Page 19

K urt stood naked with his heart pounding as Rowena flung her arms around his neck and started sobbing.

Holy shit.

What the fuck had just happened?

He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, rocking her gently. Christ. He couldn’t decide if this was the worst day of their lives or the luckiest.

He didn’t think he’d ever been more frightened no matter what danger he’d faced in the past or how much training he’d done.

She’d scared the shit out of him when she’d burst inside the bathroom, and, sure, for a fraction of a second his dick had entertained the happy delusion she might want to join him in the shower even as his brain had worried the bad guys had found them.

Then he’d gotten a look at her distraught features and had known she was in serious trouble.

“I’ve got you.” He rubbed her back, which was now damp from his wet body. He tried to pull away, but she held him tighter, her grip like a boa constrictor.

Resigned to the torture of holding her close and pretending he was unaffected, he reached around behind him and shut off the water. Slid one arm under her knees and lifted her, then carried her into the bedroom.

He glanced around and headed to the armchair because it seemed safer than the bed. Or more proper or some such bullshit.

Jeez.

Since when did he care about proper ?

What was proper about holding a woman connected to his case—who had been through not one, but two, harrowing experiences that day—with him as naked as a jaybird?

On the way to the chair, he put the silver dome cover over her pasta dish to keep it warm. She’d be hungry when this crying jag ended.

She’d had a hell of a day. He sat down and drew her firmly against his chest. Her damp hair tickled his nose, and her tears added to the wetness of his skin.

He resigned himself to being uncomfortable until this was over.

Really uncomfortable.

He could feel the shape of her through those red pajamas, the long lines of her legs, the muscles of her quadriceps, the softness of her ass and breasts pressed against his chest and thighs.

He rocked her gently. Despite the circumstances he enjoyed having her in his arms—like some secret indulgence he would never admit to.

When was the last time he’d held a woman?

Not even during sex for as long as he could remember. Not like this, not like…like they were close. Really close. Holding Rowena like this was more intimate than any sex he’d had in years.

The only people he’d ever held like this were his ex-wife and Daisy when she was a child. He’d missed it, he realized.

Really missed it.

He didn’t know where these thoughts were coming from. They were soft thoughts. Tender thoughts. And, emotionally, he was an armored fucking vehicle. They revealed a loneliness inside him he hadn’t acknowledged before. An isolation. An ache …

Maybe losing his family all those years ago had affected him more than he’d realized. Severed something inside him but at the same time cauterized the wound. Cut him off. Toughened him up. Allowed him to concentrate on being the consummate warrior.

This woman, this situation, was making him confront himself in a way he never had before and didn’t want to now.

He should move away. Put some fucking clothes on. But modesty had never been one of his strong suits, and she’d already seen everything there was to see. If she didn’t like it, she was welcome to get up and move any time.

But he was hardly pushing her away.

His mother hadn’t raised a damned fool.

He smiled reluctantly. Rested his chin on the top of her head. Rowena shivered, and her teeth chattered as if she were freezing. He hugged her tighter, hopefully giving her some of his body heat and the reassurance she needed that she was okay now.

Christ.

What choice did he have?

Pretend like he didn’t give a shit?

He gave a shit which probably proved he was an idiot, but no one was debating his intelligence right now. Just his capacity for self-flagellation.

Boo fucking hoo.

This woman had almost choked to death, which was bad enough. On top of that, she’d found a dead man this morning, and if her story was to be believed—and God help him he believed every word—she’d lost every one of her close relatives in a series of freak accidents.

He frowned as he thought about that. Were they all accidents? Could they be connected to his investigation? The FBI had flushed Hurek out of his island stronghold last August, around the same time her aunt and uncle had died in a fire. Coincidence?

Probably. But what if …

Whatever the bad guys were worried about had been bad enough for them to bring down a plane—and fine, he had no proof, but he wasn’t in the FBI only because of his tactical skills.

He’d been a damned effective case agent.

From what Rowena had said, Bjorn’s murder might be connected to that photograph, likely taken before she’d been born and similar to the one she’d found in her grandmother’s attic.

Could her uncle’s and aunt’s deaths be connected to whatever these fuckers were up to?

What about Rowena’s mother? Could her death be related to what they were trying to bury?

Had Rowena’s mother been involved in some kind of criminal enterprise?

The length of time since Rowena’s mom’s death made solving any crime difficult, assuming it was murder—depending on what the statute of limitations was in England.

Certainly, he was way out of his jurisdiction. But if the FBI could help figure it out, he’d make sure they at least tried.

Rowena shifted slightly and snuggled soft and warm against him. Her breathing eased and the sobs quieted.

The room was a little on the chilly side, but he for one wasn’t feeling the cold. He could see the two of them reflected in the mirror on the wall opposite. Her in those red flannel PJs. Him buck naked.

His mouth went dry.

He wished his imagination would quit because he could easily see them sitting like this under different circumstances, circumstances that had nothing to do with him comforting her after a near-death experience. In that scenario, he wasn’t the only one naked.

His skin heated and he was going to need another shower just as soon as she released him. A cold one.

He soothed her with gentle strokes, ignoring the fact he was growing hard, and hoping she did too. It was autonomic and beyond his control. And maybe that was bullshit. One thing Kurt Montana had never been was a liar.

It was a reaction to her .

To this beautiful young woman who pressed every one of his buttons. It was basic biological attraction to the fact she was sitting in his lap and touching him, however innocently.

Maybe she’d fall asleep, and he could pick her up and put her on the bed. And he wouldn’t embarrass himself by saying something stupid. Or doing something colossally reckless.

She’d stopped crying now, and her fingers began to tap then trail distractedly over the hair on his chest. She probably didn’t realize that her touch was making him hard as stone.

Or maybe she did, because all of a sudden, she shifted against him, pressing more firmly against his raging erection and making sweat pop on his forehead.

Her hand stroked up his neck and cupped his jaw. Then she rose up, and he watched her, mesmerized by those mossy green eyes, and by the arousal and desire he saw there.

His gaze dropped to her mouth as she shifted closer, the softness of her lips like petals against his as she kissed him.

Kissed him.

She acted as if she wanted him.

Like she truly wanted him. Despite the fact he was a freaking dinosaur.

She kissed him—driving him in-fucking-sane with want as he sat frozen as day-old roadkill, half afraid he was dreaming.

Hell of a dream.

She dipped her tongue along the seam of his mouth, and he knew it wasn’t a dream. Rowena was real, and in his arms, and kissing him like she meant it. As much as he knew he should resist her, he couldn’t.

He cupped the back of her head with one hand and dove deep, tasting that sweet mouth and exploring those pretty red lips. Tangled with her tongue, tentatively at first but then boldly. She mimicked his movements, taking it deeper.

She held on to him as if scared he might pull away from her. As if afraid he might come to his senses, which was laughable .

“Touch me,” she murmured as she stole his breath. “Touch me like you want me.”

Want her? How could she doubt it?

That was all the permission he needed.

He found her breast and cupped the fullness of it as he found the peak of her nipple and teased it through the material of her PJs.

She gasped, and he used that to take the kiss deeper still.

So much for buying her practical nightclothes. He couldn’t be more turned on if she were decked out head to toe in fuck-me red lace.

He slid his hands under her top and skimmed over her silky-smooth skin, cupping the breasts that he wanted to see, still holding onto a shred of control. If she were naked, he’d have none. He knew he shouldn’t be doing any of this, but fuck if he could help himself.

She sucked in a breath as he pressed her nipple hard enough to make her back arch like a cat.

She shifted, and he lifted her so she could straddle him.

She swept her hand over the muscles of his shoulders, his chest, his stomach.

And then lower until she found his aching cock.

She wrapped her fingers around him and moved her hand up and over and back down.

He leaned his head against the back of the chair as he thought his head might explode. As long as it was only his head…

She followed his mouth, never breaking the kiss. Never breaking the connection, her hands on him, driving him crazy. She pulled away long enough to drag the pajama top over her head and toss it onto the bed, and he was toast.