Page 113 of Defenders of Jawhara

He reached out and touched her shoulder.

She pulled back with a jerk. He ignored that and gathered her into his arms. She stiffened, but he held on and whispered, “It’s okay. Let it go. I’ve got you.”

6

I’ve got you.

What a stupid thing to say, but Slade’s arms closed around her, and she couldn’t imagine anything better. She’d always suffered from nightmares—terrors, really. Vivid dreams that left her sweaty and shivering with her heart pounding. Stress made them worse. It was one reason she’d chosen freelance work over the corporate world—she hadn’t been able to handle the stress of a high-tech job.

But Slade felt like a rock—no, way better. He was solid and big and warm. He held her close, not so tightly that she couldn’t breathe, but supporting her, as if she’d never be able to fall. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held her.

He smelled of something musky that reminded her of hot summer nights. She could hear his breathing—steady and even, and her cheek was pressed against his chest, where his heart thudded in a regular rhythm.

She knew the instant the hug changed from comfort to something else.

His pulse quickened. He pulled back slightly, his breath catching. He’d pulled off his shirt, and moonlight glinted off the bunched muscles in his forearms and biceps. She didn’t know where to put her hands, so she put them on him.

He leaned down, taking her lips in a kiss that didn’t ask permission, but took it.

She wrapped her arms around him, lifted one leg, and caught it behind his, feeling the texture of his trousers against her skin. Tongues tangled, he pushed his hand through her hair—she hung onto him until she was gasping for breath.

He pulled back a fraction, and she let him, dizzy and giddy. His voice sounded low and rough. “That should never have happened.”

Bethany traced a finger down one lean cheek. “You can tell a lot about a man by the way he kisses.” She ran her finger over his bottom lip. “You’ve got some mad skills there.”

Dropping his hands, Slade stepped back. “Maybe I should rethink that motel.”

She shook her head. “I’m a big girl. I can make my own decisions.”

“You also just lost a sister and you’re dealing with a lot. Don’t get me wrong, that was great. But…”

“You’d rather not be a consolation prize?” She swallowed the disappointment. Mindless sex was probably not the answer to her problems, but she could use the distraction. And, yeah, he was giving her an eyeful now.

The kitchen had brightened. With his shirt off and a white wife-beater showing off tan skin, muscles, and a hint of dark chest hair, he looked good enough to have for breakfast.

She moved away and started to make coffee, grinding the beans, dumping the grounds into a metal basket. She moved to fill the pot with water, but her hands shook. Leftovers from that dream—she’d been the one in the coffin, the one being buried, and she’d still been alive.

Slade must have seen the tremor in her fingers. He took the coffee pot from her—an old-fashioned percolator—and turned on the water to fill it. The pipe banged and water spat out in a cold stream. “Somehow I don’t think coffee’s the best thing for you right now.”

She offered a smile and pushed a hand into her tangled curls. “Probably not, but it’s hot and I’ll take it.”

He glanced at her, his lips curving. “How about a truce? For a few days. Seems to me you could use some help—some support at the least.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“Information. I think we both need that. About Tayra, what she wanted—and what Jason wants. That’s got to factor into this.”

She stiffened, turned away, and lit the fire under the coffee pot. “He’s just a boy.”

“He’s old enough to have an opinion, and it should matter. It looks to me like he’s had you and Tayra coddling him a little too much.”

She rolled her eyes. “Here it comes—a little boy needs a man.”

“Yeah, he does. He needs role models. He also needs to start getting some respect.”

She pressed her lips tight. The coffee began to percolate, making a soft bubbling sound, and the scent of it filled the kitchen. She tipped her head to one side. “Are you really here to help?”

“I’m here because you called.”

---