Elle Kennedy - Her Private Avenger

Closing the phone, Quinn headed back to the car, only to pause midstep. A wave of uneasiness washed over him as he spotted Morgan leaning against the back of the SUV, her expression a combination of anger and respect.

“You heard all that?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Well, let’s have it then.” Disgust rose up his throat. “I antagonized your poor, innocent father, right? Overstepped my boundaries?” When she didn’t take the bait, he lifted a sardonic brow. “Huh. Where’s that famous Kerr temper?”

Morgan ran a hand through her silky hair. “I’m not going to tear into you. You did good.”

Though it was rare, Quinn was stunned speechless.

“I can only imagine what he was saying to you,” she added, shaking her head in irritation. “He wants me back in the psych ward, right? Well, I won’t go back. And if keeping me out of there meant you had to launch a few threats in his direction, I can’t fault you for that.”

Again with the bitterness. A part of him wanted to lash out at her, too, demand to know why she was only now opening her eyes to her father’s true colors. Why not two years ago, when it had actually mattered? But he held his tongue. Somewhat. Still, he had to ask, “Where is this coming from?”

Morgan met his inquisitive gaze head-on. “He didn’t believe me,” she said simply, then turned on her heel and headed back to the passenger side.

Quinn had stood up for her. Although it hardly meant he’d forgiven her, and it definitely didn’t mean he’d welcome her back into his life with open arms, Morgan couldn’t fight the small thrill that shot through her body. Her father had the annoying ability to bulldoze any man who came into her life, but not Quinn. He’d threatened a senator. Her father. For her.

Morgan buckled up her seat belt and watched from the corner of her eye as Quinn started the engine. God, she wanted to throw her arms around him. She wanted to thank him again for what he’d done just now, for that unshakable belief he still seemed to have in her, despite the messy way they’d ended things.

The memory of their breakup struck a chord of regret. No, she didn’t want to think about that heartbreaking goodbye. Right now, as she sat next to the man who’d just defended her to her father, she couldn’t stop thinking about the hello.

“Do you remember the day we met?” she burst out, unable to stop the words from leaving her mouth.

Quinn’s head jerked in her direction, surprise etched in his rug ged features. Surprise that soon dissolved into wariness. “Of course I remember,” he said gruffly.

But along with the wariness, there was tenderness in his voice. Tender. When they’d first met she would never have expected a man like Adam Quinn to possess even an ounce of tenderness. He’d been all business that day, clad in camo pants and an olive-green T-shirt that clung to his sweat-soaked chest. He’d marched around that refugee camp, barking orders at his men—and at her.

“I thought you were such a jerk,” she admitted with a grin. “You kept ordering me to get on the ‘damn chopper.’”

“And you kept refusing,” he replied mildly.

She shrugged and leaned back in her seat. “My story wasn’t finished. And the threat didn’t feel real.”

But it had been real, hadn’t it? Quinn’s team was sent in to extract all the relief workers and journalists at the camp, after intel came in that a rebel group planned to raid it. Morgan held on to the end, though, leaving on the last chopper out of the Congo. Twelve hours later, the rebels had massacred half the camp.

“I wish we could have helped them,” she whispered.

“We could only help ourselves.”

Morgan swallowed, blocking the images of the carnage from her mind. She hadn’t seen it firsthand, but she’d viewed the photos later, horrified by the deaths of all those innocent victims. And yet amidst chaos and disaster, she’d fallen in love with Quinn, the big, tough mercenary who for some reason had fallen for her, too.

“I don’t know what you saw in me,” she confessed, turning to meet his dark green eyes. “I was a total mess. Dirty clothes, rumpled hair. But when we landed in D.C., you called me beau tiful.” Her throat tightened at the memory.

His hard gaze softened. “You were beautiful.” He half grinned. “Not to mention stubborn, irritating, demanding…you wouldn’t quit until you got me to agree to an interview.”

“Which you didn’t end up doing,” she reminded him.

No, they never got around to that interview. Drinks at his hotel led to dinner, which led to a nightcap, which led to a night of spontaneous lovemaking that left them both shocked and breathless. A one-night stand, that’s what she thought it would end as, but two years later, they’d been engaged to be married.

“That first night,” she continued, her voice coming out wobbly. “It was the best night of my life, did I ever tell you that?”

Their eyes locked again, and Morgan heard a hiss of at traction in the air. Before she could stop it, the memory of their first time shot to the front of her brain. Quinn’s chest, rippled with hard sinewy muscles, pressed against her bare breasts. The delicious heaviness of his body covering hers, the feel of his arousal slowly sliding inside her body. Completion. That’s what it felt like, the first time he entered her.

From the flash of lust and remembrance in his eyes, she knew he was thinking about it, too, how right it had felt. How perfectly they’d fit together.

God, she wanted him back. So badly that her lips ached with the need to tell him she loved him, she missed him, she couldn’t live without him.

But just before she could open her mouth, the fire in his eyes died, replaced by ice. A muscle twitched in his powerful jaw, and she saw his hands tighten over the steering wheel.

“Don’t go there,” he finally said, the ice in his eyes freezing his tone as well. “We’re not taking a trip down memory lane, Morgan. We’re finding out who tried to kill you.”

She released a shaky breath. “I know. I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, you meant it, all right.” Quinn’s hard gaze slid over her face. “Reminding me of the day we met isn’t going to make me forget the day we said goodbye.”

“I know. I—”

“Don’t play games with me, Morgan. I’m not interested in rekindling our affair.”

Hurt seized her insides. “Affair? I think the two years we spent together means we went far past the affair stage.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too,” he said harshly. He cocked his head. “But considering everything, I’ve rethought that. You made it quite clear in the end what your priorities were, and our relationship wasn’t one of them.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “I never wanted to end it. I just—”

“We’re not going there,” he said again, silencing her with another deadly look. “What’s done is done. We’re not together anymore and I don’t plan on changing that in the near or distant future.”

Each word was like a bullet straight to the heart. Was it possible for words to cause such extreme physical pain? Evidently so. Morgan’s entire body felt bruised, her chest raw, her insides twisted with intense agony that brought a wave of nausea. Cruel. When had he become so cruel? Her heart ached again as she realized she was probably the cause of this new personality defect of his. God, why had she ever chosen her father over Quinn?

In hindsight, she knew she’d let her father dictate a large part of her life with Quinn. Constantly caved in to his demands, all the while knowing she was doing the wrong thing. Why hadn’t she acted differently?

Stand by your father. Help him when he asks. He doesn’t like to ask for help.