Ruined: An Ethan Frost Novel; A Loveswept New Adult Romance (29 page)

He was supposed to be laying the groundwork. Feeling her out. Checking to see if she really was as good as her record said she was. An hour ago her competence—or lack thereof—had been the most important thing on his mind. But now all he could think about was what it would feel like to come in her mouth. In her pussy. In her lush, gorgeous ass.

He tried to tamp down on the arousal, but that was like trying to put out a wildfire with a spray bottle—especially since he could feel the heat and arousal coming off her. Could see her nipples peaking beneath the thin material of her blouse. Could hear the hitch in her breathing as she too struggled for control.

He’d come to New Orleans looking for peace, had sought Genevieve out for just that purpose. But the aroused, out-of-control, gotta-have-her-now feeling that had grabbed him by the balls the second he laid eyes on her was anything but peaceful.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself back from the edge. It wasn’t easy when he wanted to be inside of her more than he wanted his next breath. More than he wanted the answers he’d come here to get.

But the look on Genevieve’s face said she’d been pushed—or pulled—as far as she was going to allow. Aroused or not, her next move would be to take a swing at him.

For a minute, he could almost taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. It might be worth it.

“You’re going to want to let go of me.” Her voice was low and hot, a warning if he’d ever heard one.

“I’m not so sure about that.” His hands tightened—on her hip and her palm—holding her to him for one endless moment. The image of what she would look like spread-eagle on his bed, her pale skin gleaming against the midnight silk of the sheets, roared through him, and for a second he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to let her go.

But his brain was screaming at him, the warning signals having turned into bright red flags of alarm, and somehow he found the strength to release her.

The bartender chose that second to drop their drinks on the bar, and he grabbed the ice-cold shot of tequila like it was a lifeline. Slammed it back and gestured for another one. He was teetering on the brink of madness, his body out of his control. His desire for Genevieve nearly palpable in the small distance she’d created between them.

What was wrong with him?
he wondered, tossing back the second shot as quickly as he had the first. He’d never reacted like this to a woman before, had never felt like he would give anything—and everything—just to be inside one.

But Genevieve…in a few brief moments, Genevieve had turned him inside out. It was ridiculous, absurd. And he—

“You’re not as uncomplicated as you look.” Her voice broke into his self-flagellation, had him turning to her with hot eyes he couldn’t hope to cool down.

“I could say the same thing about you.” He forced a calm into his voice that he was far from feeling.

“Yeah, well, I had a crappy day.” She stuck out her chin at him. “What’s your excuse?”

“I wasn’t aware I needed one.”

Very deliberately, she glanced down at where his hands were clenched into fists before taking a long sip of her drink. “It’s pretty obvious that you need something.”

Her words—cold and taunting—slammed through him. God, she was amazing—her icy control housed a hot fire that was tempting as hell.

“And what is it you think I need?”

For the first time, he saw a flash of uncertainty in her eyes and couldn’t help wondering at its cause. A heavy silence stretched between them, long and taut and more than a little uncomfortable. Just when he’d decided that he’d blown it—that she wasn’t going to answer—Genevieve took a deep breath.

“Me,” she said, in a voice that was as steady as it was unexpected.

T
he last time Rick Yarbrough got into this limo was right after the Navy court hearing that had made him and four members of his team officially ex-SEAL. The man who provided that limo, Chase Justiss, had offered all five of them an intriguing job opportunity. Six and a half weeks later, Risk was an operational member of the Justiss Alliance. They were unofficially called J-Men, because two of Chase’s operatives had a thing for some cult-classic movie called
J-Men Forever.

Risk, Saxby, and Knox had undergone a week of orientation and training at Chase’s Miami estate, nothing compared to the grueling thirty months of becoming a SEAL. Then again, they already possessed most of the requisite skills.

Chase leaned forward from the limo’s plush interior and shook his hand. “Welcome to your first mission, Risk.”

His new boss even remembered his nickname.

Chase was tall and lean, civilian, with a whiff of former military to his bearing. Government, he’d said, but was otherwise obtuse about his background. Or his reason for starting an agency that masqueraded as a private security firm.

Risk released his grip. “You haven’t told me what it is yet.” Which was odd, now that he thought about it. Though he was used to being given only bits and pieces of an upcoming mission, that was the military, after all.

“I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Risk rubbed his hands together. Oh, buddy, this was going to be good. “Fill me in.”

What had sold Risk on joining was the Justiss Alliance’s real purpose: obtaining justice for those who couldn’t get it through normal channels. The government and law enforcement agencies had their limitations, after all.

Chase stretched out his long legs across the interior of the limo. “Some of our jobs come from government agencies that need off-the-record help. But as I said, some come from private citizens. I’ve known General Wunder a long time.”

Which couldn’t be that long, considering the guy was in his late twenties, like Risk, maybe early thirties at the most. “Does this involve military matters, then?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about sticking his nose in anything military. To be fair, his team had taken on the covert mission knowing full well that if they failed, the government would deny any knowledge of their infiltration; elected officials certainly would not admit to sending in a SEAL team to assassinate the leader of an organization aiming to shut down the violent cartels in Mexico. Nevertheless, anything military still left a bitter taste in Risk’s mouth.

“Not at all. The general’s retired. This is a private security detail assignment.”

“So I’m guarding some retired military brass. Is he going overseas, consulting in Afghanistan or something?” His blood heated at the prospect of danger. Lurking assassins. Clearing vehicles of explosives, maybe even detonating one. His mouth actually watered. Damn, he’d been out of the action for way too long.

“You’re guarding his daughter here in Virginia. He thinks her safety is being threatened.”

Risk stared at Chase for several seconds. “I’m a
babysitter
?” he pushed out at last, trying not to sound too indignant. “You do recall my years of experience with weapons, interrogation? Running into buildings on moonlit nights, knowing there could be fighters waiting with guns? Tracking down tangos in the frigid desert? You don’t need to ease me in, if that’s why you’re giving me this gig.”

Chase slid him a sly smile. “It’s not going to be that easy.”

Risk held back the
hmph
that wanted to escape. How hard could guarding a woman be? Unless she was a diplomat in a volatile foreign country, but Chase had said it was domestic. “What does this assignment have to do with the ‘justice for all, no matter the cost’ credo?”

“You’ll see.”

Color me skeptical.

The last time he trusted his commander, the mission screwed up his life. But Risk held his tongue and mustered as much trust as he could. He wanted this job to work out. After all, it wasn’t like Chase was asking him to assassinate someone.

The limo left the private airfield that Chase’s jet had flown him into. Risk had spent some time with his brother and his family in Pekin, Illinois, while awaiting his first assignment.

Some time later, they entered an exclusive neighborhood with massive brick homes set on large parcels of land. The limo pulled down a curved drive to a house with columns that reminded Risk of a government building, all square and landscaped with military precision. Risk hailed from an Illinois farming community where he’d worked until his muscles burned and his skin was leathery from the sun. This kind of money was a foreign concept.

Risk followed Chase up the steps, and a few seconds after chimes echoed inside the house, a man opened the door. The expression on his hard, square face transformed to relief when he took in Chase.

“Good to see you, son.” He pumped Chase’s hand, then pulled him in for one of those guy hugs. Chase didn’t buckle under the ham-sized hand slapping his back so hard that Risk expected him to cough up something.

“Glad we can help.” Chase gestured for Risk to step up beside him and introduced the two men.

Risk knew the general was sizing him up as he crushed his hand in what was more like an arm-wrestling hold than a handshake. “Pleasure,” Risk gritted out, gripping the man’s hand just as hard.

The general gave him an approving nod and gestured for them to follow him. “Let’s talk in my office.”

Chase said, “I briefed him on the job but figured we would cover the specifics here.”

Briefed. Yeah, like a sentence.

The general nodded for them to take the two leather seats in front of his desk, sinking down in his chair on the other side. “Someone tried to run down my daughter, Adeline, a week ago.” He slid a folder across the desk. “Here’s the police report. There was no proof that it was intentional. It could have been a drunk driver. Although that’s what Adeline wants to think, even she admits she’s made some enemies.” He interlaced his fingers so tightly that they turned red. “I’ve included the detective’s contact information in the paperwork. He hasn’t turned up anything yet. And while he’s a friend, he can only spend so much time on a dead-end investigation.

“In the meantime, whoever tried will no doubt try again. I insisted she move in here for a while, but with her comes a menagerie of animals she’s rehabilitating, and they’re driving me crazy. She’s just as unhappy being here, so you’re our compromise.” That he directed to Risk. “I need someone who can not only protect her but keep her out of trouble. No protests, no investigations. She needs to sit tight and safe until we know who wants her dead or we can be sure that it was indeed an accident.”

Risk’s gaze went to the bookshelf behind the general and a collection of framed pictures of a blond girl at various ages. On a pony at maybe her sixth birthday party. Riding a horse at an equestrian event as a teen. Probably spoiled rotten. Great. Frickin’ great. And Risk was a compromise, which meant she was going to be as cooperative as any tango—terrorist—he’d tried to wheedle information out of.

“Who’d she piss off?” Risk asked, then added, “Sir.”

“There are several possibilities.”

Risk nearly choked. “
Several
? How can one woman make that many people angry enough to potentially try killing her? Is she a liberal? Does she use racial slurs? Was she caught trying to drown puppies?”

The general sat back in his chair with a long-suffering sigh. “She’s an animal hugger. You know, like a tree hugger. It started when she was a kid, saving baby birds that had fallen out of nests, finding homes for stray kittens. I figured her desire to help came from watching her mother work with her various charities. After her mother died—when Addie was twelve—that desire turned into a drive. First she kidnapped a neglected horse from a farm. Then she stole hound pups that she thought were being abused and found them homes. She went looking for animals to save as though her life depended on it.”

“Maybe she was trying to fill that empty hole you feel when your parent dies young,” Risk found himself saying.

“I thought so, too. But I overheard her talking to her mother up in heaven, telling her about the puppies she’d saved and how she hoped that would make it up to her. When I asked her what she meant, she wouldn’t say.” He shook his head. “She doesn’t always consider the law—or common sense—when she’s got an abused or neglected animal in her sights.” He handed a folder to Risk. “The lead suspect is a guy who runs one of these traveling zoos. She’s been launching protests against him for the last few weeks, and he made some threats. Nothing so obvious as ‘I’m going to run you down.’ More like ‘You crazy animal people need to be hog-tied and trampled by the elephants you’re trying to save!’ He even filed a restraining order.”

Risk studied photos of a middle-aged guy who looked like he was all kinds of pissed about having his picture taken. In another shot, a tiger cub didn’t look any happier about being forced to pose with a young girl.

“Let me show you what I’m dealing with.” The general pulled his keyboard close and began pecking at it. “What
you’ll
be dealing with.” He turned his monitor to show them a Facebook page. The ID read
Addie Wunder, Animal Hugger.
The general frowned. “She used my disparaging title as her organization’s name. Just to poke at me, I suspect.”

The big picture on top was a horse racing across an open field. In the corner was a picture of Addie, with the same blond hair and incredible blue eyes as in the pictures behind the

general…except she was all grown up now.

Way
grown up. Risk would guess her to be in her mid-twenties. In the most recent picture on her timeline, she was in front of a makeshift zoo, holding a sign protesting cruelty against a tiger cub, tight white pants and leopard-print tank top wrapped around a nice little figure. Her latest post called out to anyone in the Ruckersville area to protest the zoo’s next stop. Farther down, a YouTube video proclaimed to expose a canned hunt in Georgia, with Addie’s face frozen in passionate ire. Another picture showed her in a dark pink bikini, bathing dogs at a fund-raiser for a no-kill shelter. If Risk wrapped his hands around her waist, the tips of his fingers would probably touch. She had an amazing set of boobs, a bit more than a handful, firm and—

“I’m a poker player, son,” the general said, pinning him with his gray eyes. “You’re obviously not.”

Risk cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir.”

“I’d worry about how you’re looking at my daughter, a guy like you.”

“Like me?” Risk bristled.

“Good-looking, muscular, with that dangerous gleam in his eyes. So let me dispel any notions you may have. She’s a lesbian.”

Risk looked at that delicate heart-shaped face with the spark of rebellion.
Please say it ain’t so.
“That’s a shame, sir.”