Page 42 of Dangerous Games (Tempting SEALs 2)

And he still remembered her expression. Determined to live, her eyes bright with anger, her face twisted into a grimace of resolve. She wasn't going to let her assailant kill her, not that easily. She had given Clint those extra few seconds he needed to jerk her out of her assailant's arms and out of harm's way. That time.

His guts tightened with the thought that just pulling her out of the game wasn't going to pull her out of the danger. She was compromised, for whatever reason, and now she was marked.

The thought of that was enough to make him wish for an empty room and ten minutes alone with the bastards targeting her. He'd show them pain. He'd show the sons of bitches what it was like to hurt, to die in an agony so intense that death was a relief. No one, but no one, was allowed to hurt Morganna.

He had made that rule years ago, and he'd made it stick. The boys who dated her knew that if a single tear was shed for them on her part, then he and Reno came after them. She was heartbreaking when she cried. It was something Clint couldn't handle, not for a second.

Her eyes just got wider, her pouty little lips turned down, and silent tears washed over a heartbroken expression. His hands shook at the thought of dealing with those tears, because he wanted to kiss them away. Then kiss her trembling lips, and from there ... there would have been no stopping his downfall.

Just as there was no stopping it now. He knew when she walked out of that shower; within seconds he was going to end up tossing her in that bed. And God help her. He hadn't been this damned hot for a woman in years; it might be days before Morganna got to see sunlight again.

Which only added to his frustration. To keep her, he was going to have to save her first. He stopped in the middle of the floor at that thought and raised his eyes to the ceiling, looking for answers where he was certain there were none.

Save her? The minute he managed to pull her ass out of this fire, she'd have the flames licking at her from somewhere else. She was trouble. She wasn't even trouble waiting to happen; she was trouble in progress.

And he was going to work with her?

He ground his teeth together at the thought. It would be more like trying to work just to keep up with her. He knew from experience that keeping up with Morganna was next to impossible.

Damn. He was in trouble and he knew it.

Because in some ways, she had been right that morning. His parents' relationship had colored his belief in love, in women. Morganna was the prettiest thing he had ever laid his eyes on and so filled with life he knew he had no hope of keeping her to himself.

He couldn't lock her away and expect her to be happy. She would always need an adventure, and as she was proving now, that adventure would never be safe.

And the men. God, they flocked around her like flies to honey, hungry to touch her, to possess her. As though the life that burned within her eyes drew them like moths to a flame.

Once he had her, any man who touched her would be taking his life in his own hands. Unlike his father, Clint would never be able to contain his fury if he arrived home to find his woman in bed with another man.

Clint's jaw clenched as anger nearly overwhelmed him. He knew Morganna had known other lovers; hell, he even knew who they were. He could tell, the moment he met them, that they had touched her beautiful body, had lain with her, caressing her, loving her. And he had wanted to kill them. Hell, he still wanted to kill them.

That fury had terrified him. If he felt that way and she didn't even belong to him, what would he do if the loneliness she would live with as his wife became too much? If temptation was too close, the fear and the worry too strong, allowing her to give in to another man?

"You think too much."

He swung around, tension tightening his body at the sight of her leaning against the wall that led to the bathroom. He had heard the shower turn off; he hadn't expected her to leave the bathroom so quickly.

The shirt he had given her was the ugliest one he owned. A pea green combat shirt that had been washed one time too many. It hung to her knees, but first it whispered over her breasts, outlining those damned gold rings centered in her nipples.

Lust sizzled in his groin, torturing his erection, tightening it further. He swore he was harder than he had ever been in his life. "You didn't need the T-shirt."

"Yes, I did." She straightened from the wall, watching him warily. "You surely didn't think I was just going to lay down with you and let you trample all over me again, Clint."

He had wondered how long it would take her to get mad. And she was plenty mad now. The shock from the attack was wearing off, but the adrenaline was still riding high inside her.

"You've been fighting for this for eight years, Morganna." He ground his teeth together in frustration, certain she would end up driving him crazy.

"I stopped fighting tonight, remember?" she pointed out, those stormy eyes biting into him, defying him, challenging him. "I gave up."

"You?" he said, smiling, shaking his head. "You don't give up, baby."

"In this case, I'm reevaluating my options." Slender shoulders shrugged negligently as her arms crossed beneath her breasts, her slender fingers curling into fists as she tucked them out of sight. "I don't want someone who so clearly hates wanting me in return, Clint. Find someone else."

Find someone else?

"I don't think so." There were no options left. "Neither one of us can walk away from this now, Morganna. I think you know that."

Her eyes narrowed, the shifting grays swirling with emotion as they raked over his body. It was almost a caress, tinged with anger, with a forceful determination to strike back at him.

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