Rogue Protector, page 10
Mik settles closer to me. “So what happened to your shoulder?”
“When I came back, my CO—“ I swallow hard, ill prepared to admit I was basically fired and sent halfway around the world as punishment for my actions, “—he sent me to Pakistan.”
“Oh.” I feel her reply more than hear it, and I close my eyes. We need to sleep soon. Mikayla has to regain her strength before we hike back to the Land Rover.
Say it. Just…spit it out and move past it.
“Austin?” Mikayla whispers with her lips against my ear. “What happened to you?”
“I…” A barrage of gunfire echoes in my memories. I can smell the smoke. Feel the blowback from the grenade. Hear Griff’s shouted warning, then his scream as that stone wall collapsed, crushing his arm. “I can’t.”
The words escape hoarse and full of emotion, and I bury my face against Mikayla’s neck. Fuck. She smells so good. Even here, dirty, bedraggled, left to die on a cliff in a storm. Like home. Like everything I never thought I wanted but now…don’t want to be without.
“Five people died,” I say against her soft skin. “Only one of my security detail survived. Lost his arm. His hearing. Most of it, anyway. He saved my life. But I still took three shots. The one to my shoulder…”
Mik threads her fingers into my hair and guides me back just enough to kiss me. Her lips are chapped from all those hours in the rain and wind, but there’s no hesitation, no holding back, and I roll her on top of me, needing more. I almost lost her. Almost didn’t find her in time. We could have missed out on our tomorrow. On all the tomorrows I want to have with her.
Her wince stops me, tames my dick jutting against her stomach, hard and eager for more than she’s ready to give. Fuck. How can I be thinking about sex when she’s injured? I didn’t even examine her properly after I got her into the sleeping bag.
“What hurts?” I ask. She doesn’t answer, and I cup her cheek and hold her gaze. “Mik. Tell me.”
With a sigh, she shakes her head, then groans softly. “My head. Hip. Back. Shoulder. Ankle. I was thrown off a cliff, Austin. Everything hurts.”
“Thrown?” The word explodes from my lips, and Mik squeezes her eyes shut. “Fuck. I’m sorry, sweetheart. But goddammit, if I ever find those shitstains, I’m going to turn them inside out.”
It’s clearly the wrong thing to say, because Mikayla’s brown eyes fill with tears, and she swallows a sob. “I tried to run,” she whimpers. “But the rocks were so slippery, and I’d just had an asthma attack. The meds…I get shaky.”
“Mikayla…”
“No, let me finish.” Her voice cracks, and she pulls her hands out from under the blankets, staring at the welts from the zip tie. “I could barely feel my fingers. When I tripped, I almost went over, but there were these branches. I tried to push myself back, but then he grabbed my ankle—“
“Who?” She’s lost in her memories, panic edging her tone, and if I can’t pull her out, she could end up with another asthma attack. I take her right hand and lay her fingers over the bracelet I bought her. “You’re safe, Mik. With me. No one’s going to hurt you here.”
She fiddles with the beads, and I reach over for the first aid kit, digging out a roll of gauze and some ointment. “I’m going to wrap up your wrists so these welts don’t get infected, okay?”
She nods, watching me as I tend to her. Her breathing is steadier now, and I try to get just a little bit more information out of her. Because when we get back to town and I know she’s not seriously injured, I’m going after these assholes. “Can you tell me anything more about what happened? Who grabbed your ankle?”
She flinches, and I rub her fingers. “The bigger one. Ar-Arturo.”
“How many of them were there?”
“Three. When I found them at the site, I tried to run, but I couldn’t breathe.” Her expression shutters, like she can’t stand to remember, and I don’t want to press her any more, but after a minute, she closes her eyes and whispers, “They wanted to kill me. Or s-sell m-me. Along with the orchids. I got away before...before they could get me into their truck, but I wasn’t fast enough. And they were shooting at me...” Tears tumble down her cheeks, and I gently wipe them away with my thumbs. “I can’t believe you found me.”
“I’ll always find you, sweetheart. Always.” I press a chaste kiss to her forehead, then sit up with her in my arms. “Will you let me see your back and shoulder? The blankets will keep you mostly covered.”
Mikayla shudders, but nods, and when I release her and scoot back, she lowers the blankets just enough, I can see her tight nipples straining against her sports bra. Her right shoulder is half a dozen different shades of purple, and I gently trace the edges of the bruising, then take her arm at the elbow. “I just want to see when it starts to hurt. Keep holding the blankets with your other hand.
She does as I ask, and thankfully, she seems to have full range of motion. Not like when I woke up in that godawful hospital in Pakistan. Her left side is worse, but again, she can move, albeit carefully.
A shiver runs through her, though the fire has warmed the air well enough. She’s still cold. Probably will be until I can get some food into her. Shit. Why haven’t I tried to get her to eat something?
“Austin?” Her uncertain tone pulls me out of my own head. Shit. She’s more exposed than she’s ever been with me, biting her lip like she’s just made the biggest mistake of her life, and I’m sitting here having a whole conversation with myself rather than with her.
I follow her gaze to the blankets bunched around my hips and the very obvious tenting from my dick. Goddammit. I didn’t even realize... This is inappropriate as fuck. She was just thrown off a mountain, and touching her is still making me hard.
I shift my legs to hide the evidence of my arousal, and she looks away. “Deep breaths, sweetheart. I’m going to see how far down your back the bruising goes. You still okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
She’s not, but I have to make sure she doesn’t have any internal bleeding. Scooting behind her, I wrap one hand around her waist just below her breasts to hold the blankets.
“Relax. Drop your arms.” Mik does as I ask, but from the tension that springs to her shoulders, she’s either in pain or incredibly uncomfortable with how exposed she is. “Did you land on your back?”
After another shuddering breath, she clears her throat. “I think so. Kind of, anyway. After I fell, everything went fuzzy.”
“I’m just going to run my hand over your abdomen. If anything feels worse than a bruise, tell me.” Under the blankets, I palpate gently, checking her ribs, her left and right sides, and though her body tenses up more than once, her body language tells me she’s more nervous than in pain. When I’m done, I press a kiss to the curve of her neck. “All done. You’re okay, and I won’t ever let them touch you again.”
Gooseflesh races down her arms, and I start gently kneading her shoulders around the bruises. A low moan escapes her lips, and shit. I’m so aroused, it’s painful. Until I focus on the dark purple splotches right above her bra.
“Mik.” I can’t do this. Can’t touch her without thinking about how close she came to dying. Wrapping both arms around her from behind, I plant a kiss behind her ear as she starts to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”
She tries to turn, but tangled in the blankets, something must hurt her, and she hisses out a breath. “Don’t apologize,” she says through her tears. “I just need you to make me feel safe again.” The tremble in her voice breaks me, and I pull the sleeping bag up and over both of us, guiding her back down and draping her over my chest so she can lay her head on my shoulder.
By degrees, Mik starts to relax, and when her breathing evens out and the tension has left her body, I close my eyes and let myself sleep with this woman I think I might be able to love.
Mikayla
Stretching, I try to ignore the twinges of pain arcing through my body. The first rays of light stream through the rotting roof, and while I’m warm, I’m also very much alone.
I wasn’t. Not all night. Austin held me, whispered to me when I cried, and kept me safe, only leaving my side once to stoke the fire. I don’t think he knew I was awake, but I watched him. Wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, he gathered twigs and small branches from just outside the little building’s entrance and arranged them carefully before spreading our clothes out to dry.
When he turned back to me, the firelight played over his abs, his scarred chest, his strong, muscular legs, and for a brief moment, something had stirred inside of me. Something I had no business feeling out here—in a crumbling building several centuries old, injured, terrified, and possibly still hunted.
“Austin?” I call as I push myself up on an elbow. The motion makes my back ache, but I feel better than I think I should after falling so far and being trapped on that ledge for so long. “Where are you?”
“Right here, sweetheart.” He ducks back inside, wearing his boots and black pants, but no shirt. “Just had to, um…use the facilities.”
I chuckle, which makes my side hurt. “We have ‘facilities’?”
“We have a tree.” Austin snags his shirt where it hangs on a stone jutting out from the wall, and tugs it on, his cheeks slightly red and his gaze pinned to the floor. “Don’t try to get up, Mik. Your ankle was pretty swollen last night. I’ll help you.”
Now it’s my turn to flush with embarrassment. This amazing, strong, protective man held me all night under the blankets and sleeping bag, skin-to-skin, and we’ve been on exactly one date. This isn’t me. The last time I slept with a man, we’d been dating for a month. The time before that…two months.
And both of them hurt me.
Austin…he’s different. Honorable to a fault. Respectful. Sweet. Protective. He grabs my tank top and flannel shirt and sinks down next to me.
“Do you think you can manage to put your shirt on if I hold the sleeping bag up?” he asks, concern creasing his brow.
“Y-yes.” I want to tell him that it’s okay. That he doesn’t need to keep me covered, but that’s not a conversation I can have here. Not dirty and in pain with men who want to kill me still out there.
Dropping what used to be a white shirt next to me, he curls his fingers around the top of the sleeping bag, brushing my collarbone as he does so. The contact sends sparks shooting lower. Down to my core.
Get yourself under control, Mik. Someone tried to kill you last night.
The thought keeps me from reaching for Austin, but I want to. So very much. I want him to kiss me again. To do…more. But not here. Not in these crumbling ruins in the middle of nowhere.
My back protests when I raise my arms, but I’m able to tug the shirt down to cover my body without too much of a struggle. “Okay. I’m, uh, decent. From the waist up anyway.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks when he lowers the sleeping bag, and his breaths saw in and out of his chest like he’s just gone for a run.
“Austin?”
With a muttered curse, he turns away to reach for my pants. “Ignore me, Mik. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” I brush my fingers over his wrist, and he sucks in a sharp breath. His black pants are decidedly tight…down there, and he won’t meet my gaze. “I…this isn’t something I’ve ever said to a man before. But, I want you to touch me, Austin. Not here. Not now. But…when we’re safe. When it doesn’t hurt just to sit up. When I’ve—“ my cheeks catch fire, “—showered.”
Austin leans closer and cups the back of my neck. “You’re beautiful, Mikayla. Every bit as beautiful as you were on our date two nights ago.”
“You’re not impressing me with your visual acuity,” I say, surprised I’m relaxed enough to smile.
He traces his index finger along my jaw. “My eyes are just fine, sweetheart. You have a bit of dirt. Right here.” Continuing down the curve of my neck, he reaches my collarbone. “And here.”
The tension between us makes my heart beat faster, and if other biological needs weren’t making themselves known, I’d kiss him, or ask him to kiss me. Instead, I cover his hand with mine. “Help me with these,” I say as I nod towards my pants. “Then help me outside so I can find that tree?”
Chapter Thirteen
Mikayla
My ankle doesn’t want to hold my full weight, and Austin wraps his arm around my waist to help me out to a nearby tree. Thankfully, once I’m leaning against the rough bark with a clump of moss in my hand, he shoves his hands into his pockets and stares down at the ground. “You’re going to need a crutch to make it back to the Land Rover. Will you be okay…?”
“Yes. Just don’t go too far.”
He cups the back of my head, and his hazel eyes hold such intensity, I want to look away, but I can’t. “I won’t leave you, sweetheart. I promise. You’ll be able to see me the whole time.”
Nodding, I watch him walk away, waiting until he’s gone at least twenty feet before I drop my pants and awkwardly take care of my needs. By the time I’m done, he’s standing by the dilapidated structure with two tree branches balanced against one crumbling wall.
“It’s okay. I’m done,” I call as I manage a few uneven, painful steps closer to him. And then his arm is around my waist.
“Easy there,” he murmurs. “It might only be a mild sprain, but you’re going to be unsteady for a few days. Don’t want you going down again.”
“Do they teach all guys in the Air Force to be this…chivalrous?” I ask. We’re back inside now, and he lowers me down to the camping mat, then sits next to me and digs in his pack for a minute, coming away with a bottle of water and two pouches labeled “Beef Stew.”
“No, ma’am,” he says with a smile. I open the water bottle while he tears into the pouches and fiddles with them for a minute before handing me one, along with…a spork? “Chivalry’s my dad’s department. I swear, my mom has never opened a door in her life unless he was nowhere around.”
“Tell me about them?” The first sporkful of stew tastes like heaven, and I moan a little, my cheeks flushing hot at the look Austin shoots my way. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
He chuckles, and it’s such a sexy, toe-curling sound that I have to force myself to focus on eating. “Dad spent most of his life in the Air Force. Retired at sixty. Mom was a teacher until just a few years ago. Seventy-six years old, both of them, and they still go for walks around the neighborhood every single day.”
His face practically lights up, and for a moment, I see him as I never have before. Relaxed. Almost…happy. But then he digs into his packet of stew, and it’s like it reminds him where we are. His expression changes so quickly, I swear he flipped a switch.
“If the river’s still too high to cross, we’ll need to hike another two miles, at least. I’d carry you the whole way, but—“
“No, you won’t. For Pete’s sake, Austin. I know you’re built like a super hero, but you carried me all the way here last night, and even though I was unconscious for a lot of it, I saw your face a few times. How hard it was. I’m not exactly…tiny.”
“You’re perfect,” he says, almost automatically.
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Okay, Superman. You can stop with the compliments. I wasn’t putting myself down. Just stating the obvious. I’m not supermodel thin, and I don’t want to be.”
“I’m not Superman.” There’s an edge to his voice. Rough and dark and dangerous. “That’s Trevor.”
“Huh?” For a brief moment, I wonder if I hit my head harder than I thought last night. “You’re upset. What did I say?”
Austin crumples the stew pouch into a ball, tucks it into a plastic bag, and then runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I’m not. Not with you, anyway. A reflex, I guess. When we went to Venezuela, the guy who led the rescue mission—Ryker—he insisted everyone use code names in the field. Trev was Superman, Dani was Lois Lane.”
“Who were you? Don’t tell me you were Jimmy Olsen? That’s just…wrong. You’re nobody’s sidekick.”
He snorts, a hint of a smile curving the corners of his lips. “Perry White. Editor of the Daily Planet and the oldest guy in the movie. Except for Superman’s parents. At least Ry didn’t dub me Jor-El.”
“Well, you need a better nickname than Perry,” I say, nudging his shoulder. It feels good to joke, to relax, even though we’re about to leave this crumbling sanctuary, and I’ll have to hike several miles on an injured ankle, to a spot where men—including one of my students—might be waiting to kill us. But now that my mind’s gone there, I can’t muster the will to smile.
“When I was flying, my call sign was Danger.”
I scrape up the last of the stew, then ball up my pouch and let him pack it up with all the other trash—first aid supplies mostly, and a tiny energy drink bottle Austin drained almost as soon as he woke up. “There’s a story behind that I want to hear.”
“When we’re safe.” He’s all business now, withdrawing a roll of duct tape from his pack, along with a large knife, and going to work on the two branches he found earlier. “This isn’t going to be the most comfortable thing. But it’ll work well enough when I’m done.”
I watch, amazed, as he cuts notches in the wood, fits a thick, slightly curved short branch between a V at the end of the longer branch, and tapes them all together. Then, he cuts off several pieces of the camping mat we’re sitting on and secures them to the curved branch, giving the makeshift crutch some padding. After he tests it out to make sure it holds his weight, he nods once, then helps me up and shows me how best to use it.
Walking still hurts, but taking a lot of the weight off my injured ankle turns the sharp pain into more of an annoying twinge. “You’re right. You’re not Superman. Indiana Jones maybe. Or…MacGyver.”
