Her Last Protector. Jeanie LondonЧитать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      DREW WASN’T SURE what awoke him, but he damned sure shouldn’t have been sleeping. The struggle to control his physical reaction to the feel of Mirie pressed against him had worn him out more than battling the snow.

      He had wanted to stop time with the feel of her in his arms. But something was off with her. He sensed it, knew it was probably what had awoken him. He didn’t think she was asleep. Her body was too tense, too aware.

      Scanning the shadows for any sign of a threat, he found the cave as he had left it, trusted his years of training to alert him to an intrusion. The fire was holding up, so he hadn’t been out for long.

      Shifting against the wall, he glanced down at her, dark lashes forming half circles on her pale cheeks, her mouth parted around shallow breaths.

      “Are you all right?” he asked automatically.

      His voice intruded on the quiet, but her only reply was to nod. She surprised him by sliding her arms around his chest. Repositioning herself, she relaxed a little, but her breath hitched in her throat, an unexpected sound.

      Frowning into her hair, Drew resisted the need to interrogate her. She was warm, so any threat of hypothermia was gone. She’d had a tough day, but she would deal with her losses, wouldn’t let him see her fear. That much he knew. If hanging on to him made her feel better right now, then he would find some way to cope.

      Not by sleeping.

      No, he had to remain stone-cold sober to this assault on his senses. The heat melded their skin together. Her hair tickled his nose with every breath. Her sleek curves unfolded against him so he could feel the length of her soft thighs, the way she fitted into the curve of his body.

      She exhaled a sigh, and her mouth shuddered against his skin, soft and yielding. His pulse began to race, rebelling wildly against his best intentions. And they were the very best. Just useless against the feel of her in his arms. A familiar burning started inside, a reaction that was going toe to toe with his discipline.

      Drew was having a tough day, too.

      He would take armed assassins over facing down this humiliating lack of self-control.

      Mirie had no idea she was playing with fire—and not the blaze making this icy cavern habitable, either. And he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of her realizing just how fragile his restraint was around her. He couldn’t afford any change that might jeopardize their relationship. He was her close-protection guard and a U.S. sleeper operative.

      Not a man.

      So with his jaw clenched tight, he forced himself to focus on making out the cave entrance beyond the firelight, the gray light from the storm beyond. He deliberated how to fashion a makeshift pan to melt snow. They would need water soon, and frozen snow was no option to quench thirst.

      But how could he concentrate on anything but the way her breasts molded to his chest, the swelling softness pressed full against him? The skimpy fabric of her bra was no protection.

      When she stretched against him, his pulse galvanized. He wanted to thrust off the cloak binding them together. Heightened awareness was making him read so much more into the moment than was possible.

      Lust was making him lose his mind. And this was an argument not to ignore his needs the way he too often did. He was a man in the intimate employ of a woman he wanted but couldn’t have. Of course normal relationships were out even if he had wanted one—that was not the life he had chosen—but he never lacked for companionship when he was off duty, taking the occasional leave. They didn’t happen often, but he always tried to make the most of them when they did.

      But if he had seen to his own needs, he might be able to resist Mirie now. She sought warmth and comfort, lying here in the arms of someone she should be able to trust, an entirely natural response to their situation. And he should be worthy of her trust. He should shut down reactions that were inappropriate at best, forbidden at worst.

      Torture either way.

      But Drew’s best intentions meant nothing when Mirie nestled still closer, nestled her face in the hollow of his throat. Not an accidental action, but an intentional one, an inquisitive one that ignited fire in its wake.

      One purposeful touch, and the whole world shifted.

      The boundaries that had long established their relationship dissolved as she leaned into him, a slight arch of her back that pressed her breasts against his chest and brought her mouth in line with the sensitive skin beneath his ear.

      Her breaths came soft and warm against his skin, smooth, silken sighs. Had she noticed the way his every muscle had fossilized? Did she suspect that one touch would shatter his willpower into a million brittle pieces and litter this cave with his best intentions?

      Drew didn’t know. He only knew his arms ached with the effort of holding her already. He couldn’t push her away or pull her close, because in this moment he was paralyzed by her vulnerability.

      And his need.

      * * *

      HE TASTED MALE. Mirie wasn’t sure why she was so sure what male tasted like, since she had only tasted one man, and the actual details of long-ago teenage rendezvous had faded in the haze of years. Drei’s skin was the texture of rough velvet, faintly stubbled and redolent with a hint of sweat.

      She was so aware of him, of the way his body surrounded hers, generously shared his heat. His strength beckoned her to stretch out against him, melt over the ridges and hollows of his hard muscles. She liked the solidness of him.

      He was a man, not a boy.

      Loneliness faded beneath this. She felt no embarrassment to be nearly naked in his arms, only awareness of him in a way she had never been before.

      The feeling made perfect sense.

      Drei felt right because he was right. The only person she could trust.

      She had never thought of him as anything but her shadow. He was a fact of life that she had long ago accepted. He was always there and always had been.

      She had never considered him as a man.

      She’d been a child when he’d shown up. But that had been so long ago. A lifetime. Right now he was a man, and quite a handsome one with his gemstone eyes and chiseled strength. And not so old, either. What had once seemed ancient to a girl was nothing to the woman. Ten years. A decade on the rosary or all of God’s commandments.

      How had she missed this? She had looked at him for years, but had never actually seen him until this very moment.

      Arching her body lightly, just enough for her thigh to settle a little deeper between his, she tested the feel of her skin against the textured hardness of his, half-afraid he would stop her and demand to know what she was about.

      But even worry left her feeling more alive than she had in so long. As the seconds passed, emptiness yielded to daring. It was easy to be bold in this moment. They might be dragged from this cave and shot, their bodies tossed into the gorge. They might slip into a calm death from exposure, locked together forever because the spring thaw never touched these peaks.

      This man may yet give his life for her.

      Perhaps they would survive, and the general and his men would collect them. They would remind her unnecessarily that the risks she took involved others by default. They would return her to the royal compound, and life would go on,