Armored Hearts (The Town of Pearl 7)

He turned off the dryer the moment he realized how lost in thought he had been over her beauty, her enticing body, and the need to learn more about her.

He wrapped the cord around the dryer and heard the floor creak. Looking up, he caught sight of Ford and Flynn. Flynn was holding a plate of food.

&nbs

p; “I think she overdid it, but at least she’s showered and feels clean.” He stood up and walked the dryer to the desk and placed it down.

“You dried her hair?” Flynn asked, sounding shocked.

Was it something too personal, too humane for a man like him to be caught doing?

“It was soaked. The last thing she needs is to get sick now, too,” he countered and Ford raised one eyebrow at him.

“Did she take any meds?” Ford asked.

“No. She should be eating right now but look at her. She probably won’t wake up until tomorrow,” he added and then Fisher left the room, leaving Flynn and Ford there looking at India and probably wondering what the hell had gotten into him.

As Fisher headed downstairs, he ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. What the fuck did get into me?

He wasn’t a prick bastard despite what his buddies obviously thought. He couldn’t let her feel cold or get sick. She was their responsibility.

As the thought went through his mind, his body tightened up. He felt that instant possessive and protective sensation fill him.

Oh hell, I’m attracted to her. This has never happened before. Fuck, what am I going to do? What are the others thinking?

As he descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen to make himself a plate of food, a thought entered his mind. They all had been acting funny, different since India’s arrival. Fenton was being a bigger asshole than usual, Flynn was quieter and would stare at India as if trying to read her mind, and Grey was hurrying home from work every shift to check on India and sit with her even when she was sleeping. Then there was Ford, who was becoming obsessed with her schedule, her medication log, and her overall well-being.

This was different. Something was going on here. Something was changing. The place felt different. Could it be as simple as having a woman in their home? How could one woman affect an entire household like this?

He suddenly thought how nice it could be to have a woman around. Not one just wanting them for their ménage playing or to fuck a soldier with big dicks. No, like a real woman. One who was soft, feminine, and deserved pampering, protection, and love.

Love? What the fuck?

He shoved away from the counter and felt panicked. He never thought about commitment to one woman or about settling down with one. They had friends in town and elsewhere that shared one woman and were committed, but he and his team were so fucked up. They had issues. Deep, dark, anger issues, and no woman would be interested in their scars and fucked-up way of thinking. No woman could heal them or make them feel alive, content in civilian life, and also give them a similar adrenaline rush that danger in general gave them.

No, he was losing his fucking mind and he better snap out of it before the others pick up on it, too. They’d really rub it in. Him falling for someone they were supposed to protect, not have sex with.

The thought that India was in danger pulled at something deeper than a verbal understanding between all of them and India’s brother Silas. No, this was different, and until he figured it out, he was going to keep his mouth shut and just do his job. Even if it killed him.

Chapter 4

India felt embarrassed and she really wished that she could talk to Aspen. She was her best friend, and now that her head was clearing, she worried that Aspen could get killed. India looked around the room. It was dark, empty, and her stomach was grumbling she was so hungry. She couldn’t believe that she slept through dinner again.

Her hair was dry, and as she sat up she had this funny sensation. She remembered dreaming about Fisher. She’d actually felt him running his fingers through her hair. She was so stupid. These men were just doing their job. They weren’t interested in her in that way. Besides, she looked like shit. Beaten to a pulp, swelling everywhere, and God, she stunk for days and they’d had to deal with it.

She wanted to cry. It was nauseating.

India had always been quite independent. Her family had money, were middle class, but she wanted more. So much more than what most people had. It had been her motivation in obtaining her marketing and product development degree and then beating out every male counterpart in the firm she had worked for. She had gained such a great following and committed client list that she branched out on her own. Getting into home designs and decorating for high-end clients was something she fell into by accident. She had gone from corporate cut-throat politics, and fighting over ideas on product advertising and marketing, to just enjoying the creative aspect of promotion. Two years ago she decided to sell off the company and go completely solo, taking only the highest paying positions. She loved redesigning homes for everything from personal likes to settings for films and magazine shoots. She landed James’s job because his home was going to be featured in a Better Home’s magazine.

She was in demand. But lately that demanding atmosphere was getting under her skin. She wanted more. Not monetarily, as she was set for life, but more emotionally.

It seemed she was lacking that full-commitment attitude in her life both professionally and personally. She wanted challenges, and proved she could change professions and succeed. Too bad that wasn’t the case in her love life. No one was ever good enough, or committed enough. Then when they seemed like they could commit she got cold feet and broke things off. It was frustrating.

The guys she hooked up with had to meet a certain criteria before she even entertained their advances. It was her way of maintaining control and keeping her heart intact. A woman who fell instantly in love or worse, in lust with a man, was heading for destruction. Men were manipulative bastards for the most part. They did things to get things. Men made compliments, paid for dinner, gave extravagant gifts, to get a woman to spread her legs or be their possession that clung on their arm. They didn’t do things just to be compassionate, to be nice or just because they were authentically good. At least none of the men she ever came across in her experience.

In her profession and the circles she surrounded herself with, men that were sincere, honest and forthright were a dime a dozen. So much so that she didn’t take them seriously. She kept track of her lovers. Six in all from the time she’d started college to just three weeks ago. The last one called her just about every day since, but she just didn’t feel anything for him.

She wondered if she got so caught up in her professional career and reputation that she began to create an alter ego to go along with it all. She looked around the room, noticing how nicely it was decorated. For a bunch of guys living in one house, or at least she assumed they did—they were all always around—they were neat and clean. Unless beyond that bedroom door lay disaster areas. That was typical.