“Is she dead?”

“No, somebody intervened. I was trying to make it look like a mugging. Your instructions.”

“What? You’re a fuck up! This is the second time you’ve missed her. Who was this somebody?”

“I don’t know, but he was big, lethal and trained. I’d say special ops.”

“Special ops? Son of a bitch!” It was only going to be a matter of time before they traced the hacking to her and when that happened, she would figure out who had been behind hiring her. Panic crawled up his spine. He would lose everything. “I want her dead! I can’t afford for you to miss her again. Get it done, or I’ll get someone else who will do it.”

“The big guy is hanging around, but I’ll get her. No one escapes from me.”

“Call me when it’s over, and we’ll make arrangements for payment. Are you sure you have to have it in cash?”

“Yes. It keeps me completely off the radar. Cash.”

“No more screw ups.”

“Nope, consider the problem solved.”

He slammed the phone down just as his assistant came through the door. “Is everything okay?” she asked when she saw his face.

He schooled his features into blank lines. “Yes, everything is fine.” Or it would be when Kia Silverbrook aka Quicksilver was terminated. “What’s up?”

“The White House wants you.”

“On my way.”

* * *

Before he’d let her leave the house, he did a perimeter check, and she indulged his need to make sure it was safe for her to be outside. She had said she wasn’t clingy, but, man, she wanted those arms around her as they stepped onto the porch. She felt marginally better that Triton was right beside her. He would alert her to any danger with his heightened senses.

But still, her skin prickled with fear, residual from her break-in and almost being gutted earlier. It felt like every day of her life when she left the safe nest she’d built for herself to venture out into the world to expose herself to its ridicule, the reinforcement that she didn’t belong in normal, that her normal was beyond the here and now in the dark, shadowy ever after where people like her thrived.

She didn’t know how to be anything than what she was and that person never seemed to quite fit in.

Wes turned toward her when she hesitated. She wanted to be brave, be the kind of woman that deserved a man like Wes, link into this existence. The kind of man that so belonged here. She pushed back at her fear and took a step. He extended his hand, that small gesture made her chest explode with newfound admiration for this big, tough guy. He had the presence of mind to understand how she was feeling and had the sensitivity to offer this small gesture to show her that she wasn’t alone.

She clasped it with a slight smile, and he gave her hand a quick, tight squeeze, walking close together to the barn. She’d been okay with leaving the horses out for one night. It was still warm in Reddick and would be for a couple more months. But by this time, the hay would have been depleted and her guys loved getting their daily ration of grain.

“The stalls are already cleaned. I did them yesterday. We’ll just need to tidy up the corral, but we can do that when they are eating.” Kia let Wes open the gate because she was the one who sensed he needed to do that for her, needed all these physical gestures to make up for what had happened to her. None of this was his fault, of course, but Wes was the type of man to take on that responsibility. She bet he made an amazing SEAL.

“What are their names?”

“Quicksand is the buckskin, Twilight Star, the paint, and that gorgeous appaloosa is Saragon.”

“Saragon?”

“Yeah, I think it sounds like a dragon, so fierce and loyal. He likes shiny things, too.” He was looking at her in a way that made her stomach flip flop. “I always take Quicksand first. He can be feisty.” He clucked and approached the buckskin easily, clipping the halter lead on him. He took them into the barn one by one.

“Any other ways to get into the barn?”

“Yes, a back door through the tack room, but I usually keep that locked. I’ll check it out, the loft, too, then we’ll get to the horses.” The dog went to follow him, and she realized that if Triton was already this attached to him, Wes sure had some major alpha mojo going on. “Stay, boy. Watch,” he said and Triton, settled down in front of the big open doorway. It’d be hard to sneak up on them with Triton on duty.

“I’ll get the grain ready.”

“All right, but don’t hurt yourself. If it’s too painful, wait for me.”

She nodded, and he disappeared into the back. As she grabbed the three feed buckets from the stalls and set them near the large container that held the grain, her wound protested as she opened the bin top and she stopped, holding her side momentarily, allowing the pain to subside.

Wes came down from the loft and saw her. “Kia,” he said with censure. “Don’t make me hogtie you, woman.” Grabbing her shoulders, he steered her to a hay bale that was up against the fourth unused stall where she kept several bales of hay so she wouldn’t have to get it from the loft above. She stacked it weekly to save time.

“It might be interesting to see you try,” she said, the words just coming out in a husky tone she hadn’t known she’d possessed. God, the way he’d grabbed her collar yesterday and brought her up to his mouth…she had to breathe around the sudden arousal.

His whiskey eyes heated, and he gave her a don’t-go-there look.

She gave him her first set of innocent eyes and then said “What?” very fast in a high-pitched voice. Yeah, he probably thought she was a freak, too. Maybe he wasn’t into her piercings, maybe they turned him off, and he was just trying to let her down easy. But the way he’d kissed her, devoured her with that clever mouth of his couldn’t really be denied. She’d been there, and she’d felt him unraveling. Maybe losing control scared him the most. It scared most people, except for Kia. She realized that having control was an illusion, accepting that might be the weirdest thing about her.

She leaned back against the wood, giving into her need to rest some more. She couldn’t pretend this hadn’t happened early this morning, that her world hadn’t been altered. That now she was entangled in the worse way and best way with Wes McGraw.

He prepared the feed buckets to her specifications, his movements natural as if he hadn’t been gone from ranching for ten years.

“What’s this guy’s story?” He rubbed Quicksand’s muzzle, and he snuffled into Wes’s hand.

“I got him at an auction. I don’t know much about him except he’s a handful and gets ridden the least because he’s a headstrong jerk.”

He chuckled. “You a pain in the butt, buddy?” Wes said, as he set the bucket inside and Quicksand dipped his head in. “Most horses just need to do what they were born to do. Maybe he was a cow pony? Needs to ride the herd to feel like he’s earning his keep.”

“I don’t have any cows. Just the Notorious C.A.T. and Triton.” Wes chuckled. She had plenty of names for BFA. Oh, yeah, and she suspected she would find more. “And, that dog wants to herd as well as being a great guard dog. Maybe he’s just too much horse for me.”

“Maybe. I was surprised to see that you had horses. You didn’t ride in high school. Where did you learn?”

Oh, man, here they were getting into her terrible secret territory, and she wasn’t ready to tell him anything about it, rock his world or his past. She wasn’t sure how he would take it, but she was sure of one thing. It wouldn’t be good or an “in stride” thing for him. Maybe then he’d lose some of that restraint that had him locked up. “I took lessons. I had a great teacher, but I was in love with horses long before I ever rode one.” Keeping the particulars vague worked for her, but she felt guilty for not telling him the truth. “Mostly because of you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. The way you talked about ranching stuff always involved Sunshine—Sunny.”

“A cowboy and his horse have a strong bond.” He rubbed Quicksand’s forehead before moving on to the next stall. “Saragon, huh? It does sound very regal. You have fanciful notions, Kia, that is for sure.” He hung the appaloosa’s bucket, and he dug in.

She felt her cheeks heat. Was he making fun of her? “I live in my own little world.”

He turned to look at her, maybe her defensive voice gave her away, and she bit her lip, squirming a little at his scrutiny. “Did you think I was funnin’ you?”

He came over and crouched down. “You wouldn’t be the first one to have something to say about my clothes, or my piercings, or my fanciful names.” Damn, but he looked good in the morning with that dark stubble. Typical of men in Texas who worked the range, he didn’t go anywhere without his hat. It was pulled low and set his thickly-lashed eyes in shadow, but she could see clearly that he was sincere. And, she should try not to focus so much on his mouth, but the ruggedness the stubble gave to his face emphasized those full lips, the hat accentuating not only his sculpted mouth, but her weak spot—the dark hair that curled just behind Wes’s ear.

“I was just making a comment is all.”

Not that she would apologize for who she was. That would be like admitting she might as well disappear. Normal was her goal. Just try to be normal. If only she knew how.

“Here’s the thing, Kia. You’re the most authentic person I’ve ever met. In a world of conformity, it’s easy to act the same as anyone else. But people want real. We’re starving for realness. So you name your horses anything you like.”

“Even if I think lizard people run the government?”

He chuckled and rose, going to Twilight and hanging the bucket for him, his back to her. She held her side as she pushed herself up from the hay bale. He was the most patient of the three of them. When Wes turned, he almost ran her over. An instant later, two strong hands palmed her waist and steadied her. He looked into her eyes, “I might have to agree with you there.”

There was no need to say that putting his hands on her was not the way to steady her at the moment, but she was too busy trying to rally her thoughts away from imagining him manhandling her like this while they were both naked and tangled in tousled sheets.

Or up against the shower tiles. There it was, that hot memory between them. The unfulfilled, aching memory. His head dipped, and his mouth hovered close to hers without touching. It was excruciating as the silence stretched out and the awareness expanded until the intimacy was screaming for contact, begging for release.

He shuddered and stepped away. “I think some people in government are as cold-blooded as lizards.”

The moment over, they left the barn. For the rest of the day, Wes drove her around to her errands, watching diligently for any kind of danger. This must have been what he was like on patrol, and it was daunting to think he could be so intense for so long, like maintaining that kind of focus wouldn’t be exhausting. But Wes didn’t seem to tire of his hypervigilance. They picked up his luggage from the rental, and she called Sally Jean to let her know to check him out, so his card wouldn’t be charged. She was relieved that it went to her voice mail, not prepared for her twenty questions.

Back at home, she was starting to feel pretty tired and sore. So, she popped some of those pain pills.

“Is there anything else you need me to do? Besides dinner in an hour? Tank should be here close to one.”

Tank again. What kind of name was that for a man? How intimidating was it already? She was going to have two hypervigilant SEALs in her house. Two alpha males and she was already drowning in males at the moment with three horses, Triton and Catzilla.

“Yes, I need you to wash my delicates and then I was planning on changing my polish today.”

“It still hurts to bend over at the waist?”

“Yes, too much for me to reach my toes.”

“I’ve got you covered. Where are the…delicates?”

“In a white mesh bag hanging on the doorknob in my bathroom. I usually wash them in the dual sinks. One for suds, the other for rinsing then set them in there to dry.

She went up the stairs with Wes behind her and Triton trailing her. “You can rest while I do this. You look beat.”

“I am a little tired,” she admitted as BFA came charging down the stairs and out the cat door as if his tail was on fire. “That animal is crazy,” she muttered. When she got to her room, she let out a stream of curses. Bending down with a grimace and a soft groan of pain, she picked up the ruined lace panties. “That damn Lucifurr.” She had been too distracted to make sure all her stuff had been dumped in the hamper. I’m trying not to feel hurt because it is obvious that BFA likes you, Wes. Genuinely likes you. But he’s clawed up another one of my garments and still acts like I’m the opposite of catnip.” She threw her hands in the air. “I’m catnot.”

He rubbed her back. “No, you’re not. Have you thought he might feel threatened by you?”

“How? All I’ve done is feed him and enjoy the little dead treats he leaves on my front porch. I’ve given him a home, the ungrateful monster.”

Wes went into the bathroom, and Kia followed him. “You’re an orphan. He’s an orphan, and maybe he’s latched on to Triton as his territory. Maybe he thinks you’re going to take away his home base.”

“I never thought of that.” Triton made a soft sound in his throat as if in sympathy. She sat down on the vanity chair, and Triton settled down next to her. She looked down at the dog and sighed. “Am I bogarting you, Tri?”

“Why did you name him Triton?”

Her head came up, and Wes’s reflection in the mirror under the bright lights of the bathroom took her breath away as usual. It was tough being in here with him when this room was the location of that heated memory that still hung between them.

“I also noticed that forty plays a prominent place in your life. The Back Forty, the number forty spelled out on top of your cabinets, and the heart on your backside with forty inside it.”

Her mouth went a little dry. She couldn’t expect a smart man like Wes not to make the connection. She shrugged in a nonchalant lift of her shoulders. “Forty is a mystical number, a master number and you find it a lot everywhere.”

Oh, ho, he was calling her out. She met his smart-ass eyes dead on. She gave him a smirk and started to tick things off her fingers. The saying, “Life begins at forty,” the expression “forty winks,” the highest number counted in Sesame Street, many references in the Bible, like “forty days and forty nights,” the standard number of hours in a work week, the number of weeks of a woman’s pregnancy, the number of spaces on a Monopoly game board, the—”

“My jersey number in football.”

Her eyes fluttered and went all innocent again. “Really? I don’t remember. You didn’t even let me get to the math stuff.”

He dumped out the bag, and she lost him for a moment as he looked at her collection of lacy, racy unmentionables.

He took a deep breath as if he was trying to gain his voice again. After a few more moments, he said, “Yeah, it all adds up. The name “Triton” is also very closely related to the sea, our trident and, therefore, symbolic of us.” Triton raised his head at the sound of his name. Wes’s voice had gotten tight, but his ability to focus on the conversation and deal with his obvious addiction to looking at her underclothes was admirable.

“And here I thought men had one track minds and couldn’t multitask.”

He met her eyes in the mirror. “I can multitask, darlin’, better than you know.” His voice went soft and deep. “I can also one-track mind it until the cows come home. Don’t change the subject.”

Oh, my. Was it getting hot in here? She gathered her hair and pinned it up on the top of her head, so many tendrils falling down, but she didn’t care. She was feeling no pain now. The meds were damn good.

“The subject was supposed to be you handling my delicate washing because you were being a high-handed, pushy…man.”

“That so? I stand corrected.” Damn, could his shoulders be any broader? That wide back tapering down to his slim waist. She already knew the ridges of his hard, six-pack abs and his flat belly was just a lift of his T-shirt away. His butt. Wow, tight and firm, filling out those Wranglers to full and distracting capacity. She’d seen him naked. He’d stripped right in front of her. The contours of his body were etched in her mind with laser beam strength. She’d never seen such a well-muscled, delineated torso in her life. “We’ll have to defer the “forty” discussion for some time later.”

And, the part of him that made him male—thick, engorged and jutting up against that flat stomach. His equipment was as large and beautifully proportioned as the man who owned it.

Oh, poo. He wasn’t going to let it go. Well, she would work at tying him into knots so that he wouldn’t be able to get back to his football jersey. Even though he was completely, one hundred percent accurate about her obsession with the number forty and her ill-advised and drunken-decision tat on her backside.

“Christ,” he whispered when he’d filled both sinks and added the soap she used to keep her hand wash items clean. He fingered a studded and punk rock inspired camisole. “I wear that spiked collar with that one.” Her voice was low and seductive, the wordless promise in her eyes to him was that she would wear it for him. You couldn’t talk about that kind of piece without getting a little turned on.

“How do I wash this?” he asked, his voice sounding strangled, meeting her heated eyes in the mirror. She could see her own arousal reflected back at her. She was sure Wes could, too.

“Immerse it and move it around with your fingers.” She rose and went to stand next to him. His hands were big and strong. She would have thought it would have been difficult for such a virile man to manage it. “Easy.” She slipped her thumb between his closed fist, caressing his palm. “Don’t grasp it.”

She ducked under his arm and set her hands over the backs of his, her spine and butt curled against his chest and groin, the pain meds were mellowing her out and her need to be close to Wes was just too overwhelming to feign. “Gently, so you don’t break off any of the studs.” He slowed his movement, and she closed her eyes, inhaled a deep breath and let it out real slow, trying her best to ignore the erotic thoughts drifting through her mind. Another long, slow breath as she relaxed and enjoyed touching him, those big, capable hands of his that had touched her so gently. How could she be surprised that he would have a problem washing her dainty articles?

“Okay, now just squeeze out the excess water.” She ran her soapy, slick fingers over his knuckles and up his wrist. “Now set it in the rinse water.” He followed her directions.

“What about these…bras.” His voice sounded winded.

“Bralets.”

“Huh?”

“They’re bralets, the flimsy cousin to bras. They have no support.”

“Then why wear them? Isn’t that the purpose…ah…of bras?”

She smiled at him in the mirror, his expression of confusion was so endearing. Poor, sweet, dumb men. “I’m sure you remember I’m not exactly hugely endowed in that respect and to be perfectly honest about it, I hate underwires and thick bras. They always make me feel like I’m trying to enhance what I have which I’m not. I like my breasts just the way they are.”

“They’re as beautiful as you are,” he whispered. She rubbed at the underside of his wrists with her thumbs, enjoying the feel of him around her.

She so wanted to respect his no sex rule. She did, but it was clear that they both wanted to explore each other from head to toe. It was clear what Wes wanted. It was also clear from the stubborn cant to his chin that he was the most controlled man she’d ever met. Then, when she thought he would continue with the task, he closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair and breathed deep. “Jesus, Kia.”

This was torturing him and her. She hated that she was making it more difficult for him. With a quick movement, she ducked back under his arm and his eyes opened as she moved away. “I’m sorry, Wes. It’s just so hard to keep my distance. But I promise I’ll try harder.”

He swore like…well…like a sailor.

“You probably don’t even want to kiss me. It’s probably the piercing. Not many guys like the lip ring. A turn—”

He pivoted abruptly as if he had finally gotten to the end of his rope. He curled his damp hand around the nape of her neck, the coolness of it barely soothing the heat he had already generated. His mouth came down on hers harder than he’d ever kissed her like he was making a point. His fingers buried in her hair, he pressed her up against the vanity with his hard, undeniably aroused body. With a low growl encompassing both frustration and urgent need, he slanted his mouth across hers and sank his tongue deep, kissing her just as recklessly as he had the night before. His mouth promised sin and unrestrained, bodily pleasure and she matched him stroke for stroke, chasing his tongue with her own, letting him know that she was with him all the way.

The feverish intensity between them was sizzling hot, the strength and immediacy of her arousal making her knees weak. She slid her arms around his waist and skimmed her hands down to cup his buttocks through soft, worn denim. The muscles tightened under her palms, and the long, hard length of him pushed insistently against the crux of her thighs. She felt the bite of his belt buckle against her hip, but she was too swamped with the desire and need coiling tighter within her to care about the minor discomfort.

His cell went off, the ringing as insistent as his mouth. He hesitated, then curled his tongue around the lip ring, then his lips sucked her right there as he drew away, her bottom lip still in his grip until he finally let go. The message was pretty clear that her piercings turned him on.

“Fuck,” his breathing ragged. He set his forehead against hers, then pulled out the cell. “Damn, it’s Tank. Probably checking in. Why don’t you go lie down?” he said. “I’ll finish up here.”

She nodded. “All the lacy stuff gets set on the drying rack, the knit tops just need to be reshaped and dried flat, including the studded camisole.”

“Okay.” His eyes followed her as she exited the bathroom.

Feeling unsatisfied and grumpy, she left the room. Stretching out on her bed, she closed her eyes. All her stuff for the pedicure was on her nightstand. She woke several minutes later when she felt him removing the polish. Then he lifted her and set her on the vanity, gently placing her feet into a pan of warm water. When her nails were clean and buffed, he painted on the deep red color she’d chosen.

After that she went downstairs with him, and he made dinner. Once they’d finished eating, he built up the fire, and she fell asleep again until Triton startled her awake, alerting them someone was on the porch. Wes picked up his gun and went to the door, peering out onto the porch at the huge silhouette there.

He relaxed and then opened the door. “Fuck, this place is tucked out of the way,” a deep voice said as he came into the foyer. Then Wes moved and, holy hell. Now she understood why his call name was Tank.

It was hard to miss that he was big, it was also hard to miss that his features were drop dead gorgeous, but dangerous at the same time. There was no doubt in her mind that this man was a SEAL through and through, alpha to the core. The way he handled Triton was masterful, his confident energy, telling her dog this was someone who was in charge.

With a face leaner and more angular than Wes’s, he had a wide forehead, heavy dark brows over thick-lashed, mesmerizing dark brown eyes with a bone-deep confidence radiating out of every pore. His black hair was shaved on the sides and long and wavy on top, almost punkish as if he knew what it was like to wear his hair in a mohawk and like it. His mustache was more pronounced, with a light beard coating a strong jaw as dark as his hair. He looked rough and ready, a carved slab of granite, even after twenty odd hours in the car.

He was tall, at least six four, his massive arms and shoulders bigger than Wes’s, but his waist was tight and lean, the plain black T-shirt he wore was flat against his stomach, the sleeves straining at his bulging biceps. He had a tattoo on his upper arm that she couldn’t quite make out.

“Petty Officer Thorn Hunt, also known as Tank, this is Kia Silverbrook.”

He stopped moving when he saw her sitting like a deer caught in the headlights of an incredibly beautiful Mack truck barreling toward her.

He stared at her as if he was absorbing her. Her attention cut to Wes, and even though it was clear he was trying to keep it under wraps, it was evident he didn’t like the way Tank was looking at her.

“I pegged it, Cowboy.” He grinned at Wes. “She’s a freaking babe.” He reached out his big hand, all but engulfing hers. “Kia, pleased to meet you. The cavalry is here, ma’am.” There was something else about him; he was a gentle giant, his handshake brief and warm. She couldn’t help but like him right away.

“You must be exhausted and hungry,” she managed as Wes was now openly scowling. She thought it was cute and wonderful that he was acting so…proprietary. She wondered what kind of relationship these two men had.

“We ate an hour ago.”

“We?”

“I have a Military Working Dog with me.” He bent down and fondled Triton’s head, his hand huge.

“Tank’s our dog handler.”

“I’ve heard of that. What’s his name?”

“Echo. It’s best that we introduce them outside and preferable by walking them in neutral territory before housing them in the same space. It’ll allow them to bond as a pack before I introduce Echo to your home. He’s well-behaved, but this is Triton’s turf. I have a portable kennel for him as well.”

They took care of the walk, both dogs a bit agitated at first, but she kept a firm hand on Triton, and Tank was amazing with the compact, beautiful Belgian Malinois. The brisk walk felt good, and back home, she entered first followed by Cowboy, then Triton. After that, Tank entered, then Echo. Both animals settled down near the fire. “I can show you to the guest room, then. You must be tired.”

He looked back at Wes. “I ain’t here for no damn garden party.” The meaning was lost on her, but Wes, even with the scowl, looked amused.

“I’m sure that’s some kind of SEAL speak.” She rose and said, “The guest room is this way.”

He followed her out of the room and past the stairs.

She opened the door, and he smiled. “Nice room, great view.”

“Yeah. The bathroom is right through that door, linens are in the closet, towels, extra blankets, etc. Please make yourself at home and help yourself to the kitchen.” Yeesh this guy was so big. He filled the doorway. She was starting to feel better after all.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank you for coming here and helping me. It’s much appreciated.” They went back out to the living room. “All right. I’ll go to bed. You guys look like you want to talk. Good night, Wes. Mr.…ah…Hunt.”

“Call me Tank.”

She nodded. She looked at Wes one more time before she went up the stairs. She’d already showed him his guest room, sandwiched between her bedroom and home office on the upper level. It felt strange to have people in the house, men at that. Gorgeous men. Tank might be attractive, but her heart had belonged to Wes—Cowboy for a long time. Their eyes met and her body ached. She’d miss sleeping close to him tonight.