Her Marine Bodyguard (9 page)

“For getting away from him, sweetheart. You kept your head, you got out of the car, and you went toward people. You didn’t freeze up or let the panic hold you captive.”

And just like that, her expression fell like a dark cloud blotted out the sun. She dropped her eyes to stare at his chest. “But I did…when I found Katrina on the ground. There was all this blood and then he grabbed me.” She shuddered, and her breathing went shallow and reedy. The rattle of it pained him, and he forced his white-knuckled grip to loosen and release her hair.

“You’re safe, Shannon.” The bastard wouldn’t touch her again.

“I should have been safe then, Katrina Bates was former army, and an MP, and she had all this great experience. She was—”

“Is.”

She gave a little jerk as though a bullet struck her, and her lashes swept up to reveal her wild, sad eyes. “What?”

“You keep saying what Bates was…she still is. She’s alive.” Semantics, maybe, but he worked with what he had. Bates lived. “Present tense, sweetheart.”

“He shot her.”

“I know.” Whether he’d intended to shoot Shannon or not haunted Brody. Had he shot Bates because she’d been in his way? Or had he believed her to be Shannon herself? Had her descent surprised him? Or had taking her been his plan all along?

“He grabbed me after I turned her over. She told me to go, to run.” The last came out on a strangled note sounding as if she’d run out of air. Shifting his grip, he placed two fingers against her throat. Terror stampeded through the mad beat of her pulse, and fear echoed in the dilation of her eyes. “I froze…. I wanted to help her, and I froze. Then he grabbed me. I tried to fight, Brody, I promise, I wanted to and then I just….” Her mouth went from tight and white to trembling.

She’d locked up. The body had two responses to danger, fight or flight. Shannon had gone into flight and shut down. It happened. He’d seen it happen to trained Marines in the field. Sometimes survival overwhelmed every other thought, and her mind couldn’t process the fear. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re not there anymore. He doesn’t have you. You did get away.”

Her hands went to his shirt, opening and closing, as she fisted the fabric.

“You got away.” Repeating the phrase, over and over, he waited the storm out until finally, he said, “Tell me you hear me.”

Slowly, too slowly, her gaze tracked back up to meet his. The pupils were still fat and dark and threatening to swallow her irises, but they flickered, tightening for a moment. “I got away. I ran up the street to the club on the corner. I told you about it—Lisa and Mario—I eat there sometimes.”

“You did.” He knew his expression was encouraging, he’d learned how to keep his own feelings off his face a long time before. Men needed the man who gave the orders to project confidence and calm. The world could be erupting beneath his feet, and he could maintain his calm. It didn’t matter he wanted to beat his fists bloody on the son of a bitch who put that hitching note of alarm in her voice or painted her soft eyes in shadows. Shannon didn’t need his fury.

She needed calm. She needed him to believe in her. He had all of that and more to give.

“It was a good choice.” An amazing one. Had she gone back into her loft, the bastard could have cornered her. If she’d gone the other way on the street, she would have gone deeper into the reclaimed warehouse district. No, she’d fled directly toward witnesses, and the coward who’d try to steal her hadn’t followed her into the light. “The best choice.
You
saved Bates, too.”

The tears trembling on her lashes dropped, and her breathing deepened on a gasp. “No, Mario called the police…and the ambulance.”

“Maybe he did, fine. He couldn’t have if you hadn’t fought. If you hadn’t won….”

“I didn’t win.”

Fight flared in her, and Brody bit back a smile. Yes, she had.

“He tried to kill Katrina. He tried to take you. He failed at both.” Brody raised his brows. “Unless I missed something, you won.”

Her mouth opened as though to refute his statement, and then she closed it and shook her head.

“No? I didn’t miss anything?” He brushed his thumb down her unwounded cheek.

“No. I guess I didn’t think of getting away as winning.”

“Your survival is a win in my book. You won the first battle, sweetheart.”

And he would win the war.

They’d sat together for the better part of an hour when Shannon sent him off to shower. He promised her they’d eat, talk, and then figure out what to do. The last thing he wanted was to leave her alone, but considering her condition, he didn’t feel right about inviting her into the shower either. His body had no such protests, but fortunately he didn’t think with his cock most of the time.

Not that his cock gave a damn about his opinion. Under the hot spray, need continued to thrum through his veins. Probably because the shower had her shampoo and conditioner. He went with the former and skipped the latter. He tried to get some semblance of order to his thoughts while he showered.

Calling the detective in charge of her case scored high on his list. So was reaching out to Archer Morgan. Morgan had assigned Bates to watch over Shannon. Checking with the hospital had to go on his list because guilt over what happened to the woman would continue to eat Shannon alive on the inside. Assigning each task a priority, he considered the haunted expression on her face. He couldn’t escape it no matter what he focused on. Tomorrow, they would attack her problem head on. A planned offense provided her with the best defense.

Tonight…tonight was about being around her. Getting her to laugh, to smile, and to relax. Harder to accomplish when all he could see was how perfectly fuckable she was—the bruises and scrapes didn’t do a damn thing to diminish how attractive he found her. Marks of survival. The dead weren’t bruised.

They were just dead.

The ache in his balls and the stiffness of his erection were becoming downright painful. He cranked the water from hot to ice cold and hissed out a breath. Unfortunately, even that took a few minutes to be effective. By the time he’d gotten his need leashed, his skin probably looked blue. After shutting the water off, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.

He’d left the bathroom and bedroom doors open so he could hear her—yes, they were at Mike’s Place and security was just outside the apartment, but he wanted to
know
she was all right. Toweling off briskly, he paused at the sound of the first lock tumbler. Alarm rang through his system. Slinging the towel around his hips, he headed straight for the front door.

“Thank you,” Shannon said as she swung the door inward, but Brody cut in front of her to intercept the delivery of two large pizza boxes and a six-pack of beer. To his credit, the man’s eyes widened and he retreated a step.

“All paid for man.” He thrust the stuff forward, and Brody barely caught the boxes before the man about pissed himself to back off and head for the stairs. Balancing the pizzas and beer, Brody closed and locked the door before rounding to meet Shannon’s wide eyes.

“Don’t open the door again. Not when you’re alone.”

“I called the gate like I was supposed to when I ordered the pizza.” The explanation spilled out of her in a rush. “You were in the shower, and I thought you deserved something to celebrate being home.”

“I don’t want to celebrate.” The words came out harsher than intended.

Shannon’s lips compressed, and her expression closed off. Exhaling a breath, he motioned her into the kitchen and prowled after her. Once in there, he set the boxes and the beer on the counter. She had no idea of his status, only that he’d come home. And he’d have to fucking apologize for yelling at her.

Instead of shutting down, however, she folded her arms and lifted her chin. Rebellion, not retreat, flared in her eyes. “Well, maybe I wanted to celebrate.”

The stubborn set of her mouth, and the anger in her expression eradicated all the work the cold shower had done. “Shannon….”

“I wasn’t
asking
you.”

She wasn’t, Brody realized, and the restlessness pumped through his system, and his anger was the first to fall. “I see.”

“Do you?” Marching toward him, she raised her chin and tilted her head. As long-limbed and gorgeous as she was, he still stood taller. The hollows in her cheeks and the bruises on her face infuriated him—but her spirit? It glowed fiercely and lit her up from the inside. “I’m not a
victim
. Everyone else is treating me like a victim. You
didn’t
.”

No, he hadn’t. Because his Shannon was a fighter, and she’d fought. She’d won. Pride loosened fear’s grip on his heart. In the bathroom, when he’d heard the door, terror seized him. He would not allow harm to strike her again. Not when he could prevent it.

“I don’t see you as a victim,” he said, and she was close enough to touch. To drag to him and to kiss her until the only thing she could touch, taste, or feel was him.

“Don’t you?” Challenge slammed through the two words. “Could have fooled me. Get dressed and have your damn beer and eat your pizza or don’t…I’ll have them.”

He narrowed his eyes at the command. “Go ahead.” He leaned against the kitchen doorframe, not allowing her to leave. “Eat.”

“Maybe I’m not hungry.” Defiance etched into every muscle. Her shoulders were back, her chin raised, cheeks flushed. The fresh wash of pink chased away the haunting paleness.

No, she just didn’t like the fact he pushed back. He’d pushed her to demand what she wanted, to take it. The scare she’d experienced had rattled her badly, and based on Damon’s summary and her declaration, everyone had treated her fragility and fear, enhancing them. At the moment, Brody was less concerned about her fear than her bravado.

He’d never discourage her, and he admired her strength, but…. “You’re hungry. You haven’t been eating well.”

“How the hell do you know what I’m doing? You weren’t
here
.” God, she was beautiful when she stopped behaving as though someone kicked her puppy. Maybe he was responsible—he took pride in the ferocity of her tone and the bite in her gaze.

“So, you weren’t exhausted from your gallery opening? A little shocky from the break-in and worn out from being surrounded by people?” He took a step toward her, and she held her ground.
Good girl. Push back
. “You didn’t lock yourself in your loft and dive back into your work? Losing yourself in sculpting?” He closed the distance between them. “So much so you didn’t check your mail, and if Lauren hadn’t been a pushy friend, you wouldn’t have known some crazy jackass was sending you letters? Or maybe you ate after someone dragged you out of your place and tossed you in a car and the only way you could escape involved falling out of a moving vehicle?”

For a split second, her lower lip trembled, but his girl had spunk in her, and she sucked in a deep breath. He stood practically on top of her now, and she slapped her hand to his chest to halt his progress. The sting couldn’t compete with the sizzle of contact. Two years had wrought more changes in her than he’d been privy to, though he’d suspected from the way she phrased sentences or spoke.

“You’re being an ass,” she said and pushed—not that she could move him. The simple act of trying, of standing up for herself, and her willingness to show him her anger…damn, it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Yes, I am.” He covered her hand and held it to his skin. Electricity rippled through him, and all his good intentions from earlier shattered in the wake of the simple contact. “But I like your ass in one piece. You can be pissed. You can yell at me. You can throw things at me. I’m game for all of it. But you will do as you’re told in this one area until I know you’re safe.”

Her mouth slackened and formed a simple
O
. “I would never throw anything at you.”

“No? Damn. Guess I’ll have to work harder.” And he slammed his mouth down on hers, giving into the desire eating away at him since she’d opened the door.

His mouth took hers, claimed her. Nothing soft or tentative interrupted his kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to his chest and she clung to him. Where their tongues met, it felt like a dance and a surrender. She’d waited for this kiss—waited over a year. Months of aching, hoping, and praying he would come home, be safe and in one piece. Suddenly he was there, his mouth on hers, surrounding her with protection and desire and perfection.

The muscles under her hands were hard and tense. He didn’t strain to lift her off the ground, and she was suddenly weightless, supported utterly by him and the fear he hadn’t wanted her, that he’d been holding back because she’d been somehow damaged or made less fled under the sensual assault.

When he’d strode out to chase off the pizza man, her thoughts scattered at the mouthwatering sight of Brody—all of Brody—save for the towel slung around his hips. She’d never forgotten his exquisite body or how he would lay there and let her explore every curve, every joint, and every muscle. No one was built like him, and if she lived to be a hundred, she couldn’t sculpt the perfection she found in his rough-hewn build. Sinew and strength, deadly grace and beauty.

Hitching her thighs around his hips, she let him lead the kiss as he explored her mouth. Vaguely aware of the wall at her back and the hard weight of his erection pressing against her stomach, she feasted on the contact. She could die like this happily drugged from the passion in his kiss. But more than passion and desire, though both lit through her, his kiss held caring. Even holding her, he kept his grip gentle if possessive, and every stroke of his tongue on hers chased away the fear and anxiety of the last several days and left her in a long, slow burn of certainty.

God, she’d missed him. When he finally came up for air, he nuzzled the corner of her mouth. His breathing sounded as ragged as her own, but the hard set of his jaw had relaxed, and his eyes were dark with a savage need she recognized.

“You’ve been hurt,” he said, care and worry slowing the words.