Hot SEALs: Guard Dog (Kindle Worlds) (Stone Hard SEALs Book 3) (3 page)

Her heart stalled. Her trepidation must have shown on her face because he sent her something of a smirk and then, with quick moves, sliced her bonds.

“Stay here,” he said. And she froze. Not because he’d commanded her to stay like a dog. But because his voice was gravelly and low and had a musical lilt that poleaxed her. She had a vision of the two of them, entwined in a heated embrace, his murmurs, that voice rippling over her as she came…

Which was ridiculous.

But she had a hell of a time evicting the thought.

When she finally did, she stood and brushed herself off, then wiggled her hands to restore the circulation. She glanced around for
him
, whatever his name was, and frowned.  She could see two of her attackers lying by the trunk of the car. It looked as though their wrists and ankles had been zip tied, which gave her no end of pleasure. But she couldn’t see him. Where did he go?

And then he came over the rise carrying something.

Holy hell.

Carrying two somethings.

Two grown men to be exact.

As though they were nothing.

He dumped them on the ground next to their buddies and quickly tied them up as well. Then he brushed off his hands and glanced at her. A frown rippled his brow.

“I told you to stay put.”

She lifted a shoulder, though it hurt. “I don’t take orders very well.”

“They could still have been conscious.”

She didn’t know why his tone annoyed her. “But they weren’t.”

“You didn’t
know
that. They still could have posed a threat to you.”

Whatever. She frowned at him. “How do I know
you
don’t pose a threat?”

There was no call for his expression of outrage. “Me?”

“Yes you, Mister…Stalker.”

“I am not a stalker.”

“You’ve been following me all night.”

He might have growled. “You should be glad I was following you. If I hadn’t been, you’d probably be in that grave right now.”

The truth of that hit home, but twined with it was the bald fact that she had no idea who he was, or why he was here. She had to know. She had to. “Did Steven hire you?”

He blinked. “Steven who?”

“Steven Bowles.”

It was a relief when he shook his head.

“Then who sent you after me?”

She disliked his hesitation. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

Something nasty curled through her gut. “Really?”
Seriously?

Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched away.

Chapter Three

Mason stared after the tiny woman as she flounced down the rutted track in five-inch heels.
Flounced
. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” His voice came out in an unseemly squawk.

“Back to town.” This, with a toss of her annoying ponytail.

“We’re miles out of town.” In the desert, for fuck’s sake.

“I’m not staying here with
you
.”

He didn’t like her tone, or the sizzle of irritation her distain ignited. “What?”

She whirled around and crossed her arms. He tried not to notice the way her breasts lifted. “I have no idea who you are. You won’t tell me who sent you.”

Well shit.

He wasn’t supposed to disclose his mission, but he was blown now, wasn’t he? The secrecy was probably a moot point. “My name is Mason. I work for a private security firm.”

“And?”

“And I was charged with tailing you and making sure you were safe.”

“You’re my guard dog?”

Hardly. “Something like that.”

“Forgive me for being dense, but aren’t people usually
informed
that they have bodyguards?”

“Given the fact that you have consistently refused a security team, your aunt thought this would be best.”

She stilled. Her head tipped at an irksome angle. “My aunt?”

“Yeah. Catherine Hightower? She hired our company to protect you both.”

“I…how long have you been following me?”

Mason shrugged. “The team has been on you two weeks.”

“The team?”

“There are four of us. We work in shifts.”

She shook her head. “I…I had no idea.”

“We’re good at what we do.”
Until tonight.  Tonight she’d noticed him.
 

“Well shit.” She stomped over to the hillock and sat down. “So Aunt Catherine suspected we were in danger?”

“Apparently.”

“And there’s a team on her as well?”

“Some of the best.”

Her expression went pensive. He disliked the hint of worry on her features. “I haven’t heard from her in days.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. I would have been informed if anything happened to her.”

“Can you check?”

Um…break protocol? But then, hell. He was blown. Protocol pretty much went out of the window. “I can ask for an update. But for now, I think we need to get you somewhere safe.”

The look in her eyes slayed him. “Is there? Anywhere safe?”

He swallowed heavily. “Ma’am. It’s our mission to keep you safe. Now, if you don’t mind, shall we go?”

“Go?” She glanced at the Cadillac.

“I have my bike. Are you comfortable on a Harley?” The whisper of a smile on her lips was answer enough.

“What are you going to do with them?” she asked, waving at the fuckers bound in the dirt.

He shrugged. “Leave them here.” He’d call the incident in. Let Jon and his guys handle clean up.

One of the bastards groaned.

Her smile kicked up. “It gets hot in the desert.”

“That it does.” He reached out a hand to her. “Shall we?” A shiver raced through him as their palms skimmed. She might have felt it too; her eyes flared as they touched, but she hid it quickly.

He was trying to appear calm, but all he wanted was to sweep her away, away from these men, this spot, this debacle, and button her up but good.

Oh, he might have wanted something else too, but really, this was a mission. She was his target. There was no room for fantasies of tangling with Pansy Hightower.

Or buttoning her up, for Christ sake.

She was sexy hot. No doubt about it. Her very expression made a man imagine those pouty lips around his cock. But she was nothing to him. She could be nothing to him. Nothing but a job.

Hell, even if he weren’t bound by his ethics, she was hardly the kind of woman he would want for any kind of long term relationship. A notorious party girl, concerned with little more than the color of her nail polish and finding the perfect purse in which to carry her dog—not his type.

Still, she was pretty hot.

Mason pushed those thoughts from his mind as he led her to his bike and straddled it before helping her on. Though she objected—because it would muss her hair—he insisted she wear his helmet. Besides, her hair was pretty fucked up already. But he didn’t think it would be prudent to mention that.

With great satisfaction, he turned over the engine and pulled out onto the dirt road.

He was sure the satisfaction stemmed from the fact that he had successfully saved the girl—and not the fact that her arms were wrapped around his waist, and her soft breasts pressed against his back.

Pretty sure, anyway.

The Harley’s engine thrummed between his thighs as he made his way back the way he’d come, over the dusty track and onto the freeway and the jetting toward town. Pansy clutched at him each time the bike swerved, making him wonder if she’d ever been on one before. But that was a stupid thought. Of course she had been. A woman with her lifestyle? She’d probably done everything.

Once they hit town, he took the back streets to her hotel. They were less crowded and if anyone happened to be watching for her, it was less likely they’d be spotted. To that end, he took her up to her room not through the fancy glittering lobby, but through the austere utilitarian service passages.

As they emerged from the elevator, he held her back while he scanned the hall. It was quiet, deserted, but he didn’t lower his guard as he escorted her to her door. It took her a while to find her card key in the impossibly tiny wallet she had tucked in her bodice—which matched the print of her dress. But then, she was shaking.

When she found it he took it from her and met her eyes. “Let me go in and make sure it’s all clear.”

She opened her mouth as though to protest, but he gave her no time. It was entirely possible that the crew waiting for her at the club had a backup team stationed here. That’s what he would have done.

He swiped the key and pushed through the door.

It was dark beyond the slice of light from the doorway. He pulled out his Sig and hunched lower—motioning that she do the same—and peered through the murk, making out the shapes of furniture in a sprawling suite. Not a sound. Not a hint of movement. Still he would need to—

A low growl resonated through the room—the sound a Chupacabra might make. It sent chills up his spine. He moved—just a fraction of an inch—and the growl rose. He glanced at the wall where a sliver of light created a shadow; he made out the outline of an enormous creature with large ears, a slavering maw and barrel chest. The creature quivered with fury.

Why hadn’t he known she had a Rottweiler?

Fuck that. Whatever it was, he wasn’t facing it blind. He felt for the light switch and flicked it on and…

Holy crap.

The growl erupted into a flurry of high pitched yips and snarls that Mason had trouble processing. Because he was utterly befuddled.

This hulking, snarling beast, one that made his bowels go cold, was a Chihuahua. And not just any Chihuahua. A Chihuahua wearing a frilly pink tutu with matching booties.

Apparently it was pissed about the tutu—or something—because it charged.

Mason launched to his feet—he was not having his groin mauled by anything in a pink tutu. He yelped as the dog closed its fangs on his ankle. Naturally, he tried to shake the beast off. Because shit, those teeth
hurt
.

To his consternation, Pansy, who was supposed to be staying behind him while he checked out her suite, pushed past him and snatched up the dog, cuddling it to her cheek as though the little monster wasn’t still snapping and growling.

“Hush baby, hush,” she cooed. “It’s okay.”

Okay?

It was not okay.

Why she glared at him, he had no idea.  “What?” he snapped.

“You tried to kick her,” she said.

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I was trying to shake her off.”

“She’s much smaller than you, you brute!”

“She was
biting
me.”

“She’s a guard dog. What did you expect?”

He stared at the creature quivering in her arms. When it noticed his attention, it made some more nasty sounds; saliva spattered him. “That? That is
not
a guard dog.” Guard dogs did not wear tutus. He was pretty fucking sure.

Pansy Hightower sniffed. “She scared
you
.”

“She most certainly did not scare me.”

“You yelped.”

“I was
startled
.” Her expression made it clear she did not believe him, or she failed to see the very subtle difference between startled and scared. He pushed out his chest. “Now please. If you don’t mind. Shall I continue searching your rooms? To make sure you are safe?”

She humphed and made little kissy noises against her dog’s head. “Go ahead. But there’s no one here.”

He gaped at her. “And how do you know that?”

“It’s pretty obvious. If anyone was here, Lola would have had them cornered.”

“Lola?” Her name was Lola? A song that had always annoyed him skirled through his head.

“We were going to name her Spartacus—”

“What, not Ratacus?” He couldn’t resist.

She glared at him. “We were going to name her Spartacus but then she turned out to be a girl.”

He had nothing to say to that. Didn’t even want to ask. “Right. Stay here.”

He made a quick but thorough search of her suite—the living room, dining room, kitchen, bedroom and enormous bath—and found nothing. Part of him kind of wished he had found someone skulking behind the curtains just so he could say something like, “so there,” but he didn’t. He should be glad of it. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he was damn tired. He trudged back into the living room and pulled out his phone.

Her brow rumpled. “Who are you calling?” Her voice was sharp, reflective of the stressful night she’d had. He scuttled the urge to needle her. As much as she annoyed him on a bone deep level, she touched him there too. Part of him—the soft squishy center—wanted to reassure her. See the lines on her brow smooth. See her body relax.

“I’m calling my boss. He needs to know what happened. And I’d like to get an update on your aunt. She needs to be warned.”

Apparently his simple words hit her hard.

Her eyes widened. Her lips trembled. Something inside him lurched.

Damn. He wanted to fold her into his arms and hold her. Just hold her.

It was an unfortunate urge, and a foolish one.

With ruthless determination, he thrust it away.

Pansy stared after Mason as he stalked into the kitchen with his cell phone to his ear. She wanted to follow, to hear at least his half of the conversation, but she didn’t have the energy. Her muscles were like noodles and her mind was in a fog.

All the way back from the desert, she’d clung to him, this big, strong mountain of a man—a man who had saved her from certain death, a man who had used his fists like battering rams, pummeling her assailants into submission. He incited feelings in her she’d never felt before.

Oh, there was the lust. There was no doubt about that. Especially now that she’d gotten a good look at him in the light. He was far more handsome up close than she’d suspected. But it was more than his gorgeous raw-boned face or his incredible build. More than the sheer power of his muscles.

It was the force of his presence. The aura that clung to him.

He made her feel small and feminine—but in a way that made her feel empowered as well. He made her want things she’d never wanted before.

As the daughter of a famous personality, with a career and platform of her own, she’d always been the leader in a relationship. She’d been the one in charge. The one on top, as it were.

This man made her ache for something else. Made her crave the power of his body over hers, thrusting into hers, holding her helpless and making her his.

But shit. That was probably just reaction talking. No doubt it was her mind’s way of dealing with the trauma of the night. She’d been overpowered. Snatched. She’d nearly been killed. Possibly almost raped. There was a lot of emotional baggage that came along with an experience like that. No doubt her brain was just trying to find balance in the chaos of her emotions.

She’d have to ask Dr. Rosenthal the next time she saw him.

Mason stepped back into the room, capturing her complete attention. Good God, he was beautiful. Filthy, but beautiful. But then she probably looked like hell too. She glanced down at her leg, suddenly aware of a sharp sting, and was surprised to see it was bleeding from a series of cuts and scrapes. Her whole body was probably savaged. Tomorrow she’d be black and blue.