Duty At What Cost?

She must have sensed the change in him because she gave him a half-hearted smile and started fumbling with the tiny buttons on his shirt.

Damn, he was going to have to do that for her, as well.

Gently knocking her hands aside, he reached for the top button of the shirt. ‘Let me do that. It will be quicker.’

Her beautiful red-rimmed eyes met his and sweat broke out on his forehead. He needed to think of something else.

First, remove the dust cover, then release the tension on the recoil spring.

Okay, he started disassembling an AK47 in his head. That was definitely something else.

His fingers felt feeble as he forced the buttons into their holes and he paused when he accidentally brushed the sweet-smelling skin between her breasts.

Slide the hammer back.

What the hell were these buttons made of anyway? Plasticine?

Gas tube off—

No, idiot. Adjust the front sight post first.

Oh, what the hell.

There was no way cold hard metal could compete with the memory of the weight of those round breasts in the palm of his hands and he gave up, giving his mind permission to conjure up the bumpy texture of her nipples when they were aroused into tight peaks, their colour, their flavour...

Finally reaching the last button, and completely disgusted with himself, Wolfe was glad he didn’t have that useless AK47 handy or he might shoot himself with it. He’d been as good as useless to her tonight anyway.

With professional detachment he ignored the question in his head about whether she was wearing panties and lifted her into his arms, hoping to God she couldn’t feel his thundering heartbeat. He strode into the plane’s bedroom and placed her quickly on the turned-back bed.

About to tell her he’d leave her to rest, he realised she hadn’t moved, but sat huddled right where he’d put her.

‘Ava...’ He said her name on an exhalation. She looked so washed-out and unhappy he couldn’t stop himself from placing his knee on the bed beside her and rubbing his hands over her shoulders. ‘Baby, lie down.’

She shook her head and her lower lip wobbled again.

‘Come on, Princess. Time for sleep.’

He eased her down on the pillows and smoothed her hair back from her face, determined to let that be the end of it.

‘Wolfe?’ Her voice, barely a whisper, was laced with fatigue and shock. ‘Could you stay with me? I mean...just for a minute.’

Could he stay with her? Sure. Should he stay with her? No.

Wolfe closed his eyes and held himself still. It would be a monumental mistake to say yes. He wanted to stay. All too much. Which was why he shouldn’t.

‘Okay.’ His hand slipped to the side of her face, caressing the cool skin of her cheek, her jaw. Before he had time to think about it he eased in beside her and leaned his back against the headboard. Without a word he gathered her close and felt her whole body sigh as she arranged her limbs to slot perfectly against his own—as if he’d been made specifically for this purpose. Specifically for her.

A sensation of warmth spread inside his chest and a lump formed in his throat. Without being truly conscious of it he stroked her back. ‘Sleep, Princess. I’ll be here.’

Had he really just promised that?

After promising himself he’d keep as much physical distance from her as possible?

Well, yes, but there was time to re-implement that plan once he had her on his island. His house wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to get lost in, and once he had her safe he’d be able to lock himself away and get to work.

So, yes, he would stay for now, give her the comfort she had sought and failed to receive as a lonely teenager, and then he’d get up. Pore over the intel his team would have sent him about the bomb. He had a suspicion he knew who was behind the attack on her life, given the people he had deliberately leaked Ava’s bogus itinerary to, and it was time to find out if his instincts were correct.

Releasing a slow breath, he willed his pain-racked body to fake relaxation. Earlier, when he had spotted Ava in front of her building it had been like running over moon grass instead of smooth pavement trying to reach her. His instincts had been screaming that he should have sent somebody over to check the gallery earlier that night. He hadn’t—another slip-up—and he’d nearly lost her. Hell, a newly minted grunt could do a better job of protecting her than he had.

She made a light snuffling sound in her sleep and he realised he’d been stroking her hair. He untangled his fingers and pulled his hand back, wincing when a strand caught in one of his chipped fingernails.