“Russell!” She struggled up off the floor, her head reeling as the man turned and for a moment was silhouetted in the dark, the knife dripping blood. Then he came into the moonlight, and she stumbled toward him with a soft cry.
“Russell,” she whispered as they met in the middle, and she couldn’t look away. His eyes were wild and he cupped her face, his hands hovering over the stinging cuts.
Her gaze drifted over his face, over the fall of his silky, dark hair, the hard angle of his jaw before finally coming back to his eyes so intensely dark, so intensely focused on her. Oh, no. She could lose herself in those blue eyes, drown in the way he looked at her, and with an awful, sudden certainty, she knew it wasn’t impossible for it to happen, even against her will.
Please, no. Get a hold of yourself, Neve. It was too crazy, and simply not an option. It didn’t make any sense. She would be strong in about an hour. She would remember how to be independent and closed and immune.
But right now, she was so damn glad he was all right.
“You’re okay,” he rasped. His voice was warm and soothing and wonderful—but it only added to the thick lump in her throat, to the hard pressure against the backs of her eyes. His look only intensified, making the tears fill, spilling onto her cheeks. She couldn’t, wouldn’t do this. Honest to God, she couldn’t.
“Aw, don’t, Neve. Babe.”
It was a plea, nothing less, and hearing it from him only made her feel stripped inside.
It would be okay, just for this brief time, to be relieved that he was alive and her attacker was dead. That they were both alive. Maybe, she thought, a lick of panic twisting through her, she could just let herself, for one moment in her life, just feel for him.
Taking a steadying breath, she opened her eyes, an ache snaking around her heart. She had to be realistic. This was only a respite in the wake of the brutality and a brush with death. It wasn’t forever. Even if she wanted it, she couldn’t risk anything happening that would jeopardize Tristan and Russell’s friendship. It would be complete, crazy madhouse madness. Besides, he wasn’t really the guy for her. He was grounded, rooted here like a rock, his business tying him down. She needed to be free to move.
She had to consider her brother and not fall into the attraction game with Russell. She liked her autonomy too much, and she would ruin everything anyway. It was feasible it wouldn’t work out, then she’d hurt them. Break their friendship because Tristan would most definitely side with her. That would kill the both of them and, in turn, kill her.
It was just too complicated.
He brushed at her tears with his thumbs. She got ambushed by his closeness, his care, the gentleness of those big, beautiful hands. His reaction did her in. She got such a rush of heat that it made her insides turn over. Clutching his shirt in her hands, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against him, her heart flip-flopping crazily in her chest, her lungs jammed up and unable to function.
He made a soft male sound in his throat, as if she was killing him, then his strong hand cupped the back of her neck as Russell murmured something. Running his hands up and down her back, she let go of him and simply melted against him. Her heart struggling to keep on beating, Neve turned into his arms, certain she was going to fly apart, and the feel of his warm skin nearly took her down.
“Hey,” he whispered softly. “Hey.” Holding on to her with one arm, he pulled out his cell phone, made a quick call to Austin Beck at NCIS, then wrapped her up in a tight, enveloping embrace. His fingers tangling in her hair, he clasped her head against him as he brushed her forehead with a soft kiss.
She held on to him until she heard sirens in the distance, held on to the very last minute until she had to let him go.
Let him go for good.
She needed a clear head to do this.
Horrified at her attacker’s declaration, Neve was determined to figure this out and stop the White Falcon at whatever the cost.
Copyright © 2017 by Karen Alarie
ISBN-13: 9781488016264
Cavanaugh in the Rough
Copyright © 2017 by Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella
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