“As a PJ I didn’t think of failure. I’d made it through an elite school designed to train me to be the best, a warrior capable of kicking ass and taking names. More important, I was trained to save lives. There are times when I look back at how I’ve failed, how I didn’t do what I needed to get the job done. I couldn’t save Jason and I didn’t save that woman. I didn’t save them, and the burn inside me…the pain rides my ass every single day.”

-Journal of Dylan Westcott

Man, oh man. He’d gotten himself into it now. Dylan couldn’t believe how things had turned around in a few hours. Thanksgiving evening and he’d become the bodyguard for a smart, hot woman who made his blood fire up in more ways than one. When he’d peeled his lazy ass out of bed this morning he hadn’t guessed where he’d end up.

More than that, he couldn’t believe the emotions that had fired to life inside him. Everything dormant within him, that he’d ignored for more than nine months, had started up again like someone had flipped a switch. Yet none of the feelings hitting him now were comfortable. Not a damned one.

Driving toward his apartment across town with Terra in the seat next to him made him feel restless, ready to crack some heads and take some names. An urgent desire to protect the woman beside him erased the other part of him saying he couldn’t do the job. That Fletch’s faith in him was damn misplaced. Another side of him whispered, though. And the voice wouldn’t leave him alone.

Man up, jerk. Terra needs you. A life is at stake.

He sensed fear within her, despite her efforts to keep it from him and anyone else. Her strength impressed him. She didn’t know him well, yet she’d put her life in his hands. If she was willing to do that, he couldn’t let her down. He couldn’t live with himself if he allowed mistakes of the past to rule his reactions today. Another death on his hands…he couldn’t bare the thought.

“You’re so quiet,” Terra said. She glanced around to look out the back window. “Is someone tracking us?”

“No. I don’t think anyone is following us. Rivers is off the scent for now.”

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath he heard clearly. “Rivers is never off the scent. He’s like something supernatural. Something evil.”

“He’s just a man.”

“A very evil, sociopathic narcissist.”

“That’s bad, but it’s not unbeatable. You beat him once, you can do it again. Tell me how you escaped his clutches the first time. Maybe there’s something we can use in this situation.”

“First, you promised to tell me why you had to chew out Fletch. I don’t like skullduggery.”

He smiled. “I haven’t heard someone your age use that word in a long time.”

“My parents are Irish. I have a passel of old words and ideas at my disposal.”

His grin stayed. “I like that.”

A half smile touched her mouth but she said, “Don’t try and wiggle out of explaining why you jumped in to be my bodyguard and why Fletch wanted you to be my bodyguard in the first place.”

He paused, trying to think of how to avoid the entire conversation, everything he didn’t want to talk about or think about ever again. If he didn’t tell her, though, she would balk and maybe tell him to take a hike.

“Okay.” He stiffened, his temples starting to throb at the idea of confessing. “I’ll give it all to you. From the beginning. I was in Pararescue originally, as you know. I was recruited into Delta, and I’d been Delta for two years when the crap hit the fan. I left the military nine months ago because of it.” He drew in a deep breath and took the plunge straight off the ledge. “I was caught in an explosion while trying to help a friend.”

“Oh, my God. That’s awful. Were you hurt?”

“A concussion. The PTSD, though…that’s been the real bitch. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with my life. I planned to make the military my lifetime career. It’s all I wanted to do.”

“And then the PTSD made it impossible to do your job anymore?”

“Yep.”

“Tell me more.”

He hesitated.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not one of those people who thinks soldiers with PTSD are weak. Or anyone who has PTSD for that matter. I’ve got some of my own.”

He nodded, reassured. “A lot of people don’t realize that PTSD is hardwired in the brain. They think it’s easy to just get over it.”

“I understand. For some people it is easier to get over…it depends entirely on the person. Everyone is different.”

More relief filled him. Maybe she would understand. He didn’t want to tell her what had happened to him, because those freaking emotions might leak out. The ones he didn’t want to deal with anymore. His throat tightened, his heart thumping a little faster despite his belief that she could and would understand.

Come on Westcott. Spill it. She needs to trust you or the excrement really could hit the oscillating device.

“My best friend from high school was a marine,” he said, eyes watering a little. “He had enough horrible experiences during the war that he lost it. I tried to get him help, to find counseling. He wouldn’t go. Then he…he stole some explosive, strapped it to himself. He walked into a dining tent and threatened to blow himself up. He walked out. I ran after him. He set off the explosive.”

Her hand landed on his shoulder, and the burn behind in his eyes started to dissolve under the comfort of her gentle touch.

“That’s…I’m so sorry,” she said softly.

He went on. “I was blown back into the tent with pieces of my friend all over me. Fortunately, no one else near the explosion was hurt. I woke up in the hospital.”

She kept her hand on his shoulder. “Do you…you feel guilty, don’t you?”

His head snapped toward her a second as he took a quick glance at her grave expression. The lump in his throat grew larger every second.

“Yeah, I do.”

“You didn’t make him do it.”

“No, but I didn’t help him either, did I?” She went silent and her hand slipped off his shoulder. He continued after a pause. “His parents never forgave me for not recognizing what was happening to James. I was as close to them as I am my own parents. My parents didn’t blame me for James’s death, but the way his parents reacted to me…well it broke their lifelong friendship.”

“I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Your parents didn’t deserve it. I can only imagine how relieved they must have been that you survived. That you survived the entire war.”

“Did I?”

She went silent for awhile and finally said, “You’re going to beat yourself up for the rest of your life?”

“Maybe.”

He almost looked at her, but instead reminded himself to keep his mind on business. He checked his rearview mirror and took a few turns he didn’t need to in order to make certain they didn’t have a tail.

“Are we okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. No tail. As for what you asked earlier, that’s the same question Fletch has asked me a few times. He..initially when he asked me to be your bodyguard I said no.”

“Because you don’t think you have the skills.”

“Right.”

She sighed. “Well I suppose that should make me feel uncomfortable. But since I’ve known Fletch longer than I’ve known you…I’ll take his word over yours. He trusts your skills and so does Emily. Therefore, I do.”

Oddly enough, a rush of relief flowed through him like a warm, comforting blanket.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, that works in a sort of twisted way.”

“It’s all I’ve got.”

“You trust me?”

“Like I said…yes. Do you trust Fletch?”

“Of course.”

“Then why don’t you believe his assessment of your skills?”

In the silence that dropped down between them, he had to reassess his own thoughts.

He grinned. “Well, shit. You’ve got me there. Do I get any time to think about it?”

She laughed. “Take all the time you want.”

“Man, you’re something else.”

“So I’ve been told.”

When they reached his apartment, he asked her to wait until he could come around to her side of the car. Not because he was trying to be dominant or chivalrous in particular, but because we wanted her glued to his side. His apartment complex was a lot like hers, a three story place with outside entrances to each apartment. Once inside his place, he locked his door and kept the shades pulled. He went back to his bedroom and packed two changes of clothes in case he couldn’t return for a couple of days. He saw his journal lying on the bedside table and contemplated leaving it. But, no. He needed it on most days, and he knew it helped when he wrote in it consistently. He stuffed it in his bag.

When he came back to the living room, she was sitting on the couch with her eyes closed.

“Terra, you okay?”

Her eyes popped open. “I spaced out. I can’t believe I did that.”

He frowned. “Do you feel all right?”

“Just really tired. I think this whole Allan Rivers thing freaked me out more than I realized.”

He sat next to her, the overnight bag at his feet. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll get through this.”

“Just like I did the first two times.”

That hit him right where it counted. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to ward off this bastard. How many women could survive a creep like Allan Rivers and still be this strong?

They locked gazes. A rush of protectiveness mixed with full on admiration inside him.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Terra.”

He believed it down deep where he hadn’t in a long time.

She stayed silent, a mix of disbelief and hope on her face. When she didn’t speak, he knew she hid something. But then so did he. He didn’t plan on telling her that little bit right now. It might freak her out more, and make her run away screaming. If she knew she might not want him protecting her. She stood and went to the mantle over his fireplace.

She touched the pewter frame of a photo. “Is this your parents?”

“Yeah.”

“They don’t look old enough to be your parents.”

“They’d be flattered to hear that. They were young when they had me. Twenty. Right after they both graduated from college.”

“Wow, that is young.”

“Yeah. My mother stayed at home with me while my dad busted his ass off working and going to law school. They’re great parents.”

She sighed. “That’s fantastic. Sounds like my mom and dad…although…”

“What?”

“They’re kind of pushy. They’ve been trying to get me to move to Northern Ireland with them.”

“Ireland? Sounds great.”

“Yes. And no. I love it there but not as a permanent living location. They called the other day and told me they want to live there six months out of the year. It’s a long story, but they left Belfast, Ireland in nineteen eighty-five during the troubles.”

He leaned forward, his interest gaining strength. “That was brave. Coming to a new place. A new country and starting over again.”

She nodded. “Yes, it was. Now that things are better in Northern Ireland, I think they feel more comfortable returning to their roots. I was born here. This is where I belong. They want me with them because I’m their only child.”

“That’s funny.”

“What?”

“I’m an only child, too.”

“Gee, we have something in common,” she said.

“At least one thing.”

“Yeah.”

“Do they know about the stalker?” he asked.

“They were great when he was stalking me…the first two times. Backed me up in every way possible.”

“Do they know what’s happening now?”

She squished up her nose in a cute little way that made his male hormones take notice.

“No. I didn’t mention it when my mother called. I didn’t want to worry them.”

“They’re going to freak when they find out.”

“Probably. Let’s go back to my place.” She patted her stomach. “I can’t believe this, but I’m hungry and we can make dinner.”

“We? You’re assuming I have any cooking abilities.”

“Do you?”

He smiled. “Hell, no.”

They settled on takeout, because Terra didn’t feel confident in her cooking either. Or rather, she didn’t feel up to cooking. They grabbed Vietnamese food at a drive through that was actually open on a holiday and made it back to her apartment. Once inside her place, sprawled in a chair at the dining table, she relaxed a little. But not much.

Now that she sat with Dylan, eating a meal, she felt…well…awkward. At first she didn’t know why. Maybe his duffle bag on the floor next to her couch, or his big body in the chair across the table. The scary situation with Allan didn’t diminish the sheer sexual sizzle she felt every time she looked at Dylan. Dylan’s vulnerability when he’d spoke of his friend’s death had cut to her core. She’d watched the struggle on his face, the sheen of tears in his eyes. It blew her away that he’d revealed all of that to her, and frankly she found it amazing he’d told so much to her on such short acquaintance. Yet his willingness to expose his history had also moved her toward trusting him that much more.

You do trust him. You wouldn’t let him sleep on your couch otherwise.

True. Very true.

She wondered if he had a girlfriend tucked away somewhere. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean anything. She’d have to ask him. No way he was staying with her if he was married or had a girlfriend.

God girl. Why didn’t you think of that before?

Dylan looked down at his bowl, eating slowly and neatly. His dark hair fell over his forehead and across his cheek, thick and glossy. When looked up and caught her gaze, heat burned in her face. His thickly-lashed dark eyes were so damn gorgeous. He took her breath away.

He lifted eyebrows. “What is it? Have I got food between my teeth?”

“Uh, no.” She grinned, feeling the burn of embarrassment in her face. “I was wondering what you looked like when you were a soldier. I mean, without the longer hair and the beard.”

He rubbed his chin. “A few days of not shaving. Pure laziness.” He rubbed his face and winced. His phone lay on the table, and he picked it up. “I’ll show you what I looked like.”

He messed with his phone and then turned it around to show her. It was a photo of him in his desert camouflage uniform, which in no way hid his muscled body entirely. In this picture he didn’t have on a helmet. He stood with several men, probably other Pararescue. They all had a typical military cut hair and clean shaven faces. In some ways he looked like two entirely different guys, both ruggedly handsome and ripped. Pure female appreciation stirred in her belly and warmed her entire body. The man was hot. No too ways about it.

“Great photo,” she said.

He smiled as she handed the phone back. “Thanks.”

She pushed herself to ask the question. “You’re not married, are you?”

His brow creased a bit. “No.” He paused only a moment before adding, “No girlfriend either.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want a significant other getting the wrong idea about you staying here.”

“Makes sense. But if I’m with a woman she knows she’s the only one. I’m loyal. I wouldn’t cheat on a girlfriend.”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him a moment.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Sorry, I think I’ve let my experiences with Allan Rivers color a lot of my thoughts about men. I shouldn’t but…” She shrugged.

He finished his meal and pushed aside his plate. “It’s okay. I get it. He’s made it hard for you to trust.”

“Yeah. I need to get over it.” She yawned. “Oh, my God. I’m tired. I’d stay up and talk, but I think I just want sleep.”

She rose from the table, and so did he. They put their plates away in the dishwasher.

“I’ll get you some bed linens,” she said, and hustled to the closet in the hallway.

He went into the bathroom while she stacked a couple of thick blankets, a sheet and a large pillow on the couch for him to arrange as he saw fit.

When he came out of the bathroom with his grooming it in hand, she saw his hair was a little wet along the hairline. He’d pulled off his sweater and a dark long sleeved t-shirt hugged broad shoulders, muscular chest and arms.

“Two blankets enough?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” He started making his bed on the couch. “I run hot.”

Do you ever.

“Do me a favor, okay?” he asked. “Be sure to lock your bedroom door.”

His statement took her off guard, and she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

He stopped and turned to her. “I’m not saying he could or he will, but if Allan gets through me, I’d feel better knowing there’s a locked door between you and him.” He frowned. “Better yet, what can you use for a weapon in this house?”

“Baseball bat under my bed. But maybe I’ll prop it up right by the bed. I have a knife in my bedstead drawer, too.”

“Excellent. We can’t take any chances.”

The impact of his statement hit her right between the eyes. For a moment she felt as stunned as if he’d said something truly life altering. Of course, he hadn’t. It only made sense, but the possibility of Allan hurting him or killing him and coming for her made everything inside her seize up. He cupped her shoulders, and she had to look up into those dark, intense eyes.

“Whoa, don’t look at me like that,” he said.

“Like what?”

“As if I just punched you in the stomach.”

“I don’t want to imagine Allan hurting you, or me being in that room knowing that he’s coming after me.”

He rubbed her shoulders a moment before releasing her. “I know. I didn’t bring this all up to scare you.”

She nodded. “I get it. And I appreciate the fact you thought of it. It’s a good idea.” They stared at each other a moment before she tore her gaze from his. “I hate this.”

“What?”

“That Allan still has this much control over me. I hate it.”

“I’m sorry. The fact any man…any person would do this to another human makes me angry.”

“And now you’re caught up in it. Just because someone twisted your arm.”

He turned and continued working on his bed. “Fletch twisted my arm, yes. But I still could’ve said no. It isn’t as if he’s paying me. I wanted to do it.”

“Not at first.”

“No. But now that I know you, I can’t imagine not wanting to help.”

She let that hang there, marveling a bit at the words. “Okay, well, thank you. I feel better now that you’re here.” She started toward the hallway. “Feel free to get anything in the fridge you might want later. Or watch TV.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll read.”

She paused at the end of the hallway. “What’s on your nightstand?”

“Latest political thriller. What’s on yours?”

Her face heated, and she hated the reaction. “A historical romance.”

She waited, absolutely sure he’d poke fun as most men did if you told them you read romance novels. Instead his expression didn’t change.

“What time period?” he asked.

Oh, God. He’s really asking me more about this?

“Medieval Scotland.”

“Excellent. Reminds me of the genealogy my mother is doing on our family.”

“Your ancestry is Scottish?”

“And Irish.”

Another yawn cracked her jaw. “Oh, God. I think I’m going to pass out any minute. Who knew that Thanksgiving could be so exhausting?”

“‘Night, then.”

She took a shower and when she retreated to her bedroom and locked the door, she yawned for a third time. She wondered if she’d have a hard time sleeping that night, but she fell into dreams about Dylan wearing a Scottish kilt and nothing else.