Amelia Autin - Black Ops Warrior

He had a healthy libido and an active sex life. He’d long since gotten over Francine, the one and only woman he’d ever asked to marry him, back when he’d been young and stupid enough to fall for a woman so shallow her only reaction to his being shot was disappointment that his body was no longer perfect. Back when he’d still been in the Marine Corps. He wasn’t carrying a torch for his “one true love” or anything like that—he’d said goodbye and good riddance in the same breath. And he wasn’t nursing a wounded heart, no matter what Savannah might have thought last night. He’d had nineteen years and a plethora of women to make sure of it.

He’d broken no hearts over the years because he’d never settled into a long-term relationship, which was just fine and dandy with him. He’d cared a couple of times more than the rest, but he’d never let himself fall in love again for one reason and one reason only: the job that meant more to him than anything.

Problem was, the woman sitting next to him didn’t know it. Didn’t know him. Didn’t know she’d been his target as recently as yesterday.

He’d never gotten involved before with a woman who didn’t know the score. Who didn’t know the rules of the game going in. Who didn’t know it was a game. Which meant he’d never spent time with anyone as naïve as Savannah.

He considered this carefully and concluded, yeah, that word applied to her. But there were other words that came to mind. Words he shied away from, because they only added to the guilt he was carrying over how he’d met her in the first place.

And if he wasn’t careful, he could hurt her. Badly.

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