Passion to Protect

by Colleen Thompson

  “You just missed him,” Jake told her. “They didn’t find a thing, though. He did tell me that much.”

  “If the money was ever really here in the first place, someone took it,” she insisted, her eyes fierce and her color high. “Probably years ago. The ranch might not be what it once was, but there’ve been wranglers helping with the horses, part-time guides during the busy season. And we have guests here all the time. Any one of them could have gone poking around and come across it.”

  “You may be right,” he said, needing to defuse her anger.

  “It wasn’t Dad,” she insisted. “If he’d found it, he would have known it belonged to the investors and he would have returned it. My father wouldn’t steal, Jake. He’d rather starve than do that.”

  Let her go find Harry, he told himself. Let him break it to her. But as much as he wanted to get inside the house to search what Deke had called its heart, he couldn’t bear to let her leave here so upset. “Come on in. Please. Have some coffee. I just made a fresh pot.”

  She hesitated, one corner of her mouth quirking downward. “I should go,” she said, frustration shimmering in her eyes. “I—I need to make the sheriff, need to make all of them, understand.”

  He should let her leave, he knew. But when a tear broke free, he couldn’t stop himself from brushing it aside with his thumb.

  She stiffened at the contact, a light flush coloring her face. When her gaze dropped, he wondered if she was thinking of their kiss, too, and the fact that the two of them were alone together and only steps from his bed. Or had he only been imagining that she, too, felt the tidal pull of old attraction? That she was capable right now of feeling anything but grief?

  “All I’m asking is for you to sit down so we can talk about it,” he said. “I’d like to sit down, anyway. I’ve been working on this place for hours, and I—”

  She winced, sounding instantly contrite as she looked to his sleeve, bulky with the bandages beneath it, and said, “I’m sorry, Jake. How are you? I should’ve started there.”

  “I won’t lie and say the arm hasn’t bothered me, but it seems to be healing well. Well enough that I’ve ditched the sling.”

  She nodded, relief smoothing her features as she stepped inside. “I’m so glad. What you did the other night...I can’t begin to thank you.”

  “You thanked me at the E.R. There’s no need to say any more about it.”

  “Of course there is. You risked your life for my family. And not for the first time.” She touched his hand for a fleeting moment before pulling back abruptly, her gaze avoiding his.

  “Have a seat, and let me get that coffee,” he said, nodding toward the sofa. “It’s not much to look at, but it beats standing.”

  “Nice repair job,” she said, nodding toward the slashed cushions.

  “You know what they say.” He lifted two clean mugs—survivors of the wreckage—from their hooks and filled them with hot, strong coffee. “Necessity’s the mother of duct tape. For now, at least, since a new laptop had to take priority over a new sofa.”

  “I hope you didn’t lose too much work,” she said.

  “I back up my work daily to an online vault.” Remembering how she liked her coffee, he stirred in a splash of milk before passing her the mug. “I’ve got a huge deadline only a few weeks away, so it’s definitely saved my bacon.”

  Since the other chair had been damaged beyond redemption, he sat down next to her. He tried not to notice, not to mind, when she scooted away from him, perching on the edge of the cushions. He’d been right. She clearly regretted “forgetting herself” with him. She’d wanted nothing except a friendly port in one of the worst storms of her life.

  “I can’t believe Harry thinks my dad stole that money,” she said, her eyes gleaming with emotion. “I thought he was worried about solving his murder, when all the time he’s been out to destroy my father’s good name—the only thing he has left.”

  “You’re half right,” Jake admitted. “Harry’s been looking at that possibility. But it’s not the only thing on his mind. Anyone can see it’s tearing him apart, but it’s his job to find out everything he can about why Mac wanted to hurt your father.”

  “Mac was furious when I testified against him. Forget the fact that he hurt me—”

  “Shot you,” Jake corrected.

  Her eyes slid closed, and she swallowed hard. “He’d do anything to get back at me. He was obsessed with revenge.”

  “Liane, those men who came here—they were definitely after the money Mac took. Money he’d promised them if they would help him escape.”

  “He’d say anything to get to me,” she insisted.

  “Harry thinks that maybe—”

  “What I can’t understand is why Harry hasn’t talked to me about his suspicions.”

  “Because I asked him not to,” Jake admitted. “Not until he had proof.”

  Liane jumped up from the sofa. “You what? Why on earth would you do a thing like that?”

  Realizing he’d said the wrong thing, he opted for the simplest, most honest explanation. “The night of the break-in, when Harry and I first discussed this, I couldn’t bear to see you hurt any more.”

  She banged the mug down on the counter that separated the small kitchen from the living area. “I appreciate all your help, but I’m not a child. I don’t need to be shielded from all the bad things in life.”

  He set his own cup on the floor and went to her, moving in too close. But he’d backed her against the counter, so she had nowhere to retreat. “No, you aren’t a child, Liane. But that night, you had two scared kids to deal with, and you were in shock. You were cold and soaked and shaking, and you’d just been forced to kill a man.”

  “It’s no more than you did, and you’d been shot, too,” she said, her eyes blazing. “But no one assumed you were weak and in need of—”

  “Believe me, no one who’s seen the risks you’ve taken for your family’s safety could ever think of you as weak. But being a fighter doesn’t make you indestructible, and no matter how pissed you are at me for it, I’d do the same thing if I had it to do all over.”

  She thrust her chin toward him in a look of pure defiance. “Then why didn’t you tell me later?”

  “Don’t you understand, Liane?” He leaned over her, so close that he saw everything from the dewy sheen of her skin to the way her pupils dilated at his nearness. “Because it’s not in me to hurt you. Never has and never will be.”

  In the space of a few seconds the stone wall of her anger crumbled. Her shoulders sagged as sadness overtook her. “Why, Jake,” she asked quietly, regret shadowing each word, “when I know how much I’ve hurt you? How much my choices have hurt us both.”

  His heart bumped a quick warning, but it wasn’t fast enough to stop the truth from slipping free. “It’s because I love you, Liane. Always have and always will.”

  As he dipped his head closer still, she whispered, “It’s not right. I—I can’t do this.”

  But a few achingly long moments later she was the one who, with a soft cry of surrender, finally closed the space between them.

  Chapter 14

  It was so wrong of her to do this, to give in to her body’s long untended needs, to her craving for the man who had first awakened her to passion. She would have stopped herself, would have forced herself to step back, but the things he had risked saying had shattered her defenses.

  He still loves me, her mind sang as the heat and moisture of their kisses deepened. Still wants me.

  I should tell him first. Tell him why we can never...

  But the thought went up in flames as his fingertips slid along the curve of her neck and he dropped his mouth to tongue a blazing trail from the sensitive spot beneath her ear down to the hollow of her collarbone.

  “Jake, pleas
e,” she said, arching her neck as her legs gave in to trembling. “We need to...”

  Her objections melted as his big hands pulled her closer, sending delicious chills rippling through her to squeeze into a tight ball of anticipation.

  Her breasts ached for his touch, the nipples peaking with her need, but standing here against the counter felt so awkward. She caught his arm and whispered the only coherent words that came to mind. “The bed. Now.”

  He looked up, his brown eyes drugged not just with desire but the love that had always been there, if she’d only opened her eyes to it. In that moment she would have followed him anywhere, done absolutely anything he asked.

  “You’re sure?”

  Unable to say more, she nodded, and he kissed her softly, deeply, driving her wild with the heat and moisture and slick thrust of his tongue. She was whimpering with need by the time he stopped to let the dog outside and then led her around the little half wall that shielded his freshly made bed from view.

  When she sat down on the mattress and started to unbutton her blouse, he sat beside her and pushed her hands aside. “Let me. Please. I’ve waited so long for this. Imagined it so many times. Imagined you.”

  Her eyes filled as she thought about him out here by himself night after night, surrounded only by the darkness.

  But his attention was riveted to his work, the task of undoing each small button, starting from the top. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her cleavage.

  “You’ve filled out some since I last saw you,” he said appreciatively.

  “Two babies will do things to a woman’s body,” she murmured, suddenly conscious of competing with his memories of her seventeen-year-old self.

  He continued unbuttoning, dipping his mouth to kiss the plump, pale tops of her breasts. “You,” he whispered, “have never been more beautiful.”

  She moaned, her restless fingers running through his hair to pull him closer. Soon he had her shirt off, and with a deft flick of his wrist, the bra followed.

  She thought she would fly apart the moment he laid her back and took one nipple into his mouth. The pleasure coiling beneath her belly tightened, pulsing urgently.

  As he feasted on each breast in turn, she clawed at his T-shirt, until she finally pulled it over his head. Her jeans went next, in a fumbled hurry, with Jake kissing each inch of exposed flesh, his every movement driving her pulse faster.

  When he hesitated, the memory of her scars hit her like a shower of ice water. Sure enough, when she looked down, she saw him studying the shiny knot of tissue and the incision line along her lower belly—an all-too-stark reminder of what had been taken from her.

  “Don’t look,” she begged, moving to cover the ugliness with her hands. “Please.”

  He looked up, his eyes dark. “You never need to hide from me. I have scars of my own.”

  Her face was burning. “But it’s so—it’s repulsive.”

  “It’s fine. I promise,” he said, stroking her hand until she relaxed enough to gently move it aside. “And I want you to know, there’s nothing about you I could ever find repulsive. Nothing.”

  “But he—because of him, I can never have more—” Pain shuttering her eyes, she shuddered, her flesh crawling at the memory of the doctor telling her about the extent of the damage.

  “Shh, Liane. Just trust me, please. Believe me when I say I’ve never wanted you more than I do at this moment.”

  She wanted to deny him, to explain to him that he deserved far better. But she made the mistake of looking at him, her gaze slowly drifting from the sculpted perfection of his six-pack abs to the sheer masculine beauty of his lightly haired chest to the undeniable hunger in his eyes.

  When was the last time anyone had looked at her that way?

  Remembering the cave and that first time—both their first times—she swallowed hard, then answered his unspoken question with the subtlest of nods. Judging from his smile, it was enough.

  He caught the elastic edge of her bikini panties with one finger and ever so slowly eased them down until she stepped out of them, his gaze taking in every inch of her.

  “So damned lovely,” he whispered. “So very beautiful.”

  “You don’t have to say that,” she assured him, still too conscious of the damage to her body.

  “Would you wait for me one minute?” he asked. “I’d like—it would be more comfortable if I take off my prosthetic. If that’s all right with you.”

  Swallowing hard, she nodded again, understanding that for him this moment must be even more difficult than it had been for her.

  She tried to look away politely, not wanting to embarrass him. But he said, “It’s no big deal. See?” and showed her the way the leg came off, from rolling back the silicone sheath to removing what was left of his leg, which ended just below his knee, from the prosthetic’s socket.

  “Still with me?” he asked, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, as if he feared he might have gone too far. A flicker that reminded her of the vulnerable boy whom she had once loved. And the man? Did she still love the man?

  When she finally found her voice again, she couldn’t come up with the right words, so she borrowed those she needed. “Believe me when I say, Jake, I’ve never wanted you more than I do at this mom—”

  He cut her off with a kiss, a kiss that pushed even the memory of fear and pain and violence from her mind. Pushed aside everything but the desperate need to be touched and tasted and filled up by this man.

  And as morning turned to afternoon, she took all that she needed and gave back even more.

  * * *

  Jake had lost track of how much time had passed when he felt her move away and get up, the abrupt absence of her soft curves setting off another wave of wanting. Though they’d already made love twice, he wasn’t close to sated. Couldn’t imagine ever having his fill of the woman he had waited half a lifetime to reclaim.

  Reaching for her, he murmured, “Come here, you.”

  But she’d slipped out of range, and when he opened his eyes he saw that she was already dressed. She wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she was staring at a point on the floor. At first he thought his prosthetic leg had captured her attention, but her widening eyes and growing pallor quickly convinced him otherwise.

  “What on earth are those tools doing under your bed?” she asked, her voice growing frostier with every syllable, reminding him of the icy mask she’d hidden behind for so long.

  For about a nanosecond he considered trying to convince her he’d been using them to get his cabin back in order. But he couldn’t bring himself to lie to her, not after everything they’d shared. Besides, she would soon know more than enough to figure out that he hoped to find the missing money before the FBI did, and he couldn’t live with the risk that she would suspect he’d meant to keep it for himself.

  “After Harry spoke to me,” he admitted, sitting up with the sheet pooled in his lap, “I remembered something. Something your dad once said to me that made me wonder if—”

  “Then you believe it, too.” Her eyes glittered, as frozen as her voice. Frozen as if her long thaw in his arms had been no more than a false spring. “You think my father was a thief.”

  “Your father didn’t steal that money. Mac did.”

  “My father knew that people, innocent investors, lost their savings, their retirement. If he’d found a dime of it, he would have turned it in.”

  “He talked about the homestead, about the cabin it was built around. I only remembered this morning how he said that foundation would keep his family secure long after he was gone.”

  “So why didn’t you tell Harry?”

  “Because I didn’t want him to find it,” he admitted.

  She turned away from him, deftly pulling back her long hair and banding it in a loose ponytail.
<
br />   “If your father really found the money and hid it there, I didn’t want you—or anyone—to know,” he told her.

  Her shoulders stiffened. “You would have kept it from me?”

  “I thought I would. Thought I might try to move it someplace where it would be found but not connected with your father.”

  Slowly she turned back to face him. “Mac kept me in the dark about his business—about everything. And you know how that turned out.”

  “So you’re comparing me to him now?” Jake felt a rush of heat as his anger flared to life. “A man who kept secrets to protect himself, never you? A man who beat you, shot you, killed your father, when I’ve never done a damned thing except—”

  Except love you, he’d been about to say, and, though it was the truth and nothing he hadn’t already said, he couldn’t get the words past the knot of old resentment.

  “Of course you’re not like him. If you were, do you think I ever would have...?” Shaking her head, she changed the subject, ignoring her phone, which suddenly began to ring. “The point is, I won’t be lied to. Not by anybody, not even to protect me.”

  “All right, then. Admit the truth,” he challenged. “Your father could have found that money, could have talked himself into thinking it was the right thing to use it to save the ranch for you and the kids.”

  “I’ll believe it when you prove it.”

  “Then come with me,” he told her. “Let’s go up to the homestead and find out if I’m right.”

  * * *

  Harry put the phone down and wondered where the hell Liane was. It wasn’t like her not to answer, and when he’d tried the lodge, a desk clerk had told him she was nowhere on the premises.

  He had to find her before some FBI suit showed up to blindside her. As Deke’s best friend, he owed her the truth, no matter how painful.

  Camille stuck her head into Harry’s office. “Could I maybe bring you some more coffee?”

  She sounded tense, as if she expected him to light into her again at any moment. Though it was no more than she deserved, he didn’t have the heart for it, so instead he waved her in and said, “No coffee, thanks, Camille, but come on in, why don’t you? It’s high time you and I had ourselves a little talk.”