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  But disappointment sat inside her all the same, though she tried hard not to let it. “You could just let me go,” she murmured. “I could disappear. You wouldn’t need to be involved.”

  “No.” The word fell into the space between them, heavy as a boulder. “You have no money, no contacts, and you don’t know the city. You couldn’t just disappear, Princess. You’d be found within hours and you know it.”

  Yeah, she did. Which irritated her and made her feel helpless, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  Would Jack even let you go?

  But she already knew the answer to that. Of course he wouldn’t.

  For some inexplicable reason, it made that terrible helpless feeling ease, though there was no reason on earth that it should.

  “I don’t understand why you’re doing all of this,” she said, after a moment. “I’m just some rich man’s daughter and yet you’re putting your job and your reputation on the line for me. Why? I have no skills. No experience at anything but sitting on boards and looking pretty. That’s it, if you don’t count six months of a crappy business degree, which I don’t. It’s not like I’m going to find the cure for cancer or end world hunger anytime soon.”

  “You don’t need a fucking reason to keep existing.” A dark note colored his voice, the words gritty. “You’re breathing. You’re alive. That’s all the reason I need to protect you.”

  No, there was more to it than that, she was certain.

  She wanted to push him again, but perhaps now wasn’t the time. Later, when they were in a place where they could talk properly and weren’t under a time pressure.

  And maybe where you can use . . . other methods.

  A pulse of excitement went through her, making her breath catch. Oh yes, there were other methods, weren’t there? She had to remember that she wasn’t helpless, wasn’t powerless. Maybe it had been a one-time thing up there in the sky, but she wouldn’t know until she tried exercising that power over him again.

  And she would. She was desperate to.

  Knowing his motivations probably wouldn’t help their current situation, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to know. In fact, she wanted to know everything. And hey, maybe if she knew more, there might be something she could do, some way to help. She didn’t really want to sit back and let him save her.

  A memory drifted through her head unprompted. Of her mother lying on the floor of the formal sitting room, holding a hand to her cheek and weeping. Of her father standing threateningly over her, his cold voice promising retribution.

  But her mother wasn’t looking at her father, she was looking at Callie, who stood by the fireplace, trembling. And the expression in her mother’s eyes was full of nothing but blame. Because of course all of this was Callie’s fault. She hadn’t been born a boy and her birth had ended in her mother having a hysterectomy. There would be no chance of sons for Senator Hawthorne, no chance for the dynasty he craved.

  It hadn’t been her fault, yet she knew her mother blamed her for it all the same. The senator had been a different man before Callie’s birth, at least that’s what her mother had always told Callie. And then she’d lost the ability to have more children and so the senator had become bitter, cold. Violent.

  He’s not going to let you go easily, not when you’re taking the chance for his dynasty away from him.

  Callie looked down at her hands, conscious of the fear that ran like an icy spring through her veins.

  Her mother would hate Callie for leaving, especially when her mother always bore the brunt of her father’s anger. But then Catherine Hawthorne had chosen her bed and it had been her decision to lie in it. Callie couldn’t stay simply to protect her. Not anymore.

  Callie took a slow breath, then let it out again.

  There was nothing for her back in Boston. Nothing for her anywhere. She knew no one but Jack, and she had no money or any idea what she was going to do once this situation was over. But one thing she was absolutely sure of.

  She wasn’t going back.

  * * *

  Jack pulled the car up outside the house in Ocean Beach he’d bought with his savings once he’d gotten out of the hospital. The house was old and needed work, but it was only a couple of blocks from the beach and since he’d discovered a love of surfing as part of his physical recovery, being in close proximity had been important to him.

  Not that he was thinking about surfing now, his head too full of the phone call he’d gotten not fifteen minutes earlier.

  It had been from Kellan, asking him what the fuck did he think he was doing with Senator Hawthorne’s daughter since nowhere in Jack’s extraction demand had he mentioned taking Callie. In fact, the team only knew she was with Jack when the good senator had gotten in touch with the mysterious Mr. Night, demanding both his daughter and Jack’s head. As a result, Mr. Night wasn’t happy and Jack was needed at the 11th Hour HQ to explain himself. Right the fuck now.

  Jack had no intention of explaining himself and he had even less intention of going to the 11th Hour HQ. Because as the plane had touched down in San Diego, he’d realized that actually, he knew nothing about the team itself, or the man who funded it. All he knew was that Hawthorne had employed them to guard Callie and that in itself was reason enough not to let them know her location. He didn’t know them and he sure as hell didn’t trust them. They weren’t like the Corps, where he had his buddies whom he’d gone through basic training with, who’d had his back when shit had gone down in Afghanistan. Those, he’d trust with his life.

  But a bunch of people he’d only met once? Headed by some guy with shitloads of cash and only a strange name?

  No. Fuck no. He wasn’t a man who trusted easy anyway and this team hadn’t done anything to earn his trust. Not enough to put Callie at risk anyway.

  You’re putting a lot on the line for her.

  Yeah, he was. But there were reasons for that. Molly, his little sister, being one of them. Nothing could be left to chance in a situation like this one and he wasn’t about to start.

  Don’t get too possessive.

  He wasn’t. Once this was over, he’d let her go. Easy.

  Opening the passenger door, he hauled out Callie’s guitar case—though why the fuck she was bringing something so bulky and annoying to carry, he had no idea—then headed up the little garden path to his front door.

  He was conscious of her following along behind him and standing close as he got his front door key out, the sweetness of her scent wrapping him up, making his heart ache and his cock get harder. It had been semihard the whole way from the airport to his place, purely because she was sitting so close and the sun had been in her hair, spinning it into pure gold.

  He’d been so acutely conscious of her he’d barely been able to concentrate on driving.

  Fuck. Perhaps holding her like that on the plane had been a mistake. Part of him had hoped that once he’d fucked her out of his system, it would be over. He wouldn’t want her anymore.

  But that hadn’t happened yet. If anything, what had happened in the plane had only proven to him how well she matched him. She’d been so strong, so sensual. Loving everything he’d done to her, from how tightly he’d held her to how hard he’d fucked her.

  Yet that wasn’t all. She was determined too and stubborn. She had grit and he respected the hell out of that. Plus, there was that wildness in her that called to the darkness in him. That made him ache, that made him want . . .

  But he couldn’t want. And he couldn’t have. And that was the beginning and the end of the story.

  The thought soured his already pissy mood. Really, the only good thing about the current situation was that he was out of the fucking cold and his hip didn’t hurt as much.

  Before he unlocked the door, he automatically checked for any signs that the lock had been tampered with and then, once that was clear, he stuck the key in and opened the door. Then he gestured for her to go in.

  She did so, stepping into the hallway and looking around. As
he came in behind her, she turned, her gaze meeting his, uncertainty glittering in the blue depths of her eyes. And it hit him all of a sudden that she was now in his territory.

  The intense, dark possessiveness he’d felt back on the plane wrapped long fingers around his throat, squeezing tight, and before he’d quite realized what he was doing, he’d put her guitar case down and was stalking over to her, backing her up against the wall and caging her against it with his hands on either side of her head.

  Her eyes were wide, but not with fear. In fact, that uncertainty had gone, another, hotter emotion burning in her gaze. “What?” she asked breathlessly. “I thought we only had half an hour.”

  Yeah, they did. Fuck it. Not enough time to do what he wanted to do, which was to take her into his bedroom and spread her out over his bed, strip her bare and taste her the way he’d missed out on up in the plane.

  Christ, he shouldn’t. But he didn’t step back. Instead he bent his head and covered her mouth, kissing her hard and deep, staking his claim.

  She gave a little moan, the bag she had with her dropping from her shoulder and onto the ground, her hands lifting to rest against his chest, her fingers curling into his T-shirt. Then she began to kiss him back, her tongue touching his, at first tentative then with more confidence, more heat.

  It would be easy enough to get her jeans open, then lift her up against the wall, slide inside her. But he didn’t want to stick around here any longer than he had to and completely apart from that, he didn’t have any condoms.

  You fucking idiot. That’s seriously what you’re going to do? You’re supposed to be keeping her safe, not screwing her. And that includes keeping her safe from you.

  Jesus, of course he was supposed to be doing all of that. So what the fuck was he doing kissing her? She was dependent on him here, dependent on him in every way, at least until this situation was dealt with, which meant sleeping with her was definitely a very bad idea.

  She was strong, sure, but she was still inexperienced and very vulnerable, while he was hard and mean and straight-out fucking possessive.

  He shouldn’t tempt that part of himself with her. It was wrong.

  Forcing himself to lift his mouth from hers, he pushed himself away from the wall, putting some distance between them. “Yeah, half an hour,” he said roughly, ignoring the prowling possessiveness and the ache of his impatient cock. “Which means if you want that shower, you’d better take it now.”

  She blinked and he thought he saw disappointment in her eyes, but her voice, when she spoke, was utterly neutral. “I’ll leave it.”

  He wasn’t fooled though. She was disappointed.

  A thin sliver of anger slid beneath his skin. Both at her for wanting something that they hadn’t really discussed and at himself for not being able to control the hunger that seemed to be getting stronger and stronger.

  Christ, he was such a fucking idiot. He should never have given in to it the first time, because he should have known it would only make things more difficult. He kept it locked down most of the time because that shit was dark and he didn’t need it getting out.

  But he didn’t want to cause her any more hurt than she’d had already, and if she was disappointed now that he’d broken off the kiss, then she was only going to get even more disappointed later on.

  He should have laid it all out for her while they’d been in the plane, but his head hadn’t been in the game. She’d turned him inside out and all he’d been able to think about was her and his goddamn greedy cock.

  Yeah, he was too late to head her disappointment off at the pass, but the least he could do was be straight with her before the situation got any worse.

  “Callie,” he said.

  She looked up from her contemplation of the old cream-colored carpet. “What?”

  “It can’t happen again.” He held her gaze, letting her see the truth. “We can’t sleep together, not again.”

  Something flashed in her eyes and yeah, it was definitely disappointment. Well, that was his fault, wasn’t it? He should have told her right from the start.

  “Oh,” she said. “Right. So what was that kiss for?”

  “It was a mistake.” The word mistake sounded wrong in his mouth, but he didn’t take it back. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

  She looked back down at the floor again, color staining her cheekbones. “I didn’t know I was that bad of a screw.”

  What? She seriously thought it was because he hadn’t enjoyed it? Jesus. In so many ways it would make this easier to let her believe that, because that sure as hell would kill anything between them. But hurting her needlessly seemed just as wrong. Plus, it was a fucking lie and she deserved better than that.

  “It’s not you, Princess,” he said. “In fact, you’re the hottest fuck I’ve ever had. But I can’t do it again, not with you.”

  Her gaze flicked back to his and this time the disappointment had gone, her eyes full of angry green sparks. “Why not with me?”

  Of course she wouldn’t leave it alone. Of course she had to keep pushing. Because Callie was Callie and pushing him was what she did.

  “I can’t sleep with you and protect you at the same time,” he explained, going with the easiest answer. “Something will end up getting compromised and if it’s your safety, that’s unacceptable. Plus, I’m not looking for anything more right now.”

  “Well, neither am I. Can’t we just . . .” She lifted a shoulder. “Have some fun?”

  Yeah, and she was going to keep arguing now, wasn’t she? Well, too bad. He didn’t have time for that. He’d told her what the situation was, now it was time for her to accept it.

  “No.” He turned in the direction of the bedroom without another word and began stalking down the hallway.

  “No?” Her voice came from behind him. “That’s it? Just no?”

  “You heard me.” He didn’t stop, going into his bedroom and heading for the closet. Inside, up against the wall was the gun safe where he kept a couple of special pieces. A rifle and another couple of handguns.

  Unlocking it, he hauled out the rifle and a Magnum, plus some spare ammo. Putting them on the bed, he reached for the black bag he kept underneath it, drawing it out, then packing the weaponry carefully away into it.

  “Jack.” Callie was standing in the doorway watching him, her arms folded, a determined look on her face. “I don’t understand what the big deal is. It’s just sex.”

  “If you knew anything about sex, you’d understand what the big deal is.” He went over to his dresser and pulled out a few extra items of clothing. “But you don’t and I’m not explaining it to you.”

  Her expression darkened. “Asshole. Stop treating me like I’m stupid.”

  “I’m not treating you like you’re stupid.” He went back over to the bed and stuffed the clothing into the bag along with the guns, then zipped it up. “I’m treating you like you’re naïve. Which you are.” Lifting the bag, he threw it over his shoulder, then turned back to her. “You have no experience at all in anything. You told me that yourself. And I haven’t got either the time or the inclination to teach you. Us having sex will only complicate things and the situation is already complicated enough as it is.”

  Her jaw was tight, anger glowing brightly in her eyes. She looked like she wanted to take a swing at him. “You’re pretty fucking arrogant, you know that? Why do you assume that just because I don’t have any experience, I know nothing at all about anything?”

  He stared at her. “I know you’re pissed I told you no, but arguing with me about it isn’t going to make me change my mind. Now, if you’re not going to have a shower, get back in the car. You can leave your guitar case here.”

  Her chin lifted in that irritatingly stubborn way. The one that made him want to pick her up and throw her on the bed, and get inside her any way he could. “Oh, hell no. That’s coming with me.”

  The annoyance he’d been trying to keep a handle on began to slip out of his grasp, turning into a
very real anger fueled by frustration and thwarted desire. “Just once, can you do the fuck as you’re told? Leave the guitar. It’s heavy, bulky, and it’s going to get in the way.”

  But the answering anger in her eyes only flared brighter. “No. It’s coming with me.”

  Jesus Christ. She just wouldn’t quit, would she? And he didn’t have time for this bullshit about her goddamn guitar case.

  Somewhere deep inside, he knew he was being unfair, that fighting this desire for her was making him even more foul-tempered than normal and that taking his own frustration and worry about what was happening out on her was a mistake.

  But his patience slipped from his grasp all the same, and he was closing the distance between them before he was even conscious of doing so. Reaching and grabbing her by the upper arm, turning her toward the hallway, and beginning to march her down it toward the front door.

  She struggled and then, when that failed to dislodge his grip, she dug her heels in, forcing him to come to a dead stop. “You bastard,” she said, panting. “Let me go.”

  But he didn’t. He simply picked her up and slung her over his shoulder and carried her out of the house to the car along with his bag.

  Unexpectedly, she didn’t fight, staying quiet as he put his bag in the trunk, then her in the passenger seat. But as he bent to put her seat belt on, she reached for him all of a sudden, taking his face between her hands and pulling his mouth down on hers.

  It was a kiss meant for punishment, he knew it the moment she sunk her teeth into his lower lip. But unlike that moment in the limo back in Boston, this time she didn’t hold back. Pain, bright and sharp, burst in his head, but not nearly as sharp as the desire that surged like a tide through him.

  He almost put his hands on her. Almost pulled her out of the seat and laid her down on the hard concrete of the driveway, and took her the way he wanted to take her. But it turned out he had some shred of control left and was able to jerk himself away from her before he lost it.

  She was staring at him, her eyes nearly green with anger, and she didn’t wait for him to speak. “You don’t understand. Music is my escape. It’s why I was at the club in the first place. It’s the only thing my fucking father hasn’t taken from me and I can’t leave it behind. I need my guitar, Jack. Please.”