The Protector Page 13

  Ike’s head swiveled. His green gaze singed her as he took in her approach. The memory of their kiss seemed to thicken the air around them—or maybe it was ozone from the approaching storm.

  “Come stand right here,” he said, crooking a finger at her.

  She approached him warily. “Why?”

  “You’re going help me. When I grab your wrist, I want you to scream and struggle.” He squared off against her.

  “Uh…” She wanted no part in training Winston to be aggressive, but the prospect of Ike touching her caused her to waver.

  “Play on his protective urges,” he added, mistaking her hesitation for agreement. “Then maybe his Shepherd instincts will kick in.”

  “It still won’t work,” she insisted. In his heart of hearts, Winston was all Retriever.

  Fast as a trap, Ike caught her wrist, his grip like a shackle.

  “Okay, that actually hurts,” she admitted, somewhat surprised. The clouds surged ever nearer, emitting ominous rolls of thunder.

  “Struggle,” he said, loosening his grip at once.

  It was still unbreakable. This wasn’t nearly as pleasant as the kiss they’d shared. Eryn tried peeling back his fingers with her free hand, but it was useless. “Okay, please let go; you’re wasting your time.”

  Ike held her fast. “Tell him to sic.” She could tell by the look on his face he wasn’t going to release her till she did it.

  Stubborn man. “It’s not going to work!”

  “Do it.”

  “Winston, sic!” she raged, clenching her fists.

  The dog just looked at her, obviously confused.

  With a stifled curse, Ike dropped her arm and stalked away, dragging a hand through the spikes of his hair.

  “What did you expect? I told you he wouldn’t attack,” she scolded.

  He threw his hands up. “Why didn’t Stanley teach you to defend yourself?” he railed. “I can’t believe you’re so goddamn helpless.”

  The accusation stung. “I am not helpless. Don’t discount me like that!”

  He folded his arms and considered her as he might an unsolvable problem.

  “Here, I’ll prove it,” she added, hunting for a weapon. Spying the stick Ike had used earlier, she snatched it up and wielded it like a bat. “Try grabbing me now,” she invited.

  “Put it down.” Ike’s voice came out low and flat.

  “I don’t think so. Earlier in the truck you called me dangerous. Now you say I’m helpless. Which is it, Isaac? You can’t have both.”

  He had her angry now, and it wasn’t because he was training her dog to be aggressive—not really. It was because she could sense the distance he kept putting between them. He couldn’t make it any clearer that he considered that kiss a mistake, but it wasn’t. At least when he kissed, he communicated something!

  “You’ll end up with a splinter. That’s not the way to hold it,” he bit out.

  “Then teach me how to fight,” she demanded.

  “No.”

  “Why not? You taught me to shoot.”

  He narrowed his eyes, saying nothing.

  “You know what I think? I think you’re afraid of me, Isaac.” She tossed out the accusation with unaccustomed recklessness. But she needed to rattle his cage a little, to goad him into letting his guard down so she could kiss him this time. “You’re afraid you’ll kiss me, and you won’t be able to stop,” she added, with sudden insight.

  His answer was a short, bitter laugh, but he didn’t deny it, she noticed with a private thrill. “You teach defense in your survival course, don’t you?” She pressed what she sensed was her advantage.

  “To men,” he retorted.

  “What’s the difference?”

  His gaze flicked to her breasts and lower. “There are a couple differences.”

  The bold inference flustered her. She knew she was playing with fire but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “And why would those prevent me from learning to defend myself?”

  A muscle in the side of his jaw jumped. “You going to use that stick?” he asked her softly, “or just stand there running your mouth?”

  Bingo. With a smirk of triumph, she rushed at him while swinging the stick at his butt. That’ll teach him.

  Except the stick never made contact with his backside. In a move too quick to see, he grabbed her weapon, whipped her around, and pulled her back to front against his larger frame.

  “This isn’t a game, Eryn,” he grated in her ear. She could feel his heart pounding against her back. The stick, placed like a bar against her shoulders, kept her pinned against him. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your distance, understand?” The hard ridge under his zipper was as much a threat as his words.

  If he was trying to intimidate her, he was succeeding. She didn’t know if her knees trembled from fear, chagrin at being told off for pushing too far, or because she felt the substantive proof that he could ravish her right here, right now, with or without her participation. “I—I understand,” she said.

  He released her wordlessly and stepped back, hurling the stick toward the woodpile, apparently furious with himself.

  Eryn fled for the porch. A backward glance saw him striding across the darkening yard to the long rope dangling from the oak tree. Pausing again at the door, she saw him pull himself, hand over hand, up the length of the rope, his feet dangling. He disappeared into what looked like a tree house.

  Rain began to pelt the yard. Winston streaked past her, up the steps, toward shelter. Eryn followed him inside, leaving Ike outside to weather the storm.

  She went straight to the bathroom, flicked on the light and studied her flushed face in the mirror.

  What are you doing, Eryn?

  Her reflection provided no answers. It wasn’t her style to taunt a man into losing control, especially not one as dangerous and battle-hardened as Ike, but some small voice insisted that he needed her to force him out of his protective shell. The hunger revealed in his kiss today—the volatility he’d just warned her about—sparked an unexpected yearning to soothe him.

  She was crazy to consider it. The man had been a sniper; he was a recluse with a murky, tortured past.

  And yet her father trusted him with her keeping. That said something, didn’t it?

  Forget about him, she advised herself. Eat your dinner, read a book, and go to bed.

  As long as Ike kept to himself, then he deserved to wallow in his isolation. Who was she to force him to deal with his issues?

  Cutting herself a portion of shepherd’s pie, she ate it standing up, fighting all the while to keep her gaze from sliding to the window, where the sky had darkened to black. Occasionally, jags of lightning lit up the yard as bright as day, revealing snapshots of Ike, stripped to his jeans, punishing himself with push-ups and pull-ups and those drills called burpees.

  He’d rather be struck by lightning than spend time alone with me.

  Feeling like a cat with its fur rubbed wrong, Eryn dumped her plate in the sink without washing it. She’d agreed to cook for him, but he could damn well do the dishes.

  Snatching up her book, she stormed upstairs to bed.

  Ike took an ice-cold shower. It did as little to abate his craving for Eryn as exercise had. He’d driven his body to the brink of exhaustion, to no avail.

  Eating his supper all alone, he moaned aloud as the buttery crust, creamy vegetables, and seasoned beef melted in his mouth. He would have gone for a second helping, only the silence overhead, coupled with his concerns about the FBI, had whittled away his appetite.

  He caught himself listening for her upstairs. Was she sleeping? Reading? Christ, he hoped she wasn’t crying. He cringed to recall how harshly he’d dealt with her.

  It wasn’t her fault he’d lost his mind and kissed her today. He had no excuse, only that he’d wanted to lock lips with her from the moment she touched her tongue to her upper lip the day he’d grabbed her at the safe house. She had to know by now that she had that
effect on men.

  You’re afraid you’ll kiss me, and you won’t be able to stop. Damn right, he was. But why wasn’t she?

  He could only suppose her desperate circumstances had skewed with her judgment. He supposed it was only natural for a girl in her predicament to be drawn to the one man who could defend her. With him, she could forget she was being hunted by terrorists.

  But if there were no terrorists, the story would be different, wouldn’t it?

  If she weren’t running scared, he’d be the last man she would want comforting her. He was a rough and ready soldier, a man who’d abandoned his teammates when they needed him most; a man who hadn’t called his mother in a decade. He had no business even looking at her.

  She was vulnerable right now. If he took advantage of that, what would that make him? Plus one time would never be enough. He would want her for as long as she could stand him—which wouldn’t be for very long, he acknowledged with bitterness. Sooner or later, he would come up short, unable to give her the stability she was used to.

  His life had gone to shit the day he’d watched his teammates die, knowing all the while that he could have prevented it.

  Dropping his face into his hands, Ike rubbed his gritty eyes. Aw, hell, he needed to explain this to Eryn so she didn’t keep pushing the issue.

  He put it off as long as possible, tidying the kitchen until it gleamed. She had left a mess intentionally, he realized, amused by her subtle punishment. When there was no more putting it off, he turned toward the stairs, hoping to find her fast asleep.

  Her scent ambushed him halfway up the steps, undermining his noble intentions. Over the groaning of the risers, he heard the sound of a page being turned. She was reading, he realized, peeking through the half-open doorway.

  He drew back with a start. Eryn lay on her stomach across the bed, wearing nothing but that strappy top she’d worn the other night and white lace panties. Oh, fuck.

  At his quick retreat, the floorboards squeaked, and she shrieked, fumbling to cover herself. He hovered in the hallway, torn between the common-sense urge to run like hell and his determination to set the record straight once and for all.

  “Okay, it’s safe,” she called, her voice wobbling.

  Safe, right. He peered around the door frame, staying right where he was. She had wrapped the sheet around her like a toga, but the tops of her shoulders and most of her legs were still bare.

  “It gets hot up here,” she said with a proud lift to her chin.

  No kidding. “You could open the window,” he suggested.

  “I’ve tried. It’s stuck.”

  Her answer left him no choice but to wade into the room to un-stick the window. Chill, moist air wafted in as he jimmied it open, cooling his scalding mental image of Eryn laying across her bed practically naked.

  By the time he turned around, she had pulled the sheet over her shoulders. Smart girl. “Came to apologize,” he said, edging toward the exit.

  “For what?”

  Why did women do this? “I was out of line today,” he added. Obviously.

  “Which part?”

  Damn it. “Eryn, you’re not…” He cut himself off, afraid that he would either offend her somehow or make himself sound depraved.

  For a change, she kept absolutely mute as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. “Look, I’m not going to betray your father’s trust,” he finally ground out, deciding that was the safest excuse handy. “He trusts me to watch over you, not—” fuck your brains out.

  “Take advantage of me?” she delicately supplied.

  “Exactly.” He jammed his fingers into his pockets to disguise his erection.

  A crooked little smile seized her lips, making his pulse quicken. “I get it,” she told him, blushing prettily. “You don’t have to beat yourself up, Ike. If it’s any consolation, I’m not opposed to being...taken advantage of.” Her voice trailed to a husky whisper as her lashes swept downward concealing her gaze.

  Not helping.

  Swear to God, all she had to do right now was to drop the sheet, and he’d be across the room burying his face between her thighs.

  Calling on his last ounce of restraint, Ike turned briskly toward the stairs. “Shut the window if it rains again,” he called, fleeing from the temptation she embodied.

  “Sleep tight,” she sang out.

  He pushed into his room and firmly shut the door. Sleep tight? Right. She had to know she had him too worked up to sleep. Besides, he couldn’t afford to sleep, not when he had some serious planning to do.

  Turning his lock against the desire to return to her, he spread an oil-stained towel over his dresser top. He then set out the lubricant and cloth needed to clean his sniper rifle. For the next hour, he’d lose himself in mindless routine.

  If the Feds made a move tonight, at least he wouldn’t be caught with his pants down. Some comfort that was.

  Eryn collapsed onto the mattress, half euphoric, half chagrined. What on earth had compelled her to say those words, I’m not opposed to being taken advantage of?

  She covered her hot face with her hands. Had she known what she was saying? It wasn’t like her to be so forward.

  But how else was she going to get to know Ike when he refused to talk to her? And she just had to get to know him better. His kiss had shot roots of curiosity deep into the soils of her mind.

  The real Ike was lonely and despairing. He needed her.

  Yet there was no way to comfort him if he didn’t let her in. And letting her in clearly terrified him. That line about not betraying her father’s trust—hogwash. It was fear that held him back. She could see it so clearly now. He was afraid of her; afraid of intimacy, period.

  That was why he lived in this crumbling cottage, in deep seclusion!

  Poor man. A picture of what he used to look like flashed before her eyes. What had happened to the confident warrior her father had so loved?

  It could only be the incident her father had mentioned, the one she couldn’t remember, except the part about lives being lost. Friends of Ike’s most likely. He blamed himself. He’d quit the military because he felt he’d let them down. For a man who took his duties seriously, their deaths would have been a crushing blow. That had to have been what happened. And until he discussed the past with someone else, the guilt would fester in him, like a tumor.

  But who was she to force him to talk? And what made her think she could play counselor when she’d never experienced that depth of guilt and grief herself?

  It’s better I don’t try, she told herself, with a sigh of disappointment.

  She and Ike were two very different people; it wasn’t like their futures were likely to bring them together again. Having tried the impractical route back in college, she’d long ago decided not to waste her time on bachelors without promise. She was holding out for Mr. Right.

  And Ike was so not that guy.

  Seeing rain splatter the window sill, she rolled out of bed, dragging the sheet behind her to close the draft and shut off the light.

  As she sprawled back across the lumpy mattress in the dark, the memory of Ike’s hard body had her touching herself. Pleasure gripped her as she envisioned his rough hands on her breasts, relived the thrill of his tongue tangling with hers. Oh, Ike. She moaned, arching toward her fingers in an effort to appease the ache pulsing inside her.

  But her decision to leave Ike alone made her sudden climax an unfulfilling one.

  She wanted more. She wanted all of him, every mysterious, tortured part of him. But that desire was impractical, if not impossible. The man would barely even talk to her, let alone share his life with her. Practicality won the day, whether she wanted it to, or not.

  Chapter Ten

  “I have information for you,” Mustafa said, calling the number on the narrow scrap of paper. To his disappointment, he recognized the voice on the other end as belonging to the same young man who’d approached him at the hotel.

  And to his further disappointment, it w
as Vengeance who entered the McDonald’s on Connecticut Avenue half an hour later, where they had arranged to meet. Two FBI agents sat in a dark blue Buick parked across the street, listening to the conversation via Mustafa’s Blackberry.

  The McDonald’s, which stood across from the National Zoo, stayed open until midnight, one hour from now. Aside from the two employees tidying up in back, Mustafa and Vengeance had the dining area to themselves.

  Once small talk was out of the way, Mustafa slid an envelope across the table. The boy picked it up, opened it, and read the address written inside.