“You bought the old Hobson place?” he asked. Nothing more than a wreck of a barn, a ramshackle house with an outhouse and about ten acres of land that butted up against Sweetwater. Still huddled in her jacket, she said, “Mrs. Hobson died of pneumonia and with his kids grown and no interest in the land, they left for greener pastures, leaving Mr. Hobson to either sell the land or let it fall to ruin. Unfortunately, he let it go.”

He had no idea what to expect when he drove up her access road dotted with small slender trees and shrubs, wolfberry, hog-plum and buttonbush. He came to an open gate with a cross bar with a stylish butterfly in silver, the letters spelling out Gray Havens.

As he drove, he was just hoping he wouldn’t have to defend something falling down or more importantly, have to use an outhouse.

The lane curved down into a sheltered hollow, and he felt a rush of warmth as the house and buildings came into view. The plantation-style home, painted a charcoal gray with white trim as was the decent-sized barn sat in a L-shape with easy access. There was a garage, but he parked just by the front door. The corrals with wide white panels held three horses in the enclosure. Several acres of land adjacent to the road had been left untouched with a two-acre pond glinting in the moonlight. Thick stands of sweetgum and oak were scattered across the rolling terrain and magnolia flanked the house on either side.

The driveway, which angled sharply across the yard, separated the raw untouched land from the lawn surrounding her home. It butted up against Sweetwater. He’d made an inquiry with a local real estate agent, and he was waiting for her return call regarding his former ranch.

This place, though, was as surprising as she was, fresh, stylish and well-maintained with plenty of landscaping touches, an unexpected and oddly disconcerting oasis in a night of violence and fear.

He stared at it a moment. Too many openings to defend. Too much landscaping, built in cover. A definite challenge if anything started going down.

Cutting the engine, he reached back for a small black case with a handle, then exited. Rounding the vehicle to the passenger side, he opened the door for Kia, but she didn’t move—except for the tremors still running just below the surface of her skin. She seemed to have folded in on herself. He gently helped her out of the truck and onto the porch, her movement sluggish and unsteady. She stumbled a few times and looked around, clearly still under the effects of the drugs they’d given her.

“Where are we?” she mumbled.

“Your place.” With a firm hold around her waist, he led her to the front door, but when she made no move to extract her keys from her purse, he set down his case and grabbed her bag, rummaging through it under the lantern-style outdoor light until he hit pay dirt.

A sharp barking made her jump then throw her arms around him and hold on. He dropped her purse and held her as her trembling went through him, breaking down his formidable defenses. Dammit. He was going to need a buffer here. A big buffer.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “Your dog, Triton.”

She looked up at him, her dazed expression clearing. “Right. He’s a good boy, but let me go first to make the introduction. After all you’ve done for me tonight, I don’t want him to go for your throat. He’s very protective.”

She stepped away from him, and he unlocked the door. The sixty-five-pound, well-muscled dog poked his head out, but calmed a bit when he saw Kia. “Triton, sit. This is Wes McGraw. He’s my friend.” She patted his head and muzzle while he licked her.

Cowboy watched the dog, but, as she said, he was well-behaved and highly trained. To his total surprise, she was a natural as she put her body between him, exerting her alpha control. He snagged her purse and his case, then closed and locked the door.

The house was neat and tidy with a southwestern chic to it. Colorful striped rugs covered a glossy wood floor, and there was a fieldstone fireplace with plenty of wood to start a fire. It wasn’t exactly freezing in the Gulf of Texas in September, the temperature at about sixty-eight, but a fire tended to boost the comfort level in the home. The brown suede couch, tan upholstered love seat and armless leather chairs were set in a square grouping with a tan upholstered ottoman/coffee table in the center with two wooden trays, the TV on a wooden chest just behind the chairs. The pillows picked up the colors in the striped rugs and on the walls where several large horse paintings in violet and lavender hues hung along with silver spurs and a grouping of horseshoes and snaffle bits. The windows reached from the floor to the open beamed ceiling with brushed silver boxes of succulents at the base of each one. “Curtains?” he murmured.

She pointed to an iron table, and he grabbed a remote and clicked it. Shades made a soft whirring sound as they descended, closing out the night.

“Why don’t you shower?” he said. “Get yourself cleaned up. You’ll feel better. I’ll start a fire.”

She turned to look up at him. “You’re not leaving?”

It was a plea, and he reacted to it, tenderness filling his chest.

“No, Kia. Not until this is resolved. Let’s not get into this tonight. You’re exhausted.”

She just stood there as if he’d said a flying saucer had just landed on the lawn. He nudged her, and when she didn’t move, he took her across the glossy wood floor to the stairs and helped her up them. He found the master bedroom and took her across the vibrant rugs, past the colorful bed with purple and red accents to the large tiled bathroom, noticing the splintered wood. His lips tightened.

Yeah, he was definitely going to kill that bastard.

He walked into the open shower and turned on the water. Immediately, nozzles in the wall and just above him started spraying water.

He helped her out of the leather jacket, his fingers catching in the fishnet as he went. Her skin was prickled with goosebumps, and he couldn’t help noticing the stiff tips of her nipples outlined beneath the horse bodies on the bra.

“Get undressed and into the shower,” he told her, meeting her gaze.

She gave a jerky nod, and he turned and left the bathroom to give her privacy to strip naked and step into the shower. Less than a minute later he heard a soft sound and turned to look back at her. Still fully clothed, she was looking down at her bloodied hands and plucking at the severed mess.

“He ruined my body suit. I’ve had this…forever.” She blinked, her eyes going glassy, filling with tears.

He reacted because she looked so upset and on the verge of a total meltdown. He went back inside the bathroom. Pushing her hands aside, he was lost for a second. The mesh was severed just in the area where she’d been slashed, partly intact on the right-hand side. No zipper, no buttons, no snaps, no nothing, and not enough stretch. What kind of witchcraft had she used to get into this thing?

“Damn, woman,” he muttered. “I can break down a firearm and put it back together in minutes, but—” Then something gave way, a loose thread at the ragged edge just at her ribcage and suddenly the whole top of it was unraveling right into his hands.

“Oh,” she whispered, watching it come apart, tears dripping off her chin.

“Oh, shoot.” This was incredible. With a handful of black thread and more falling off of her every second, trying to control the release only accelerated the process. It was like the endless scarf clowns pulled out of their sleeves, only this wasn’t funny…at all.

In less than a minute, he was left holding a whole lot of ruined fishnet, and she was left with just the seam of what had once been mesh.

He definitely needed a buffer. At this point, her skirt was keeping up the rest below her waist, but he was able to remove the partially undone upper part off her. He stepped closer and slipped his hands around her to reach the zipper to her skirt, sliding it down her endlessly long legs, trying not to notice that the skimpy matching thong was all that covered her. Without preamble, he cupped his hand under her armpits and lifted her right out of the circle of suede.

She made a surprised gasp, and the sound of it tightened every muscle in his body. He set her down on the vanity chair and knelt down, removing her cool boots and setting them aside.

Then he reached up and grasped the ragged edges of the fishnet, and she lifted up her bottom as he rolled the mesh down her legs and off her feet.

Standing again, he pulled her back up, too, unclasped her bra, and let it fall to the floor. Fuck him. Fuck him hard but she had pierced nipples, tiny bat wings hanging from a metal bar through each engorged tip. That little triangle of silk going next, and one glance at her completely naked had his dick swelling, her shadowed cleft cleanly shaven. Up to that point he’d managed to remain detached and focused on undressing Kia as fast as possible, and even though his brain tried to remain neutral like Switzerland, his body obviously had a mind of its own.

He tried to remove the collar, but she protested and turned her head. Leaving that alone at her agitation, he didn’t want to upset her; he wanted to soothe her.

Ignoring the tightening ache in his groin, he guided Kia into the shower, a surge of hot need tightening his balls and making his thick dick flex. Her tight, sweet backside had a simple tat on one side, a heart with forty in the center and a colorful fairy with purple hair sitting on a crescent moon on the back of her shoulder. So it hadn’t been a rumor. He positioned her beneath the multiple nozzles. She dropped her head as the water hit her and sluiced down her trembling body.

Knowing he couldn’t leave her alone, he toed off his boots and removed his jeans. Keeping his boxer briefs on as a flimsy barrier to all that dark beauty, he walked into the shower with her. Wrapping his arms securely around her from behind, he pulled her as close as two bodies could get in one space.

She was rigid and unyielding at first, dealing with her trauma in her own way. He reached down and grabbed her hands and lifted them to the spray, gently washing off the blood with his fingers. She relaxed her back against his chest as the water cascaded over her shoulders and between their bodies.

Without warning, she turned against him, releasing a soft, shuddering sigh, trusting him to keep her safe and protected.

He vowed he would.

Her release of tension had been his plan, yet he hadn’t figured in the intimacy of the situation once he’d gotten her to this point. Now she was burrowed close with her head on his shoulder and her lips mere inches away from his neck. Then there was the soft cushion of her breasts pressing against his bare chest, and the exquisite feel of her silky-smooth belly and supple thighs aligning so perfectly with his.

Despite his best efforts to remain unaffected, arousal thrummed heavily through his veins. His dick pulsed with need, and he was grateful that he’d worn his underwear, which was the only thing keeping his raging hard-on confined and under a semblance of control.

Needing some kind of distraction, he swept his hands up the provocative curve of her spine and beneath the fall of her hair. The heavy strands were wet, and the nape of her neck was like satin. Gathering her hair, he gently tipped her head back so that the spray soaked her hair. With a low, appreciative moan, she closed her eyes and lifted her chin even more, so that the water cascaded over her face, down her slender throat, and across the generous rise of her breasts.

She looked so incredibly sensual, like a water nymph with her sleek, wet skin and the ribbons of steam swirling all around her. His gaze took in her slightly parted lips, then slid along her jaw—and came to a stop on the deepening bruise from the base of her jaw to the top of her cheekbone.

He’d make the bastard suffer for that.

He couldn’t stem the surge of anger that gripped him anew—directed at the man who’d terrorized her, at himself for not staying detached when he was the rock, the calmest man in the platoon.

The thought that she could have been hurt a lot worse, nearly choked him on a fresh wave of anguish and relief. Without thinking, he lifted his hand and gently stroked his fingers along the bruise. Her skin was so soft, so delicate and fragile, and he couldn’t help but kick himself for not getting there sooner and saving her from that horrible trauma.

“I’m sorry, Kia,” he rasped, his voice sounding like rough sandpaper. “So, so sorry.”

She brought her head back down, and the water-spiked lashes lifted, revealing beautiful silver eyes that were far more lucid than they’d been ten minutes ago. Her face was flushed with warmth, and she met his gaze with a small smile that was so incredibly sweet and guileless.

“I’m better. You were right about the shower,” she said, misunderstanding his apology for remorse.

“I should have been there sooner; stopped it before it happened.”

As they stood beneath the pelting spray, a slow, seductive awareness gradually took hold. He could feel the subtle change in Kia from relaxed to aroused in how she shifted against him and the way her flattened palms slid around his waist and up the slope of his spine. He watched as she licked droplets of water from her bottom lip, and felt himself respond to the desire darkening her eyes. His erection throbbed and ached, the material of his briefs too tight and confining against his stiff dick.

“Wes…” she whispered, the one word filled with a wealth of emotion that struck a chord deep within him, too. “You saved me. You were magnificent.” Eyes closing, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Her mouth was soft and yielding, a heavenly temptation he couldn’t resist, so he didn’t even try. Her lips parted, and he accepted the invitation to deepen the connection to slide his tongue inside and curl around hers, dragging her into a hunger so dark and hot he burned with the intensity of it.

He wrapped his fingers in the leather, the spikes poking his palm and pulled her up to her toes, kissing her with a fierce urgency borne of knowing that she was truly okay and unharmed. He kissed her with an abundance of relief and gratitude and something else far more profound that echoed in the farthest recesses of his soul—an emotional, intimate bond that rocked the foundation of the solitary man he’d always been.

Driven by pure sensation, encouraged by the uninhibited way her fingers dug into the muscles bisecting his back and the arch of her hips against his, Wes backed her up against the shower stall, pressed the length of his body along Kia’s lush curves, careful of her cut and ravished her mouth with overwhelming need and heat. His craving for her seared through him like an out of control blaze—something that he’d wanted for so damn long.

More. He needed more of Kia. Needed to touch her and taste her and savor every nuance that was uniquely her.

With only that thought in mind, he tore his mouth from hers and trailed his lips along her jaw, licked his way down to the base of her throat where her pulse beat strong and steady. He savored the life of her in the palpitations, knowing what a knife could do in the hands of a professional.

His hot blood ran cold. That was reason enough to not only bring in a buffer, but to keep his mind totally on point. Except she moaned softly and sifted her hands through his wet hair, twisted the strands around her fingers and guided his mouth lower, to the firm swells of her breasts. He followed, his resistance breaking under her dark magic, wanting to make one of his fantasies a reality.

He drew a taut, pierced nipple into his mouth, flicked the rigid tip and metal with his tongue, and sucked her deep and hard. With his hand, he squeezed and kneaded her other breast, traced lazy circles around her areola with his thumb before lightly pinching and rolling the firm, aroused nub between his fingers. She cried out, urging him down.

“Make me feel alive, Wes.” Her voice was nothing but a sensual puff of sound.

With his large hands, he traced the dip of her waist, careful near her cut, the bandaged section and the angry red shallow slash uncovered and marring her delicate skin. He kissed it softly and she pulled at his hair in response to his tenderness.

He cupped her hips, sliding his hands around to the base of her spine and down her perfect ass to the back of her thighs. The feel of her smooth, sleek skin against his palms was a luxury he’d denied himself too long, and he memorized every sensual curve of her body, along with the sweet, uninhibited sighs that accompanied every stroke and touch.

If he thought touching her was pure bliss, then allowing his mouth to follow in the same direction as his hands and tasting her warm, wet skin was like dropping down into heaven. He licked and gently bit his way down to her stomach, and dipped and swirled his tongue in her navel around the iron cross belly button ring. Another erotic moan echoed in the shower, and the slender fingers still wrapped in his hair tugged him lower still.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his heart racing a mile a minute as a heady surge of desire tore through him. Knowing what she wanted, what she needed, he took one of her hands and wrapped her fingers around the small metal bar built into the shower to help keep herself steady and balanced, then draped one of her legs over his shoulder to give him better access to her.

The water poured down on both of them, and curls of steam immersed them in a sultry warmth as he leaned forward and laved the inside of her thighs, slowly, leisurely, until he reached the very heart of her femininity, he used his tongue to increase her pleasure, her fingers knotting in his hair, her pleasure moaning and sighing out of her. His dick flexed and he fondled himself unable to handle the overwhelming need to be inside her.

That wasn’t going to happen. He took her with heat and possessive intent and she inhaled sharply, jolted against him in shock, then gave herself over to his erotic assault. Before long, he felt her come. He kept her from collapsing with a strong hand pressed to her uninjured stomach. After giving her every last bit of pleasure, he stood back up and braced his hands on the wall on either side of her head, not trusting himself to touch her when he was harder than granite and there was just enough of a thread of his self-control intact.

He lifted his head and looked into her face, expecting to see her sated, but it was clear that he wasn’t the only one who’d had fantasies.

She reached down to his waistband, but he caught her wrist. “Let me,” she whispered, pressing her mouth to his chest.

He shook his head and placed a kiss to the top of her head. “No, Kia. You’ve still got drugs in your system, your reacting to me saving you and this is going way too fast. Do you think you can finish up okay? I’m about at the end of my rope. Don’t push me, darlin’.”

She dropped her head and looked up at him. “You are so honorable. I’d never think about pressuring you.”

Those words hurt. He cupped her face and kissed her long and hard. Then stepped out of the spray.

He opened the linen closet, realizing that this is where she’d hidden herself.

If that guy decided to come finish the job, his life was going to be over.

He pulled out a towel and reached down for his jeans. While she watched, he shucked his boxer briefs and dried off. Then he wrapped the towel around his waist. It was going to be some time before his erection went down enough for him to actually get them on.

Shutting the bathroom door on Kia when he wanted her beneath him was harder than anything he’d done in his life.

Hell, the only easy day was yesterday.

He settled in a purple cowhide chair in the corner of her room, wanting to be close to her. He punched in a number and waited.

“Give me a good reason why you’re calling or I’m busting you down to seaman.”

Cowboy couldn’t help the smile that curved up one side of his mouth. Ruckus sounded like he’d been in some deep REMs. But when he explained the situation, Ruckus was concerned. When Cowboy mentioned Tank, his LT was all for it.

The next call got him the same kind of response. “This better be a fucking emergency,” Tank growled.

“It’s Cowboy, and I need you here in Reddick. I cleared it with LT.”

His voice was immediately clear and intense. “When?”

“Yesterday.”

“What’s up?” Cowboy explained what happened. “I’ll be on the road as soon as I talk to LT. You need anything from your apartment?”

“My shotgun,” he said, his voice flat. Specifically, it was a pistol-gripped Mossberg 12-gauge Cruiser 500 shotgun.

“Got it. I’ll be there by tomorrow.”

“Thanks, man.”

He severed the connection and sat back, trying to relax, working on getting the sensuous memories of Kia out of his head. Dang he wanted her. Knowing he needed to take the edge off, he wrapped his hand around his dick and jacked himself off, hard and heavy into the towel. He was so primed, it didn’t take very long, but the powerful orgasm was all about Kia, the intense pleasure making his back arch as he continued to pump up and down until he felt wrung out. Standing, he slipped into his jeans, the fly snug over his semi-erection. Still aching for her, he went downstairs. He grabbed his case and headed back to her bedroom.

He set the case on her bed and opened it. Nestled inside was his personal Glock. He removed it from the case along with the clip. He jammed it into the magazine and cocked the weapon just as she came out of the bathroom.

Her eyes went wide and dipped from his face to the gun in his hand. Chambering a round signified that he meant business, and she was well aware of that.

“I called a SEAL buddy of mine. He’ll be here tomorrow. In the meantime, you need to get some sleep. How is the pain?”

“It hurts.” He tucked the Glock into the small of his back and walked past her into the bathroom. He dug in her pocket and pulled out the pill bottle they’d given him. He filled a glass at the sink and popped the top, shaking out the prescribed dosage.

He set the pills into her palm and snugged her other hand around the glass.

“Get some sleep, darlin’. I’ll be downstairs.”

Then because he couldn’t look at her without wanting her, he left the room. Triton stayed where he was on her bed, his tail wagging.

Thank God Tank was coming. He really needed a buffer.

He built a fire and got comfortable on the couch, the Glock now in his hand. A few minutes later she came into the room with an oversized T-shirt in her hand. On the front was lettered: Feminine. Beautiful. Powerful.

She reached out, offering the garment. He set down the handgun and pulled the shirt over his head in silence. She had on a pink top depicting a donut and coffee lettered with: Donut Disturb, the shorts a mosaic of donuts and coffee cups. She was freaking adorable.

She bit her lip and stood there, and he sighed. All he wanted to do was take her upstairs, strip her out of that freaking cute get up and make love to her, lose himself, mind and body and soul, in her giving body, her sweet, drugging kisses, and forget about a killer out there stalking her. She was more than a one-night stand lady, more than a body to guard. It was emotionally complicated and freaking personal. And as a result, he couldn’t take the chance that he would lose his edge and his ability to remain focused. Lose those instincts that kept his senses sharp and honed, enabling him to keep her out of danger.

But he also couldn’t refuse her any comfort either. She was still a little out of it, scared and trying to deal with her own trauma. Making room for her on the spacious couch, she came over and plastered herself against him. He reached for the purple fuzzy throw and covered her up.

“Did you take those pills?”

“Yessir,” she said with a salute in her voice. He smiled slightly. “You are very pushy when you’re in protection mode.” Then she snuggled deeper into his embrace and promptly fell asleep.

He tightened his arms around her, listening to the coyotes howl in the distance. Tank would sleep while Cowboy guarded her, and he would sleep while Tank guarded them. He would keep her safe, use every ounce of training he possessed, go the extra mile. They would find out and neutralize this threat.

Then he’d go back to San Diego. Back to duty.