Crossfire

The threat he posed had nothing to do with her life.

“If not you,” she asked, keeping her voice steady, “who?”

Hawk swore roughly, then strode to the air conditioning unit and fiddled with the controls. “Zhukov.”

Reality drilled deep. Jorak Zhukov. The man who’d sworn to make the Carringtons pay for his father’s death. Make them suffer. He’d been in the hotel, watching her. Waiting. Planning. If Hawk hadn’t been there…

“I’ve got the heat going,” he said, turning his attention to his gym bag. He pulled out a well-worn shirt, then crossed to her and put the flannel into her hands. “Go take a hot shower. Get warm. We can talk more when your teeth aren’t chattering.”

She looked at the familiar green-and-black tartan balled in her hands and tried not to remember the way the fabric looked stretched across Hawk’s shoulders, with those top three buttons open and exposing the silver chain nestled against the dark gold hair of his chest.

She did not want to put that shirt on. She didn’t want to crawl into bed with the soft, well-worn flannel whispering against her body.

But she wanted to walk around naked or in a towel even less.

“I won’t be long.”

Thank you, Hawk. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for giving me your jacket, for turning up the heater in the car so hot that you broke out in a sweat. Thank you for thinking ahead, making sure we had a safe place to spend the night. Thank you for offering me your shirt, so I don’t have to walk around naked.

Thank you for being such a sap.

Hawk watched Elizabeth walk regally away from him, head high, damp hair sleekly twisted from her face, his sport coat hanging from her stiff shoulders and extending below the hem of her little black dress. Her panty hose were muddied and torn. Her feet were bare.

Rarely did he remember her looking more provocative.

She stepped into the brightly lit bathroom and closed the door, fiddled with the lock on the doorknob.

Biting back a few not-very-nice words, Hawk could do nothing about other impulses. He swept his arm across the dresser and sent the stupid little ice bucket and room-service guide crashing to the matted carpet.

Nothing had changed. Elizabeth Carrington may have kissed him like there was no tomorrow, but when it came to anything beyond pure physical responses, she made it brutally clear she hadn’t forgotten yesterday.

Or rather, two years before.

Once, he’d actually let himself believe a woman of refinement could want a rough-around-the-edges man like him. He didn’t have a pedigree, but he had a code of ethics and a heart, and he’d thought that would be enough. He’d convinced himself her cool facade concealed a passionate woman, that if he could crack through her barriers, he could show her she’d planned the living out of her life. That there was a whole world waiting to be discovered.

Instead, she’d shown him he was a fool.

Hawk unfastened his shoulder holster and carefully placed his Glock on the nightstand between the beds. Just because he hadn’t gone to Yale or Harvard, didn’t mean he wasn’t smart. He learned. He made adjustments. Circumstances had brought him and Elizabeth together again, but this time he would carry out the assignment and then walk away, this time with his heart, his self-esteem, intact.

From the bathroom he heard the shower curtain rattle into place, the water run through the pipes. He hoped it was warm enough. He hoped the spray had enough pressure to actually do some good. He hoped—

Nothing.

He flat didn’t need to be thinking of her standing naked beneath the spray, running the little bar of soap along the smooth planes of her body. If he did, he’d have to remember the way she’d braced her palms against the white tiles of his bathtub and let her head fall back against his chest, while he’d stood behind her, running his soapy hands along the soft skin of her stomach. He’d have to remember the feel of her hair as he’d applied shampoo and built a lather.

A mistake, Wesley. Can’t we just leave it at that?

No. He couldn’t leave it at that. If she’d just been civil about it, if she hadn’t denied what they both knew, then maybe he could have let it go. But whether it was pride or ego or lingering hurt, he refused to let her pretend she hadn’t come apart in his arms. He was willing to admit they were all wrong for each other, but for one night they’d been pretty damn right.

He didn’t understand why she pretended otherwise.

Honesty. That’s all he wanted. Acceptance. Then they could go their separate ways. She could cling to her plans like they were gospel and marry pretty-boy Ferreday, and Hawk could get on with his life. Without her.

That’s all he wanted.

Frowning, Hawk grabbed his mobile phone and punched out a familiar number.

“I’ve got her, sir,” he said a few seconds later. He’d tried to place the call from the car, but had been unable to get a signal. “She’s safe.”

“You’re a good man,” Ambassador Carrington said. “I knew I could count on you. As always, you have my sincerest thanks.”

“Just doing my job, sir.” Hawk almost choked on the words.

“What’s this I’m hearing about shots fired?”

Hawk sat on the bed he’d claimed for himself and lifted a hand to rub the tight muscles of his neck and shoulders. Despite the security he’d put into place, despite Zhukov’s penchant for grandstanding, he hadn’t expected an attack so soon. It burned that he couldn’t figure out how the bastard had gotten through his net.

“Z was there, sir, but he didn’t count on you being one step ahead of him.”

“Not me, son. You. You’re the one who got her out of there.”

Peter Carrington had always treated Hawk with the utmost respect, even when Hawk had been little more than a disillusioned ex-Army Ranger hungry and in desperate need of work. The older man had given Wesley and his newly formed security company the opportunity to prove themselves. He’d given him trust.

In return, Hawk had taken the man’s best and brightest for the ride of her life.

“I’ll let the authorities know my daughter is safe,” the ambassador was saying. “I’d rather the two of you keep a low profile for now.”

“Agreed.” Hawk filled Elizabeth’s father in on the events of the evening, leaving out only the stupid, reckless kiss.

The sound of the bathroom door opening was the only warning he got. He glanced up, saw her standing with the bright light behind her, creating a glow around her damp, slicked-back sable hair. Her skin was clear and flawless. His shirt hung like a shapeless dress down to her knees.

And Hawk forgot to breathe.

“Is that my father?” she asked.

Shifting uncomfortably, he gestured for her to join him on the bed. “I have someone here who’d like to talk to you, sir.”

Elizabeth took the phone from his hands and sat next to him. “Dad?”

Hawk stood, not wanting to share the mattress with her, not wanting to look at the way his flannel shirt rode high on her smooth thighs. “I’ll shower up,” he mouthed. “Holler if you need me.”

Her eyes, washed clean of all makeup, met his, revealed a flicker he couldn’t quite decipher. Then she looked down at the carpet, and the moment passed with sobering speed.

Grinning despite himself, despite her, Hawk walked away, confident he wouldn’t hear a peep out of his charge.

Elizabeth Carrington would rather walk barefoot over broken glass than admit she needed him.

“I’m fine, Dad. Really. Wesley was…” Magnificent. Flawless. On top of his game. “…there in time. He had everything under control and us out of there before anyone even knew what was going on.”