Page 6 of Dangerous Lover

Jack recognized a couch and two small armchairs that had once been in her father’s study. They were old and worn but still looked comfortable. Jack put his duffle bag behind one of the small armchairs and sat down in it, hoping it would take his weight. He wasn’t built for old, delicate furniture, but heneedn’t have worried. The armchair might be shabby, but it was of good quality.

“Would you like me to take your jacket, Mr.—?” Caroline held out a hand.

“Prescott. Jack Prescott. And no, thanks. I’m still a little chilled from the weather outside.”

“I can imagine,” she murmured, withdrawing her hand.

Jesus, he couldn’t take his jacket off. Out of reflex, and because he hated being unarmed, he’d grabbed his bag off the carousel and ducked into the nearest men’s room to tuck his Glock into the waistband of his jeans and strap the ankle holster on. And then he’d completely forgotten about it. He’d had no idea whatsoever that an hour after landing, he’d actually be sitting down, with Caroline, who wanted him to take his jacket off.

Jack was very, very good at strategic planning. He’d been born with it. Then Colonel Prescott and the Army had taken that and refined it. Jack had been an outstanding operative, always able to think several moves ahead.

The fact that he hadn’t thought to hide his weapon before entering the bookshop, where he might be expected to take his jacket off, was off his own personal radar. It showed how Caroline had crowded every other thought out of his head. That was exactly the kind of mistake that could have gotten him killed on the job.

But even without the weapon, he couldn’t take his jacket off. No way. Besides his weapon, he had a hard-on. A huge blue-steeler that felt like a club between his legs, and his pants were just loose enough to show it.

Walking behind Caroline, watching the sway of her hips and the way her hair bounced on her shoulders, sniffing theair in her wake—every hormone in his body woke up and smelled her roses. All the blood in his body had streamed straight to his cock.

Well,thatwas guaranteed to keep him off her list of possible boarders. No woman in the world would agree to have a man in the house who swelled erect just by looking at her.

This was insane.

Jack’s body was his to command. It did his bidding, always. If he needed to go without food or water or sleep, his body obeyed. Extremes of heat and cold didn’t bother him. Sex was never a problem. When he wanted to fuck, he got a hard-on and when he didn’t, his dick stayed right down between his legs.

But watching Caroline’s graceful walk to the back of the shop, hips gently swaying, he got massively aroused with each step she took.

Getting to live with her in Greenbriar within an hour of landing at the airport was something he hadn’t even thought to hope for. And yet here he was, maybe five-ten minutes away from actually living with Caroline, in Greenbriar, and he was about to blow it. He couldn’t think of anything more likely to disqualify himself as a potential boarder than his dick flying in her face.

She was the only person on the face of the earth who could mess with his mind and his dick that way. Nothing ever got in the way of what he wanted. Certainly not sex. Sex was fun and sometimes necessary to blow off steam but it wasn’t something he allowed to interfere with his life, ever.

Jack was intensely mission-oriented. He focused narrowlyon the mission, whatever it was, to the exclusion of everything else. The mission now was to move into Caroline’s house and he shouldn’t have allowed anything to cloud his mind, let alone stiffen his dick.

As he followed her to the sofa, he should have been planning tactics, thinking several steps ahead, moving the chess pieces around. He should have been lining up arguments to convince her that though he looked like a bum, he was solvent and reliable. Safe. He should have been rehearsing what he would say to her about why he was in Summerville, discussing his future plans, convincing her he would make an acceptable boarder. He’d had 30 years of survival training in the harshest schools possible. Surely he could manage this—convincing a beautiful young woman that he wasn’t Ted Bundy.

Apparently not.

The blood necessary to do all this thinking and planning had drained right out of his head and coursed southwards.

His boner shocked the shit out of him. That wasn’t how he worked. He was in control, always.

Not now, though. All thoughts fled from his head as he walked behind Caroline. She was wearing pretty pointy toed shoes with high heels, impossible shoes for the sleety afternoon, but perfect to showcase long, slender calves and delicate ankles. There was a slight, rhythmic hiss of stocking as she walked and he had felt the pulses of it through his skin. The rhythm of her heels tapping on the wood matched his heartbeat exactly, the little flutter of a silk blouse as she walked echoing the flutter of blood rippling through his veins.

Like in combat, he tunnel-visioned. His mind simply blanked out on everything else and all he saw was her. His hands itched to run up the long, slender line of her legs, part them, make her wet with his fingers first. He was big and it was a courtesy he gave all his sex partners to make sure they could take him with ease. But with Caroline, especially, he’d be careful …

“Here,” she said and he thought, looking around—yes, here. Great.

On the couch, on the rug, on the hardwood floor. Against the wall, bent over the counter. Anywhere, just as long as he could get in her and stay for hours.

It was only when she cocked her head to one side, a slight frown between auburn eyebrows and said, “Mr. Prescott?” in a light, inquisitive tone, that Jack realized with a jolt to his system what he was doing.

Fucking it up, that’s what he was doing.

Heneverfucked up.

So he gritted his teeth, managed a quiet “Thank you,” through clenched jaws and sat, forcing himself to think of Sierra Leone, Obuja and Vince Deaver. Of blood and betrayal,torture and the screaming of women. So much blood the ground was soaked with it, running in red rivulets. Women bayoneted to death. Highly trained soldiers using children as target practice. The sniper’s red mist around kids’ heads as the shot went home…

That did it. The images cooled his blood and sickened his heart. His cock went straight back down.

His teeth were clenching so tightly it was a miracle he didn’t have shards of enamel coming out his ears.

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