthless, violent, driven. He was exactly what she shouldn’t want. And yet, she arched against him, wanting to rub herself against every part of his masculine body, knowing she’d never desired anyone more in her life.
“I’ll probably kill you if you stop,” she admitted.
With a growl, he reclaimed her mouth. She plunged her hand through his damp hair, drowning in the hunger of his kiss. And then he entered her in one hard thrust, the feeling so exquisite that she cried out. Not pausing, he moved against her, driving the pleasure higher and tighter, the tension nearly making her scream.
And then she exploded inside, the sensation so intense her entire world seemed to dissolve. Rasheed joined her a second later, his throaty sounds mingling with hers.
For an eternity, she couldn’t move. It was impossible to catch her breath. Rasheed had collapsed against her, his weight pinning her to the mattress, his uneven breath rasping against her ear.
Long minutes passed. Feeling completely boneless, she closed her eyes and drifted, gliding gradually down to earth.
But making love to Rasheed had changed her. The feelings he elicited were mind-boggling, unlike anything she’d ever experienced in her life. Those other encounters now seemed insipid, a mere parody of the ecstasy he’d evoked.
But as she ran her hand up his muscled arm, tracing his powerful shoulders, questions formed in her mind. Why him? Why now? And where did they go from here? She frowned slightly, skirting the bandage on his chest, then slid her hand through his still-damp hair. Obviously they couldn’t go backward. They couldn’t pretend this had never happened when every wonderfully sated part of her knew it had.
But even if he didn’t lead a dangerous lifestyle, even if he wasn’t damaged from his traumatic past, she still didn’t have a future with this man. Because no matter how safe he seemed right now, no matter if he’d risked his life to protect her from Amir, she could never predict how he would act.
He could suddenly erupt in violence. He could physically or emotionally abuse her to keep her under his control. She’d seen it too many times growing up, witnessed too many publicly charming men turn into monsters behind closed doors. Even now, she saw the pain those men inflicted every time she performed surgery, repairing a battered woman’s face.
She knew not all men were abusers. She knew there were plenty of decent guys in the world— compassionate, gentle men who adored their children and protected their wives. And maybe Rasheed was one. But how could she ever be sure?
She released a sigh. She couldn’t. So no matter how much Rasheed rocked her world, no matter how deeply his sad past resonated with her heart, she had to keep an emotional distance from him. She definitely couldn’t fall in love with him.
But as he began stirring against her, his wicked mouth scorching a path down her throat to her breast,
she hoped she could remember that.
* * *
Rasheed woke up with a start. He jerked open his eyes, oddly disoriented, not sure where he was. Then the night came back in a rush, a kaleidoscope of memories bringing him to full alertness—the threat, the fight...
The sex.
The cottage was still and dark. A hint of dawn peeked around the shutters, a slight shade lighter than the surrounding room. He heard Nadine’s soft, rhythmic breath, felt the heat of her lying beside him, the scent of their lovemaking still strong in the air.
And his heart dove. The night had been a mistake. He’d made a huge error in judgment succumbing to the hunger she provoked—because nothing had really changed. She was still a woman under his protection. She was still a vulnerable civilian caught up in a deadly affair. And she was still the kind of woman who needed a man who could love and protect her—a man his past failures proved he could never be.
Shoving his hair from his face, he expelled a sigh. He’d made a mistake, all right. He’d surrendered to their mind-boggling chemistry, resulting in the best damned sex of his life. And then he’d compounded the problem by staying the night—a blunder that could have gotten them killed. If one of the terrorists had missed him, if the cartel had checked to make sure he was on duty outside, they’d both be dead.
But somehow, lying next to her on the quilted mattress, with her soft hair caressing his shoulder, her tempting body within easy reach, he couldn’t seem to care. He turned his head, just able to make out her profile—the entrancing curve of her lips, the dark sweep of her lashes against her pale cheeks, her long, black hair streaming over her shoulders and spilling across the bed. The sheet had slipped, baring one tantalizing breast to his gaze. His body instantly hardened, and he shook his head, amazed he had any energy left after the night they’d shared. By rights he should be exhausted. Instead, every part of him surged to life again.
Unable to resist, he stroked her hair, winding several glossy strands around his finger, then inhaling the erotic scent. God, she smelled good—her hair, her skin. Enthralled, he traced the slope of her breast, marveling over its perfect shape. Her nipple peaked in response, prompting a corresponding throb in his groin.
