Protector for Hire (4 page)

“What?”

“That’s what’s for dessert. And breakfast. Sometimes lunch and dinner, if I’m rewarding myself for something.”

“You like Pop-Tarts?” She looked amused by that, like he’d just confessed he enjoyed dressing up in women’s underwear and parading around the cabin. On second thought, there was no judgment in her expression. Just surprise.

“‘Like’ is not a strong enough word for how I feel about Pop-Tarts,” he said. “I love Pop-Tarts the way Sherman over there loves having his butt scratched.”

“That’s a beautiful metaphor.”

“Yeah. I’m a regular fucking poet.”

Janelle grinned and stood up. “Well then, allow me to serve desert. Where do you keep the Pop-Tarts?”

“Second cupboard on the left. Right above the sink you didn’t notice earlier.”

Just like he wasn’t noticing her ass. Or the way her hips swayed as she moved around the kitchen counter. Nope, he didn’t notice any of that.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to know you have indoor plumbing,” she said.

“Don’t get too comfortable. Tomorrow I’m planning to teach you to split firewood.”

“I’m going to tell myself you’re joking.”

“Nope. ’Fraid not. You didn’t bring your ax?”

“Oh, sure,” she said, stretching up to reach the cupboard and revealing a perfect soft strip of skin beneath the hem of her shirt. “My ax is in my Louis Vuitton suitcase right next to my shotgun and my bear traps.”

“Bear meat isn’t bad in a stir-fry.”

“I should have packed my wok.” Janelle rolled her eyes and pulled open the cupboard door. “Holy cow, you weren’t kidding. You must have a hundred boxes of Pop-Tarts in here.”

Schwartz polished off the last bite of his burger. “Try the s’mores flavor—those are the best. The frosted raspberry isn’t bad, either.”

She shook her head as she pulled out two foil pouches and closed the cupboard back up. “I still can’t believe this is your vice of choice. Pop-Tarts?”

“You’d rather I sit out here in my remote mountain cabin and collect animal skulls?”

“I was thinking more like swilling bourbon or something. You really are an enigma.”

“Is that like an Eggo waffle?”

“What? No, an enigma—”

“I know what an enigma is.
A puzzling or inexplicable occurrence or situation. A person of puzzling or contradictory character.
Something like that?”

She blinked, then nodded. “You are a tough man to figure out, Schwartz Patton.”

“Keep on trying,” he muttered, hoping like hell she wouldn’t.

He stood and picked up his plate, then carried it to the kitchen sink. He turned around to grab a fresh sponge out of the cupboard, and collided with something warm and solid and deliciously soft.

“Ooof.” Janelle pressed her hands to his chest and pushed back, peering up at him with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. Just trying to get the toaster.”

“Uh, not a problem.”

“Tight space in here.”

“Right.”

“Very snug.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her hands were still on his chest, the pale pink fingernails looking out of place against the frayed red flannel of his shirt. She smelled like flowers and sunshine, and it seemed very hot in the kitchen all of a sudden.

“Okay. So—toaster.” She took a shaky breath and pulled her hands back, and Schwartz kicked himself for missing her touch. As she busied herself unwrapping the Pop-Tarts and shoving them in the slot, he tried not to think of words like “shoving” and “slot” and “Janelle.”

Why was it so fucking hot in the kitchen?

He filled the sink with soapy water and wondered if he should just drown himself and be done with it.

“Can I help with the dishes?” she asked.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

She was quiet a moment, and he did his best not to look at her. “Do you mind if I take this to bed with me?”

“What?” He looked up, half expecting to see her with a cucumber or a pepper mill or the paper towel rod or some other phallic-looking object.

For the love of God, why was it so hot in this kitchen?

“Oh—the Pop-Tart? Yeah, sure. Go right ahead.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling at him oddly. “I didn’t realize how exhausted I was. Haven’t slept much for the last few days.”

“Okay then. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Schwartz. Thank you again.”

“Yep.”

He heard her footsteps tapping across the wood plank floors, and it was all he could do not to throw his fucking sponge on the ground and go after her.

From the back of the cabin, he heard her voice.

“Schwartz?”

“Yeah?”

“When did you pick these daisies?”

He looked down at his hands under the suds. “While you were in the bath.”

“Where on earth did you find daisies in the middle of the forest?”

“There’s a meadow about two hundred yards from here. Walked over while the burgers cooked.”

“I love them.”

“Good.”

“Thank you so much.”

“No problem.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Yep.”

Just like you
, he thought as he plunged his hands deeper into the soapy water and wondered how the fuck he was going to endure this assignment.

…

He was still wide awake well after midnight. He wished he could blame it all on Janelle and direct his grumpiness at someone besides himself, but the sad truth was that he had a lot of sleepless nights.

He’d close his eyes, having every intention of drifting off into a slumber filled with ponies and rainbows and dreamy shit like that. But instead, he’d see bodies. Dozens of them, way more than there’d been in reality.

In real life, there had been only nine.

Only nine
.

The thought was so absurd, he almost laughed out loud.

Nine of his closest friends in the whole world. His fellow soldiers, men who were counting on him to get them home safely.

He’d let them down. He’d let them all down—himself, his men, their families, his own family.

What the fuck were you doing there, anyway? You had no business being there.

Schwartz closed his eyes and rolled over, hoping a change in position might help.

It didn’t.

Instead, he heard the blast of the rocket, the shattering of steel, felt the cold, hard—

Soft?

Warm?

He opened his eyes, aware that he was no longer alone in his bed. He blinked a few times, not sure if he was dreaming about the fragrant skin pressed up against his bare back, the feel of warm breath on his shoulder, the fact that his boxers were becoming uncomfortably tight.

In the darkness, her voice was tiny. “Schwartz?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you.”

Chapter Three

As soon as the words left her mouth, Janelle felt like an idiot.

I need you.

What was she, four years old?

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against the brick wall that was Schwartz’s back. “I heard a noise.”

She felt him stiffen, then roll toward her. He turned onto his side so they faced each other in the darkness, and she caught a glimmer of moonlight in his eyes.

“A noise?” he asked.

“Outside my window. It sounded like someone or something trying to get in.”

He was silent for only a second, but in the silence, she heard the noise again.

“That!” She gasped, scrambling toward him so fast her legs tangled with his under the covers. “Oh my God, what is that?”

“The scratching sound?”

“Yes! Someone’s out there!”

Schwartz cleared his throat and nodded toward his bedroom window. It faced the same direction hers did, and Janelle could see weird, ghostly shapes moving out there in the darkness. She closed her eyes, hating how helpless she felt.

“Tamarack trees,” he murmured, and she opened her eyes again. “Also known as the western larch. When the wind kicks up, the branches sometimes brush the windows.”

“Oh.”

The noise sounded again, less terrifying now that she knew what it was. “Not a lot of trees scraping buildings where I live.”

“You don’t say.”

He fell quiet again, and Janelle wondered if she could still get up, walk back to her room, and pretend none of this happened. Maybe he’d think he dreamed the whole thing. Maybe she could convince him she’d been sleepwalking.

But then she felt his massive palm settle against the curve of her waist, and leaving was the last thing on her mind.

“Want me to go check it out to be sure?”

“No.” She swallowed. “You’re right—it was just the trees. Sorry I got scared. I feel dumb.”

“Don’t.”

She thought that might be the extent of his words of comfort. It was enough, really. Then his hand stirred in the hollow where her waist met her hip, and Janelle found herself holding her breath for fear he’d move it.

“You witnessed something terrible,” he said, and she knew he wasn’t talking about trees anymore. “What your ex did.”

“Yes.” She didn’t need to ask how he knew. She’d assumed when she agreed to this plan that the Patton family had investigated every aspect of her ex-husband, from his business dealings to his taste in jockey shorts.

“You saw something brutal and bloody and awful,” Schwartz murmured. “That sort of thing can mess with your head.”

He spoke like a man intimately familiar with the experience, and Janelle wanted to ask how he knew. But something told her not to. She might be lying half clad in his bed, but he was still a stranger.

A stranger who felt really,
really
warm.

She sighed, enjoying the heat seeping from his palm through the thin cotton of her cami top and the elastic waist of her satin sleep shorts. “I thought I was doing okay, you know?” she whispered. “I mean, I’m safe here, right?”

“Right.”

“So why do I feel like a scared little girl?”

His palm curled tighter around her waist. In the darkness, the lines in his face shifted to something resembling a grimace. “You most definitely do not feel like a little girl.”

She laughed, snuggling closer to all that heat and strength. “Thanks. I think.”

Her shifting under the covers made his palm drop from her hip to the small of her back. She might have been imagining things, but she could have sworn she felt his fingertips stroke the top of her sleep shorts, dipping ever so lightly under the waistband. Probably shouldn’t read too much into that.

She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, and found herself awkwardly folding them against her chest. That felt weird. She unclasped her fingers, hesitating.

To touch or not to touch?

Touch.

She slid her hands forward a few inches to splay them across his chest. He stiffened at first, then relaxed beneath her fingertips.

Better. Much better.

He wore no shirt, and there was a soft dusting of fur across his chest. His muscles were taut and massive beneath her palms, and he didn’t move to push her hands away. Good Lord, what did this guy do for exercise? Wrestle bears? Bench-press fallen trees? Do bicep curls with boulders?

She tipped her head back to look at him, and found him studying her with an expression of frank interest. “What?”

“I sleep alone. Always. This—this is new.”

She bit her lip. “I can leave if you want.”

“It’s okay. You can stay for a minute. You’re still shaking.”

She was, but it had nothing to do with fear anymore. She hesitated, wondering how rude it might be to ask the question that was on her mind. It was probably much too intimate.

You just crawled into bed with him. That’s not intimate?

“Schwartz?”

“Yeah?”

“You said you sleep alone. And you’re way out here in the middle of nowhere. I was just wondering—”

“If Sherman starts to look sexy to me every now and then?”

“What?” She laughed and swatted his chest. “No, that’s not what I meant. Well, not exactly.”

“You’re wondering if I’ve taken a vow of celibacy out here in the Montana wilderness.”

“Well, yeah. Kinda. If it’s too personal, you don’t have to answer.”

“Honey, you’ve been rubbing your thigh on my hard-on for the last five minutes. I think we’re past the point of personal.”

She gasped and started to pull back, mortified. “I thought that was your hip bone. Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is the most action I’ve seen since the night Sherman and I—”

“Okay, okay, stop. Anyone ever tell you you’re crude?”

He grinned. “Nope. The benefit of living alone.”

“Good point.” She was conscious now of every point where her body touched his. Her fingers were still spread on his chest, and her thigh had somehow slipped forward again to brush against the hip bone that wasn’t a hip bone. She bit her lip. “So bestiality jokes aside, have you uh—dated much these past ten years?”

“Dated? No. Scratched the occasional itch? Yep. That wasn’t an STD reference, by the way.”

“I wasn’t suggesting—”

“There’s a town about an hour from here. Lotsa lonely female ski instructors and raft guides and ranch hands end up there to grab a drink or meet people.”

“And you’re one of the people they meet?”

“On occasion.”

“Good. That’s good.” Most of her meant that. She was glad to know he wasn’t lonely and sex-starved out here in the wilderness alone. But a faint flicker of jealousy flared in her chest, and she wondered what those other women looked like. How they moved beneath him or on top of him or—

“You’re rubbing my hip bone again.”

“What?” She blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

In the darkness of his bedroom, Janelle felt her cheeks heat up. She should probably stop touching him. Any minute now she’d do that. Very soon.

His hand slid lower to cup her ass through her sleep shorts, and Janelle felt her whole body arch to press against him. “Here’s the thing,” he murmured, his voice low and somewhere between lust and menacing. “I’d fucking love to roll you on your back right now and make you scream my name.”

“God,” she whispered. “Okay?”

“But I won’t.”

“What?”