Her Kind of Hero (10 page)

“I'm not doubting that you did. I'm telling you that it never got to me.”

“I'm really sorry,” she told him. “I did try, even if it doesn't look like it. I always hoped that you'd eventually phone someone and I'd be able to contact you. When you didn't, well, I guess Dad and I both figured that you weren't interested in what happened back here. And he did say that he'd been very cruel in what he said to you when you left.”

“He was. But I understood,” he added.

She smiled sadly. “He loves you. When this is over, you should make peace with him. I think you'll find that he'll more than meet you halfway. He's missed you terribly.”

“I've missed him, too.” He could have added that he'd missed her, as well, but she wasn't likely to believe him.

He started to speak, but he felt the boat slowing. He smiled. “We must be coming up to the pier. Come on. It will be nice to have a comfortable bed to sleep in tonight.”

She nodded, and followed him up to the deck.

Her eyes caught sight of the house, on a small rise in the distance, long and low and lighted. She could see arches and flowers, even in the darkness, because of the solar-powered lights that lined the walkway from the pier up to the walled estate. She caught her breath. It was like a house she'd once seen in a magazine and daydreamed about as a child. She had the oddest feeling that she was coming home…

“W
hat do you think?” Micah asked as he helped her onto the ramp that led down to the pier.

“It's beautiful,” she said honestly. “I expect it's even more impressive in the daylight.”

“It is.” He hesitated, turning back toward the men who were still on the boat. “Bojo! Make sure we've got at least two guards on the boat before you come up to the house,” he called to his associate, who grinned and replied that he would. “Peter can help you,” he added involuntarily.

Callie didn't seem to notice that he'd jettisoned both men who'd been friendly with her. Micah did. He didn't like the idea of his men getting close to her. It wasn't jealousy. Of course it wasn't. He was…protecting her from complications.

She looked around as they went up the wide graveled path to the house, frowning as she became aware of odd noises. “What's that sound?” she asked Micah.

He smiled lazily. “My early warning radar.”

“Huh?”

He chuckled. “I keep a flock of geese,” he explained, nodding toward a fenced area where a group of big white birds walked around and swam in a huge pool of water. “Believe it or not, they're better than guard dogs.”

“Wouldn't a guard dog or two be a better idea?”

“Nope. I've got a Mac inside.”

Before she could ask any more questions, the solid wood front door opened and a tall, imposing man in khakis with gray-sprinkled black wavy hair stood in their path. He was holding an automatic weapon in one big hand.

“Welcome home, boss,” he said in deep, crisply accented British. He grinned briefly and raised two bushy eyebrows at the sight of Callie. “Got her, did you?”

“Got her, and with no casualties,” Micah replied, returning the grin. “How's it going, Mac?”

“No worries. But it'll rain soon.” He shifted his weight, grimacing a little.

“At least you're wearing the prosthesis, now,” Micah muttered as he herded Callie into the house.

Mac rubbed his hip after he closed the door and followed them. “Damned thing feels funny,” he said. “And I can't run.” He glowered at Micah as if the whole thing was his fault.

“Hey,” Micah told him, “didn't I say ‘duck'? In fact, didn't I say it twice?”

“You said it, but I had my earphones in!”

“Excuses, excuses. We even took up a collection for your funeral, then you had to go mess everything up by living!” Micah grumbled.

“Oh, sure, after you lot had divided up all my possessions!
Bojo's still got my favorite shirt and he won't give it back! And he doesn't even wear shirts!”

“He's using it to polish his gun,” Micah explained. “Says it's the best shine he's ever put on it.”

Callie was openly gaping at them.

Micah's black eyes twinkled. “We're joking,” he told her gently. “It's the way we let off steam, so that we don't get bogged down in worry. What we do is hard work, and dangerous. We have to have safety valves.”

“I'll blow Bojo's safety valve for him if he doesn't give back my shirt!” Mac assured his boss. “And you haven't even introduced us.”

Callie smiled and held out her hand. “Hi! I'm Callie Kirby.”

“I'm MacPherson,” he replied, shaking it. “I took a mortar hit on our last mission, so I've got KP until I get used to this damned prosthesis,” he added, lifting his right leg and grimacing.

“You'd better get used to it pretty soon, or you're going to be permanent in that kitchen,” Micah assured him. “Now I'd like to get Callie settled. She's been through a lot.”

The other man became somber all at once. “She's not what I expected,” Mac said reluctantly as he studied her.

“I can imagine,” she said with a sad little smile. “You were expecting a woman who was blond and as good-looking as Micah. I know I don't look like him…”

Before she could add that they weren't related, the older man interrupted her. “That isn't what I meant,” Mac replied at once.

She shrugged and smiled carelessly. “Of course not. I really am tired,” she added.

“Come on,” Micah said. “Have you got something for sandwiches?” Micah asked Mac. “We didn't stop for food.”

“Sure,” Mac replied, visibly uncomfortable. “I'll get right to it.”

Micah led Callie down the long hall and turned her into a large, airy room with a picture window overlooking the ocean. Except for the iron bars, it looked very touristy.

“Mac does most of the cooking. We used to take turns, but after he was wounded, and we found out that his father once owned a French restaurant, we gave him permanent KP.” He glanced at her with a wry smile. “We thought it might encourage him to put on the prosthesis and try to be rehabilitated. Apparently it's working.”

“He's very nice.”

He closed the door and turned to her, his face somber. “He meant that the sort of woman I usually bring here is blond and long-legged and buxom, and that they usually ignore the hired help.”

She flushed. “You didn't have to explain.”

“Didn't I?” His eyes narrowed on her face as a potential complication presented itself when he thought about having Lisette take Callie on that shopping trip. The woman was extremely jealous, and Callie had been through enough turmoil already. “I haven't told Mac or Lisette that we aren't related. It might be as well to let them continue thinking we are, for the time being.”

She wondered why, but she wasn't going to lower her pride by asking. “Sure,” she said with careful indifference. “No problem.” Presumably this Lisette would be jealous of a stepsister, but not of a real one. Micah obviously didn't want to cause waves. She smiled drowsily. “I think I could sleep the clock around.”

“If Maddie's her usual efficient self, she should have packed a nightgown for you.”

“I don't have a gown,” she murmured absently, glancing at the case he'd put down beside the bed.

“Pajamas, then.”

“Uh, I don't wear those, either.”

He stood up and looked at her pointedly. “What
do
you sleep in?”

She cleared her throat. “Never mind.”

His eyebrows arched. “Well, well. No wonder you locked your bedroom door when you lived with us.”

“That wasn't the only reason,” she said before she thought.

His black eyes narrowed. “You've had a hell of a life, haven't you? And now this, on top of the past.”

She bit her lower lip. “This door does have a lock?” she persisted. “I'm sorry. I've spent my life behind locked doors. It's a hard habit to break, and not because of the way I sleep.”

“The door has a lock, and you can use it. But I hope you know that you're safe with me,” he replied quietly. “Seducing innocents isn't a habit with me, and my men are trustworthy.”

“It's not that.”

“If you're nervous about being the only woman here, I could get Lisette to come over and spend the night in this room with you,” he added.

“No,” she said, reluctant to meet his paramour. “I'll be fine.”

“You haven't been alone since it happened,” he reminded her. “It may be more traumatic than you think, especially in the dark.”

“I'll be all right, Micah,” she said firmly.

He drew in an irritated breath. “All right. But if you're frightened, I'm next door, through the bathroom.”

She gave him a curious look.

“I'll wear pajama bottoms while you're in residence,” he said dryly, reading her mind accurately.

She cleared her throat. “Thanks.”

“Don't you want to eat something before you go to bed?”

She shook her head. “I'm too tired. Micah, thanks for saving me. I didn't expect it, but I'm very grateful.”

He shrugged. “You're family,” he said flatly, and she grimaced when he wasn't looking. He turned and went out, hesitating before he closed the door. “Someone will be within shouting distance, night or day.”

Her heart ached. He still didn't see her as a woman. Probably, he never would. “Okay,” she replied. “Thanks.”

He closed the door.

 

She was so tired that she was sure she'd be asleep almost as soon as her head connected with the pillow. But that wasn't the case. Dressed only in her cotton briefs, she lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, absorbing the shock of the past two days. It seemed unreal now, here where she was safe. As her strung muscles began to relax, she tugged the cool, expensive designer sheet in a yellow rose pattern over her and felt her mind begin to drift slowly into peaceful oblivion.

“Callie? Callie!”

The deep forceful voice combined with steely fingers on her upper arms to shake her out of the nightmare she'd been having. She was hoarse from the scream that had dragged Micah from sleep and sent him running to the connecting door with a skeleton key.

She was sitting up, both her wrists in one of his lean, warm
hands, her eyes wide with terror. She was shaking all over, and not from the air-conditioning.

He leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp. His eyes went helplessly to the full, high thrust of her tip-tilted little breasts, their nipples relaxed from sleep. She was so shaken that she didn't even feel embarrassment. Her pale blue eyes were wild with horror.

“You're safe, baby,” he said gently. “It's all right.”

“Micah!” came a shout from outside the bedroom door. It was Bojo, alert as usual to any odd noise.

“Callie just had a nightmare, Bojo. It's okay. Go back to bed!”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Footsteps faded down the corridor.

“I was back in the chair, at Lopez's house. That man had the knife again, and he was cutting me,” she choked. Her wild, frightened eyes met Micah's. “You'll shoot me, if they try to take me and you can't stop them, right?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Nobody is going to take you away from here by force,” he said gently. “I promise. I can protect you on this island. It's why I brought you here in the first place.”

She sighed and relaxed a little. “I'm being silly. It was the dream. It was so real, and I was scared to death, Micah! It all came back the minute I fell asleep!” She shivered. “Can't you hold me?” she asked huskily, her eyes on his muscular, hair-roughened chest. Looking at it made her whole body tingle. “Just for a minute?”

“Are you out of your mind?” he ground out.

She searched his eyes. He looked odd. “Why not?”

“Because…” His gaze fell to her breasts. They were hard-tipped now, visibly taut with desire. His jaw clenched. His hands on her wrists tightened roughly.

“Oh, for heaven's sake. I forgot! Sorry.” She tried to cover herself, but his hands were relentless. She cleared her throat and grimaced. “That hurts,” she complained on a nervous laugh, tugging at his hands. They loosened, but only a fraction.

“Did you take those pills I gave you to make you sleep?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes. But they didn't keep me asleep.” She blinked. She smiled drowsily. She felt very uninhibited. He was looking at her breasts and she liked it. Her head fell back, because he hadn't turned her loose. His hands weren't bruising anymore, but they were holding her wrists firmly. She arched her back sensuously and watched the way his eyes narrowed and glittered on her breasts. She saw his body tense, and she gave a husky, wicked little laugh.

“You like looking at me there, don't you?” she asked, vaguely aware that she was being reckless.

He made a rough sound and met her eyes again. “Yes,” he said flatly. “I like it.”

“I wanted to take my clothes off for you when I was just sixteen,” she confided absently as her tongue ran away with her. “I wanted you to see me. I ached all over when you looked at me that last Christmas. I wanted you to kiss me so hard that it would bruise my mouth. I wanted to unbutton your shirt and pull my dress down and let you hold me like that.” She shivered helplessly at the images that rushed into her reeling mind. “You're so sexy, Micah,” she whispered huskily. “So handsome. And I was just plain and my breasts were small, nothing like those beautiful, buxom women you always dated. I knew you'd never want me the way I wanted you.”

He shook her gently. “Callie, for God's sake, hush!” he grated,
his whole body tensing with desire at the imagery she was creating.

She was too relaxed from the sleeping pills to listen to warnings. She smiled lazily. “I never wanted anybody to touch me until then,” she said softly. “Men always seemed repulsive to me. Did I ever tell you that my mother's last lover tried to seduce me? I ran from him and he knocked me down the stairs. I broke my arm. My mother said it was my fault. She took me back to the foster home. She said I was a troublemaker, and told lies about what happened.”