Her Rocky Mountain Defender

“You seem like a nice lady, so I’m going to be honest with you. This isn’t a nice bar. Just go home. It’s safer for you there.”

“If it’s not safe for me, then it’s not safe for my sister.”

“Go.” The man pointed toward the stairs.

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Why are you being so difficult to get rid of?” The man grabbed her elbow. “Let me walk you to your car,” he said. “If your sister stops in, I’ll let her know that you’re looking for her.”

Madelyn’s joy soared, taking her to a dizzying height. While he might not be the key to finding her sister, the bartender was a link in the chain that led to Ava.

“You know her?” Madelyn asked.

“She’s been around.”

Standing on the threshold, it occurred to Madelyn that the man hadn’t bothered to turn on the light in the darkened room behind him. Was he trying to hide something? She eased around him, entering the room. “Where is she?”

The man stepped in Madelyn’s way, blocking her from gaining further access. “I don’t know where your sister is now,” he said. “But I do know that she’s not in this office.”

Madelyn narrowed her eyes.

He held up two fingers and said, “Scout’s honor.”

“You? A Boy Scout? I thought you said that nobody nice came to The Prow.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I made Eagle Scout by the time I turned sixteen years old?”

For an inexplicable reason, Madelyn did. “So, Boy Scout, why won’t you help a hardworking doctor find her ill sister?”

“You’re a doctor?”

She corrected herself, “Well, I’m not a doctor—not yet, anyway. But I am a medical school student at the University of Colorado.” A flush crept from her chest to her cheeks as Madelyn realized she’d rambled.

Maybe it would be for the best if she just went home.

The bartender closed the space between them. His spicy scent surrounded her and she drew in a deep breath.

Her eyes had adjusted to the light and for the first time she looked at his large frame closely. His short hair had lighter streaks throughout and Madelyn wondered if he spent time in the sun. Dark stubble covered his cheeks, and still she could see the cleft in his chin. The collar of his black T-shirt was frayed.

“So, what kind of doctor are you?” he asked.

Madelyn didn’t want the flirtation to continue, yet she found herself saying, “I’m thinking of specializing in psychiatry.”

“Because of your sister?” he asked. “And her addiction.”

“Who sounds like a shrink now?” Madelyn joked.

“Listen.”

Madelyn tried to think of something charming, or at least witty, to retort. But she stopped. The bartender held himself as if he were forged from iron and not flesh and blood. He had not been teasing, he truly wanted her to listen. Then she heard them—male voices speaking, but not English. Ukrainian? Or Russian, maybe?

The man placed his mouth next to her ear, his breath hot on her skin. “Those men are going to walk through that door in one minute and neither one of us should be in this office. I want to protect you, but to do that I need to give them a reason why we’re trespassing.”

“Protect me?” His words were more confusing than menacing. “What do you mean?”

“I’m on your side,” he assured her, “but what’s your name?”

“Madelyn,” she said. “My name is Madelyn Thompkins.”

“Madelyn,” the man said, pulling her closer still, “I’m Roman.”

“Why do I need to know who you are?”

“Because as an Eagle Scout, I’m honor bound to introduce myself to any distressed damsels that I kiss.”

* * *

Roman wrapped his arms around Madelyn’s waist and pulled her to him. She gave a little mew of surprise. The kiss was for show and at the same time, blood pounded at the base of Roman’s skull with his desire for more. He didn’t mind all the hours spent alone, but damn—holding Madelyn felt good, like he truly had come home.

Even though it hadn’t been part of his plan, Roman slid his tongue into her mouth. She pushed at him, her hands splayed against his chest. Yet as the kiss deepened and she returned the ardor, the tension in her arms relaxed and her body formed to his.

Overhead, the light blazed to life.

“Roman Black.” The alias always sounded foreign to his ears, yet he recognized the person who spoke as The Prow’s owner, Oleg Zavalov. “What the hell’s going on here?”

Roman broke away from the kiss. He did so reluctantly—as if forced to stop something he enjoyed—and it wasn’t exactly an act.

Oleg Zavalov stood in the doorway. Hair slicked back, he wore a tailored suit, along with a button-down shirt, open at the throat. He was flanked by his two underlings from Russia, Anton and Serge. Both men were tall and broad and stupid, a complete contrast to Oleg. And Roman was certain that one of them was Nikolai’s great-nephew.

“Oleg.” Roman pulled Madelyn into his chest. “Sorry about using your office. We just needed a moment of privacy and the beer cooler didn’t seem like a classy place to take a lady.”

Oleg always had a beautiful woman or two hanging off his arm. So Roman knew that he’d never begrudge anyone a quick hookup.

With a shake of his head, Oleg clapped Roman on the shoulder. “I knew you’d eventually find someone you liked. Next time use the stockroom like everyone else.”

“Sure,” said Roman. His eye went to the place where he’d hastily planted the ELD. He forced himself to look away. Grabbing Madelyn’s hand, he led her to the door and into the hallway.

“Hey, Black,” Oleg called.

He turned. Oleg sat on the edge of his desk. His leg swung lazily back and forth and his rear was settled right above the ELD.

Roman began to sweat. “Yeah?”

“They need a keg upstairs. Get the beer to the bar and then if you want a break, take one.”

Silently, Anton and Serge slipped into the office. Like twin pillars of brute force, they took up positions at opposite sides of the door.

“Sure,” Roman said. “I’ll take care of the beer right away.”