Sharon Ashwood - Possessed by a Warrior

She had worked long enough in the marriage business to know what she wanted in a man: dependable, home-oriented, quiet and sensible. None of her family’s nasty competitive streak. An independent business owner or middle-ranking executive would be perfect. Solid, but not flashy.

Chloe pulled the blanket under her chin. Someone who likes gardening and country fairs.

Not Sam Ralston.

She rolled over again and froze.

What was that? It wasn’t a sound so much as the sense of the air being displaced. As if something had passed in absolute silence. Chloe held her breath, listening.

The wind soughed outside. Almost beyond her range of hearing, she could hear the clock on the grand sweep of stairs chime half past midnight, and then the house was still once more. Logic said she’d been imagining things. There was no one there.

And yet every nerve ending strained with apprehension. A bead of sweat trickled down the small of her back, making her shiver.

She heard a faint exhalation of breath.

Not her own.

Someone’s in the room with me!

Without moving a muscle, she scanned the darkness. The bedroom curtains were partially open, admitting just enough moonlight to separate one blob of furniture from the next. Opposite the foot of the bed, the wedding dress hung on the wardrobe door like a filmy ghost. She wasn’t about to leave the dress unattended, but having it near made her feel closer to Jack so she’d left it there for the night. She suddenly wondered if that had been a wise thing to do.

Beside the tall wardrobe lurked a darker shape, and it was slowly moving. Like a stain, it crept across the white cloud of the dress, making the garment shift. The moonlight caught the crystal beads, making the bodice glitter with shards of cold light. Chloe heard the soft rustle of silk, and then the dress seemed to bob in the air.

Someone was stealing it. Outrage sparked through her, followed by flat-out disbelief. She was right there, mere feet away! Why would anyone risk her catching them? And who knows I’ve got it?

Aunt Mavis? Her hand snaked out from beneath the comforter, finding the switch of her bedside lamp.

“Don’t.” The male voice was hard and cold and not one she recognized.

The sneering tone made her more defiant than smart. Chloe swore under her breath and flicked the switch anyway.

She felt the rush of air as the figure lunged across the room. The china lamp exploded as it hit the floor. Chloe yelped in surprise, instinctively rolling away to avoid the spray of shards. Rough hands grabbed her by the back of her nightgown, forcing her facedown on the mattress.

“Don’t,” the voice repeated, the sneer turning to something more sinister.

Chloe panted in fright, her face turned away from her attacker and pressed hard into the bed. He had her arms pinned behind her back at a painful angle.

Let go of me! she screamed in her head, but somehow the words couldn’t find her tongue. She was paralyzed, the man’s hot breath stroking her skin as he chuckled, long and low.

“Can I trust you not to move?” he said.

It was then she felt the cold kiss of a gun muzzle against her spine. She sucked in a stuttering gasp. She felt his lips brush her ear. “I’d rather not shoot. I’d rather leave without attracting attention. Get it?”

“Y-yes,” she whispered, feeling a hot sting as tears filled her eyes. She squeezed her eyelids tight, stifling a sob. She wanted to scream so badly, but her voice had abandoned her. She’d taken self-defense classes, but the gun trumped any tricks she knew. She’d never been so terrified in her life.

She felt a sudden weight on her back as the thief straddled her, pinning her arms with his body and squeezing the air from her lungs. Her head was turned to the side, but it was still hard to breathe. Chloe struggled, gulping air that stank with her attacker’s sweat.

She sensed him grabbing a pillow off the bed. A moment later, the cool cotton muffled her face, filling her nose and mouth. A gun might make too much noise, but suffocation was silent.

Desperate, Chloe tried to squirm away.

“Damn you!” he muttered, and she felt his grip tighten.

Fighting would only get her killed a different way, but Chloe couldn’t stop. The will to survive was too strong. She bucked hard enough that the pillow slipped and she gasped in precious oxygen.

Wham!

Her eyes went wide as the bedroom door slammed against the wall. The pillow fell away and a flare of sudden light filled the room as someone turned on the overhead. The thief swore, pushing Chloe’s face against the bed with his bare hand. Her mouth flooded with the metallic taste of fresh panic.

“Get away from her!” someone barked. Someone used to shouting orders. It sounded like Faran Kenyon.

“Now!” That one was Ralston!

Chloe felt her attacker’s weight shift.

The deafening noise from his gun came from right above her, making her skull ring.

Oh, God!

A hot spray of blood spattered the pillow in front of Chloe. She recoiled, covering her head, and realized a beat later that she could move her arms. Her attacker had leaped off the bed.

Or been blown off. She scanned the sheets in front of her, crimson spreading across the white like bright drops of paint. Nausea lurched in her throat.

Ralston vaulted over the bed with an unholy snarl, leaping for her attacker. Chloe twisted around to catch a glimpse of a dark-clad man lunging toward the window. She covered her face as the window smashed, her own scream sounding muffled because she was still deaf from the gunshot.

Her attacker disappeared in a hail of glass. Ralston skidded to a stop as he reached the gaping mess where the window had been. Kenyon joined him a second later. Both had their weapons up, standing to the side of the window frame and scanning the grass below.

Chloe could guess what they were thinking. Her room was on the second story, but a porch roof jutted out below. Someone could use that as a halfway point while jumping to the ground.

“Do you see him?” Ralston demanded. He was wearing nothing but worn jeans and sneakers, his torso bare. His big body was still ready to spring, coiled muscles drawn tight.

“Not from here,” Kenyon replied.

“Go.”

Kenyon turned, running for the door and thumbing on his cell phone as he went. By the time he reached the door, someone on the other end of the connection had answered. “Close the gates!”

Chloe could make out the words, but beyond that was nothing but the muffled ringing from the gunshot. For a moment, her emotions felt the same: numb, stunned, distant.

I nearly died.

“You okay?” Ralston stared out the window, still scanning the darkness.

She cleared her throat. “I think so.” The words quavered.

“Good.”

As her pulse slowed, Chloe studied his back, her gaze tracing the muscles and bones of his broad shoulders. Half naked, he looked far more at home than he had in a suit.

It was as if, stripped of clothes, the real man was visible. Sam Ralston moved with an animal grace that stirred something primitive in her. Her fear responded to his blatantly male presence, wanting all that size and strength on her side.

“Is he gone?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“Not for long,” he replied, his head moving slowly as he scanned the grounds. “He’s going to pay for this.”

Finally, Ralston turned away from the window, a furrow between his dark brows. His gaze flicked over her face. “You’re not okay. You’re pale.”

“So are you.”

His gaze flicked around the room. “It’s the smell of blood.”

“I hate it, too.” Chloe hiccupped, feeling a wave of nervous energy shudder through her. The numbness was fading. She wanted to scream. Or cry. He held me at gunpoint. He tried to smother me.