Dangerous Lover (3 page)

Walking behind Caroline, watching the sway of her hips and the way her hair bounced on her shoulders, sniffing the
air 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,
that
was 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.

All he’d wanted was a glimpse of her. Getting to live with her in Greenbriars 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 or ten minutes away from actually living with Caroline, in Greenbriars, 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 narrowly
on 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 cock.

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 mind 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.

“Here,” she said and, looking around, he thought,
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 there 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.

He
never
fucked 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 betray
al, 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.

Caroline must have felt something wrong in the air, because she sat gingerly on the edge of the armchair, knees and calves and feet aligned, arms crossed tightly across her midriff, body language tight. Unconsciously ready to stand up or even leap up if he made her any more uncomfortable than he already had.

He was a man who kept his cool in armed combat, but seeing her change her body language scared the shit out of him.
He’d
done that. He’d made her feel edgy and wary, when he should have done everything in his power to reassure her.

Maybe it was the exhaustion and jet lag. Nine time zones, a total of thirty-six hours in the air and maybe six hours’ sleep in all.

Whatever it was that was making him groggy and horny and a dumb-ass, he had to shape up fast or he’d be tossed out on his ear.

He cleared his throat. “So, ma’am.” He looked her straight in the eyes, heroically never allowing his gaze to drop to her breasts or legs, and made his expression impassive. “As I said, I understand you have a room to let. I’m looking for a place to
stay, and a room sounds just fine for now until I find my feet. You said you have a room free?”

Caroline breathed in and out. Jack knew what her head was saying—
no
,
no way. Are you crazy
?
This guy’s scary-looking and could be nuts.

But Caroline also thought with her heart. Her eyes dropped and fixed on his boots. They were his combat boots and were ancient and cracked and stained. The heels were worn.

A soldier always looks after his feet. In the field, a blister can get infected and turn a foot gangrenous in twenty-four hours. His combat boots were comfortable and waterproof and had served him well. He hadn’t even thought about changing into better shoes when making his way back.

What Caroline saw was a man with worn clothes, stubble on his chin and down-at-heel boots. A man who looked like he’d traveled hard and long and was down on his luck. He could see the softening in her eyes. She lifted her gaze to his and uncrossed her arms and sat back slightly.

His heart thudded.

Yes. Oh shit,
yes!
It was a done deal. It was going to be okay. Bless her soft heart. She’d made the decision. Now it was just a question of finding the right words, the ones to convince her head to take a chance on him because her heart already had. He could still fuck it up, but not if he paid attention and said the right things.

Caroline had relaxed a bit, but she wasn’t smiling. “Um, yes, I do. I have two rooms, actually, a single and a double and they are both free. One boarder left two weeks ago, and the other two boarders left four days ago.”

“So I’m in luck.” He tried on a small smile. “I’ll take it. The double, because I like my space.”

She sighed and dropped her eyes to where a long, pink-tipped finger was playing with a loose thread. She bit her lips, clearly struggling with something. She sighed, a light exhalation of breath. When she lifted her eyes to his, she’d come to a decision.

“The double room I have is spacious and comfortable, Mr. Prescott, and in a beautiful old home about a mile and a half from the city center. The price includes meals and”—she smiled—“I assure you I am a very good cook.”

Oh, Jesus. Caroline and
food
. Jack nearly fell to his knees weeping. He hadn’t had a decent meal in…shit. Since before Afghanistan.

He dipped his head. “Sounds wonderful, ma’am. Exactly what I need, since I can’t boil water myself. I’ll—”

“Wait.” She put up a slender hand and took a deep breath, as if to brace herself. She looked him straight in the eyes. “That’s the good news. The bad news is that the house comes with the Boiler from Hell, which unfortunately has been going on the blink every other day, even after having been fixed by the Repairman from Hell.” She glanced at the whiteout outside the window. In the sudden silence, they could hear the icy needles pinging against the windowpane. “And in this weather…well, let’s just say it can get uncomfortable. And the lighting is sometimes erratic, there’s some wire crossed somewhere, and no one can find it. If you work on a computer, it makes it hard, and my last boarder lost several important files. And since I seem to be in confession mode, two treads
of the staircase are broken, so if you forget and walk down the stairs at night to get a glass of milk, you’re fairly likely to break your neck.” She let out her breath with a whoosh, tensely watching his face to see his reaction to her words. “So there you have it. And I understand completely if you decide you don’t want the room after all.”

It was hard to keep from snorting. Jack had been waiting for
twelve fucking years
to see her again, never actually believing it would ever happen. He’d dreamed of it on the cold, stony ground while undergoing weeklong training exercises. It had kept him awake in the jungles of Indonesia and for six long, freezing months in a winter barracks in Afghanistan.

And she thought a little cold, some flickering lights and broken treads could keep him away?

The hounds of hell couldn’t keep him away.

“I’m used to discomfort, ma’am,” he said. “A little cold won’t bother me, believe me. I have a laptop with good batteries and I’ll be careful on the stairs. And I’m pretty handy with my hands. Let me see if I can do some repairs around the house for you.”

“Oh.” Caroline blinked. “Wow. That—that’s very kind of you. And incredibly useful. I can only hope you’re better than Mack the Jerk, which is what I call the man who comes and fumbles around in my house and takes my money.” She swallowed, her pretty pale throat convulsing. “And of course, you can deduct any repairs you make from the rent. I insist.”

Something clenched tightly in Jack’s chest. She clearly needed the money. Even the cab driver knew she needed money, probably all of Summerville knew she needed money,
but here she was, willing to give him a break on the rent for his help. It was literally impossible for Caroline to take advantage of someone.

Whatever else happened, whatever went down between them, Jack vowed she’d never have money problems again for the rest of her life.

“No problem, ma’am,” he said gently. “I like to work. I’m not used to being idle. I don’t mind making repairs, fixing things up. It’ll give me something to do while I settle in.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Were you in the military, Mr. Prescott?”

“Yes, ma’am. Army. A Ranger, for seven years. And my father was career military. Army, too. Retired a full colonel. He built up a security company afterwards, and I quit the military to help him run it. He died last week.” A spasm of grief—uncontrollable, unstoppable—crossed his face.

“Oh, my,” she said softly, reaching across to touch his hand. The touch was brief, meant to be consoling, and burned. It was all he could do to keep from snatching at her hand. “I am so sorry. I know perfectly well what it is to lose a parent. It’s incredibly painful. You have my condolences.”

He inclined his head, unable to speak.

Silence. So thick it was a presence in the room. The only sound was the wind rattling the window in its casing.

Jack had got his dick down, but in the meantime something had happened to his throat. It was tight, and hot. A wild tangle of emotions warred in his chest, emotions he didn’t dare let out, but that felt like hot knives slicing away inside him.
Grief. Lust. Sorrow. Joy. He’d lost his father, and he’d found Caroline.

She watched him, saying nothing, as if she understood what was going on inside him. Finally, she broke the silence. “Well, Mr. Prescott, I guess I have a new boarder.”

He lifted his eyes to hers and coughed to loosen his throat. “Guess you do, ma’am. And please call me Jack.”

“All right, Jack. And I’m Caroline. Caroline Lake.” Jack nearly smiled. The one and only time he ever got drunk was the day the Colonel received news that he had inoperable stomach cancer. Jack accompanied the Colonel home, saw him into bed, then went right back out again. That night he got hammered and woke up two days later in some bimbo’s bed with a big ornate ‘C’ tattooed on his right biceps.

He knew who she was, all right.

Jack asked, because he knew she was expecting it. “How much is the rent?”

“Five hundred dollars a month.” She said it sorrowfully, watching his eyes again. “I know that sounds like a lot, but really—”

He held his hand up, palm out. “That’s fine. Sounds reasonable. Particularly with meals, not to mention meals prepared by a good cook. I’ll save a lot on restaurants. So…how do I get out there?” He knew perfectly well how to get to Greenbriars, but it would sound weird if he didn’t ask.

“Do you have a car, Mr. Prescott?”

“No, not yet. I came in straight from the airport in a taxi. I’ll rent something on Monday.”

Caroline stood, and he stood, too, catching the handle of his bag. He was too close to her and stepped back immediately. It was an instinctive reaction. He was so tall he had to be careful not to loom over people. He particularly didn’t want to make Caroline uneasy.

“Well, no one else will be coming in today, not in this weather.” She gave a rueful shrug. “I think I’ll just close up the shop. You can ride home with me, Mr. Prescott.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it.”

“Okay, Jack, and do please call me Caroline.”

“Caroline,” he said, the word passing his lips for the first time in twelve years.

She was staring up at him and seemed lost in thought.

He waited a beat, then—“Caroline? Ma’am?”

Caroline shook herself slightly. “Yes, um…Why don’t you wait for me at the front door? I need to close down my computer and change my shoes.”

She looked down at her pretty shoes, guaranteed to melt in the snow. Jack looked down, too. Their feet made an almost shocking contrast, as if they belonged to two different species instead of two sexes—Caroline’s in the pretty, small, pointy beige heels and Jack’s in his huge, ancient, battered combat boots. Their heads came up at the same time, and their eyes locked.

Jack clutched his bag tightly, because the temptation to reach out and touch her was almost unbearable.

He’d never touched her, not once, in all the times she’d visited the shelter. He’d thought about it endlessly, but he’d never dared.

Caroline moved to her office, behind a waist-high counter.

His knuckles tightened on the handle of the bag as he listened to the beeping sounds of a computer system closing down behind the cubicle wall. Her head disappeared as she bent to change shoes.