Fucking damn.

He sat in the cab of his pickup, looking down from the rugged road that wound into this part of the mountains, hidden from view as he stared at the cabin through binoculars. Of all the asshole rotten luck. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could have done to prevent this. Not without exposing himself, anyway.

He’d hope the information about her coming back here to do a story was someone’s imagination. But no. Hell, no. She’d shown up wearing her investigative reporter/author personality, and now she was about to dig into history—too many years of it—and cause him a lot of trouble.

He’d been so sure he’d scared her off all those years ago. She’d trembled beneath him when he’d held her down on the bed, too frightened to scream when at last he moved his hand from her mouth. In the rough whisper that disguised his voice he’d told her exactly what he would do to her if she ever breathed a word of this to anyone. Not that they’d believe her. After all, he was a man of power and position, and she was just a snotty little brat.

Then he’d whispered every single thing he was going to do to her, how he was going to penetrate her, take her virginity, fill her tight little passage with his cock. When he thrust inside her, and she choked on her screams, he got hotter than a pistol and came so hard his body shook.

His mouth twisted in an evil smile at the memory. He lusted after snotty little brats. Even the slightly older ones appealed to him, as long as they weren’t that old. But the virgins were the best. They got him harder than any others. Too bad they were getting more and more difficult to find. What was wrong with them that they were having sex younger and younger these days?

But that wasn’t his problem at the moment. No, his biggest challenge was what to do about Jenna Fucking Donovan. He’d have to get rid of her. No question there. But he had to do it in a way that looked like an accident, one that no one would question. Once she was gone, things would return to normal. And he’d make fucking damn sure that the tasty little tidbits knew if they didn’t keep their mouths shut they’d be dead meat like the others he’d disposed of. So what if they couldn’t identify him? Too many reports and there’d be no shutting the door on them.

From now on, he’d bury the bodies so well they’d never be found. And then he’d remind fresh meat that it could happen to them if they ever opened their mouths. He should have hidden the bodies to begin with, but he’d thought he was sending a message. Apparently not.

The rush he got from these young girls was beyond anything he’d ever imagined. His cock was hard as a post the moment he grabbed them and threw them down. It was always more arousing, more exciting, when he did it at something like a party at Roger Holland’s sprawling mansion of a ranch house. All that power, that he was part of, and none of them knew what he was doing, hidden in one of the rooms.

Certainly, his wife was unaware. As long as he was attentive to her, she’d never suspect a thing. Her needs and desires had diminished as she’d gotten older, so now he had the best of both worlds—a wife that required very little servicing and a smorgasbord of young flesh for the ravishing.

Sitting here thinking about it all made his cock swell so much it hurt, and his balls ached. He unzipped his fly, pushed the fabric of his slacks to the side, and took himself in hand. Leaning against the back of the seat, he closed his eyes, called up the image of the last piece of young meat he’d had, and stroked himself hard and fast. As aroused as he was, it didn’t take him long before the familiar tingle crawled up his spine, his muscles tightened, and he exploded all over his hand. His shaft pulsed again and again, with spasm after spasm, until he had emptied himself.

He sat there in the dark for a long time, spent, catching his breath, holding his now soft dick, waiting for his breathing to slow down.

Finally, he cleaned himself up with his handkerchief, tucked his now limp shaft back into his pants, and let out a long breath. Then he looked out the window and down at the cabin in question. In the moonlight, he could make out the figure of the guy Jenna was with sitting on a bench on the porch, leaned back, feet up on the rail. Who the fuck was this guy, and how much trouble would he be?

Okay, tomorrow he’d check into everything. Find out—very carefully—how much Jenna knew and what her plans were, and who the man was. Definitely who the man was and how much trouble he could cause. After that he could figure out what his next steps would be. He needed to shut this down now, and do it in a way that would not generate even more questions. No girls had come forward since the last body was discovered, and that was two years ago. Things were nice and quiet. Settled down.

Putting his vehicle in gear he turned and headed back down the mountain.

Nights were often difficult for Scot. Even after two years, scenes and images he’d never forget played over and over in his brain. He’d learned to sleep in short stints, just long enough to recharge his batteries but not so long that the images he wanted to shut out had their turn in his mind.

He’d sat out on the porch until the moon reached its zenith in the sky, listening to the night noises and enjoying the solitude. Although there were other cabins around, they had been placed so each one seemed to be by itself. That was good. He was okay with people but better off without them.

When his watch showed midnight, he went back inside, ready to crawl into bed for a few hours. He had just stripped down to the sweats he slept in when he heard a noise from the loft. He wasn’t sure if he was just hearing something, so he waited a moment. Then he heard it again. A thunk, as if Jenna had fallen out of bed. Then he heard her talking, but there was no one up there for her to talk to.

There wasn’t another soul in the cabin. He could attest to that. Should he just leave her alone? She might not welcome his intrusion into whatever nightmare she was having. They were, after all, strangers. But when she screamed, a soft but tortured sound, he knew he couldn’t leave it alone.

He took the stairs to the loft two at a time. The lamps were off, but moonlight shafted in through the window, giving him enough light to see what was happening. Clad in pajama pants and a T-shirt four times too big for her, Jenna was on the floor, curled up in a ball, head tucked into her arms, and crying softly.

Something pierced his heart. He was overcome with the unfamiliar sensation of wanting to wrap his arms around her and wasn’t sure what to do. Comforting people wasn’t high on his personal-skills list, but the sounds she was making slapped at his heart. And the way she curled into a ball as if protecting herself. Damn! Although Hank had given him just the bare details of the rape all those years ago, he was sure none of them could truly imagine the brutality of the attack on a young girl.

While he stood there wondering if he should touch her or not, a low keening sound issued from her mouth, a sound so tortured it cut right into him.

Okay, Nolan, suck it up. Pretend she’s one of the victims you helped in the sandbox.

He wasn’t much good at this but right now he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t just walk away and leave her like this. He crouched down beside her and with a gentle touch, pressed a hand to her shoulder.

She jerked and cried out.

“Ssh, ssh, ssh,” he soothed. “It’s me, Jenna. Scot. I’m not him. You’re safe with me.”

She rolled to her knees and began flailing at him, pounding her fists on his chest and crying, “No, no, no. Please, no.”

Damn.

He sat down on the floor next to her, gritted his teeth, and grabbed her arms. Although she fought him, he pulled her body against his chest and held her until she stopped struggling, stroking her back.

“It’s me. Scot,” he repeated. “Hush, now. You’re safe.”

He rocked her against him, arms wrapped around her, crooning softly until he felt the tension ease from her body. It was then he realized with a start how intimately he was holding her. Her breasts were soft against the hard wall of his chest, her nicely rounded ass resting on one of his hard thighs.

His thigh wasn’t the only thing hard, either. Not with this warm, soft body bearing the scent of some kind of flowers nestled in his arms. Well, fuck all. Why was it that the first woman who made him think he might have found what he was looking for had to have a big keep away sign on her because she was a client? His protectee? Between unlocking his battered heart and making his libido explode, he was in big trouble here.

Damn it, she was going through her own emotional crisis. She didn’t need him complicating things. But hell. Holding her tight to his body, arms wrapped around her, her face soft as it pressed the stubble of his chin—for a long moment, he could forget he was a bodyguard, forget everything except he wanted her, pure and simple. And not just for a roll in the hay, like other women he’d been with in the past two years.

Didn’t that just fuck all.

Her sobs had slowed to almost nothing by now, but still she sat curled into him, hands touching his bare chest, the silk of her hair tickling his chin. If only he had an ice cube to drop on his over-eager cock that had chosen absolutely the wrong time to come out and play. Using every bit of his mental discipline, he just sat and rocked her while her sobs slowed, diminished, then stopped altogether.

She looked up at him, eyes not quite focused as if she wasn’t sure where she was. When she realized he was holding her, she pushed as hard as she could and scuttled away from him. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer.

“Scot?”

He saw the naked fear in her eyes and released her at once. Based on what he’d learned from Hank, he was pretty sure what her nightmare had been about. And his hands on her weren’t going to make her feel safe at all. Quite the contrary.

“In the flesh.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“W-what? What’s happening?” She wrapped her arms around herself, and a visible shudder ran through her body. “Oh my god. What did I do?”

He spoke to her in a low, nonthreatening tone of voice. “I, uh, heard you cry out then there was a thump. I came up to see if you were okay. Looked like you fell out of bed and were trying to hide from something.” He paused. “Or someone.”

“Oh god.” She looked down at the floor. “I must have had the dream again.”

“The dream?” He had to ask, although he was pretty sure he knew what she was talking about. Along with the other information Hank had passed along was a note that she still had recurring nightmares about the rape. He was pretty damn sure that no matter how much time passed, no matter how a person tried to bury the memories, they were always lurking at the edge of the subconscious.

“I had a nightmare about…it. Again.” She shuddered again. “He was coming after me, and I couldn’t run away from him. He grabbed me and— Oh god.”

Okay, what was he supposed to say here?

“Does this happen a lot?” He at least wanted to be prepared.

“No.” She shook her head. “I haven’t had one for a long time.”

“Coming back here to dig into this mess probably triggered it.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

He probably should get them both off the floor, but he wasn’t sure if he should touch her or not. But sitting here like this, remembering how she felt in his arms, however briefly, made him feel things absent from his life for a very long time. She was smaller than most of the women he’d been with, although probably tougher inside. And while most perfumes didn’t affect him one way or the other, that scent of wildflowers was driving him crazy.

It wasn’t just his emotions in trouble, either. He was doing his best to send a message to his throbbing cock and his aching balls that this was all very inappropriate. It appeared, however, that his body was ignoring him.

Fuck a duck.

“I—I think I’m okay now.” Her tiny laugh had just a touch of hysteria to it. “I don’t usually end up in someone’s lap when this happens.”

“No problem,” he assured her. And what did it say about him that he was glad no one else had comforted her like this. “No problem at all.

And still, neither of them moved. At last, after what seemed like a long time, she sighed, letting out a long, slow breath.

“I should probably get back in bed and let you do the same.”

“It’s okay. I don’t need that much sleep.” He had his own nightmares to deal with.

“But still.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “I try not to be this much of a mess most of the time.”

“Jenna.” He realized he was stroking her back again. “You’re not a mess. You were a victim of a brutal attack. Rape is personally destructive at any age, but to a young teen it is even more devastating. Cut yourself a break.” He paused. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

She looked at him, the memory of that horrific event still visible in her eyes.

“Uh, no. That’s okay.” She managed a tiny grin. “Thank you for this.”

“Anytime.” He rose and held out a hand to her, relieved that she accepted it.

They stood there, just looking at each other for a moment, every inappropriate word running through his brain. He didn’t know who made the first move, probably him because he had to lean down. But one minute they were staring at each other, and the next his mouth was on hers.

The first thought that hit him was her lips were the softest, sweetest he’d ever touched. He couldn’t help using the tip of his tongue to trace a line over them. The second was that just this touch wouldn’t be enough. He realized Jenna had slipped her hands down from his shoulders in a slow movement and was gripping his biceps, her strong fingers digging into his muscles.

He lifted his hands to cradle her face and slipped his tongue inside her sweet mouth. God! She tasted just the way he thought she would, sweet and sexy at the same time. He licked every bit of the tasty flesh, sweeping his tongue over hers, punctuating it with gentle bites. Her taste filled all the empty corners of his soul, all the places in his heart that were empty.

A moan drifted on the air, and he wasn’t sure which of them it came from, but the sound pierced the fog in his brain. He lifted his head and stared down at her, at the sight of her lips wet and shiny and the pulse beating at the hollow of her throat.

Then, as if realizing what had happened, she almost jumped away from him. She was the first to speak.

“This didn’t happen.” Her voice was hoarse and unsteady. “It can’t.”

Scot blew out a breath. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. This was very inappropriate of me.”

Jenna shook her head. “That’s not it. And it was my fault, too.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“I appreciate you checking on me and not washing your hands of me because I’m such a psychotic mess. I—” She took a step back and lowered her gaze. “I have—problems. Because of what happened. Even if this wasn’t a business arrangement, I have nothing to give anyone. I’m frozen inside.”

“Jenna, listen. I—”

“That’s another reason why that kiss can’t mean anything. I’m sorry if you got the idea that it did.”

Oh, he had more than an idea. And he knew, despite what she said, she’d been just as affected by it as he was, but he’d play this by the rules. Had to.

“I take full responsibility for letting this get out of hand. If you want me to call Hank and have him send someone else, I’ll do it right now.”

He waited, tense, for her answer. He knew the smartest move would be to do just that, but his stupid brain hoped she’d say no.

She nibbled for a moment on her sexy lower lip then shook her head.

“No. Stay. I don’t want to have to start with someone new, and you’ve already seen me at my worst, plus we’ve been seen n town together. Let’s just move forward and agree this won’t happen again.” Her mouth curved in a weak smile. “And I’ll do my best not to have any more nightmares.”

“Will you be okay for the rest of the night?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? I’ll try not to scare you again, though.”

“I’m fine. And Jenna? Everything else aside, I’m here for whatever you need, not just protection from the bad guys.”

“Thank you.”

“See you in the morning.”

He jogged down the stairs, mentally slapping himself upside the head.

I’m here for whatever you need?

Asshole. She doesn’t need you pawing all over her.

He stepped out onto the front porch for a minute, hoping the chilly night air would cool his brain and his body and knock some sense into him. He just hoped to god she never mentioned this to her friend Grey Holden. Who would, of course, tell Hank. And then where would he be?

What on earth was I thinking?

Jenna thought maybe if she banged her head against the wall she could knock some sense into it. Kissing Scot Nolan? Holy shit! She didn’t go around kissing men. She hardly had a sex life, as a matter of fact. Despite years of therapy, the moment a situation with a man began to hint of intimacy, she froze. The brutality of the rape and the remnants of the terror that never left her made her sex life almost nonexistent.

Not that she hadn’t tried. Sometimes she just apologized and walked away. Other times she didn’t have the chance. The guy just took a hike, asking her if she ever planned to loosen up and live a little.

Maybe if she’d met someone who wanted something besides sex and a good time, someone who cared enough about her to coax away the horrific memories and replace them with good ones, it might have helped. She knew it would take someone with patience to get her past this problem, but she hadn’t met anyone yet who could fill that spot or, truth be told, anyone she wanted to fill it.

So, what? I want Scot Nolan to be the one?

Stupid. Stupid, stupid. She knew the guy for five minutes and she…what? Wanted to jump in bed with him? Have him fix her problem?

He was her bodyguard for heaven’s sake.

But she couldn’t erase the memory of his touch when he soothed her, the strength yet tenderness in his hands. The kiss that rocked her clear down to her socks, if she wore any. The sensitivity was the last thing she’d expected from him, the poster boy for macho man. And now she couldn’t get it out of her mind.

I should have asked Grey more about this man.

But he just seemed so closed off, she’d never have expected him to do what he did. She remembered her first impression of him when she’d seen him on the porch waiting for her, that of a remote warrior. It didn’t fit at all with what he had just done or what had happened between the two of them.

It was just a kiss, for the love of god. Get over yourself already.

She climbed back into bed, still wound up tight as a drum, sure she’ d never get a minute’s sleep for the rest of the night. But somehow she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, sunlight was streaming in through the high window. Amazingly, she’d made it through the rest of the night.

But what would the day ahead bring?