Lori Foster - Men of Honour - Ready, Set, Jett / When You Dare / Trace of Fever / Savor the Danger / A Perfect Storm / What Chris Wants / Bare It All

Her bravery waned, but she finally asked, “Do you travel a lot with your work?”

“These days, not as far and not as often. Trace says I’m semiretired. Only when a really important case comes along do I get involved.” Only when he felt he was truly needed, or if it became personal, as it had with Alani.

Neither of them would ever say that it was a good thing that Alani had been taken. But at the same time, if she hadn’t been … what would have happened to Molly? If not for Alani, Dare wouldn’t have been there, and Molly would have had no one to get her out of that hellhole, and no one to protect her even if she had managed to escape.

As if they shared that thought, their gazes locked and held. Dare felt the growing sexual tension between them.

Molly’s lips parted; Dare’s control slipped.

Knowing he was a goner, he took a step toward her—and his cell phone rang. Brought back to his senses, Dare stopped dead in his tracks.

Sad, and maybe a little lost, Molly gave a halfhearted smile. “Do you need privacy for that call?”

Oh, no, he wouldn’t let her slip away that easily. “No. Stay put.” He waited until she leaned back against the wall, then added, “I’ll only be a second.”

DARE HATED THE interruption, but since most calls went through the house phone, where Chris could vet them, any call on his cell was personal and therefore important.

With one last lingering look at Molly, he walked over to retrieve his phone from atop the refrigerator. After a quick glance at the number to identify his caller, he flipped the phone open. “Yeah?”

Without preamble, Trace said, “Would you be willing to do me a favor?”

“Depends.” Dare looked at Molly. For Trace, he usually gave blind agreement, knowing that his friend only asked when necessary. But now he had someone else’s welfare to consider. For now at least, ensuring Molly’s safety was his number-one priority. “What’s up?”

Frustration sounded in Trace’s tone. “Alani is insisting on meeting your … complication.”

Dare’s mouth twitched at how Trace put that. Molly was a complication, all right, in more ways than he’d figured on. But maybe he should stop referring to her as such, considering how she’d gotten under his skin. “Why?”

“Hell if I know. I hate to ask, Dare. God knows you’ve done enough. But I think it might be good for her to talk to another woman who’s been through the same thing.”

Watching Molly wander over to the heavy bag to give it a tentative push, Dare said, “It wasn’t the same. I told you that.”

“And I told Alani. But she’s pressing me for a meeting anyway.”

Molly tried smacking the heavy bag, and, with an expression of pain, she cradled her hand and frowned.

The personalities of the two women couldn’t be more disparate; one was a commonsense survivor, the other a very lovable princess. “Want to tell me why?”

It wasn’t easy for Trace to admit that he needed help with his sister. “She’s having trouble adjusting, Dare. I’m worried about her.”

“Hang on.” Dare lowered the phone, which gained Molly’s attention. When she looked toward him, he said, “Alani wants to meet with you.”

Surprise flashed over her features. “Me? But why?”

“You were both taken, both held against your will. Knowing Alani, she’s probably worried about you still, and she maybe just wants to connect with someone who’ll understand what she’s been through.” Already knowing what her answer would be, Dare waited.

“Is she okay?”

That was debatable, but Dare said only, “She’s safe and healthy, and still coping.”

“Well, sure. I mean, of course she is.” Hands together, brows down in worry, Molly nodded. “I’d be happy to meet her if she thinks that will help. But when?”

Dare went back to the phone. “No problem, Trace. When were you thinking?”

“Let me talk to Alani, and I’ll get back to you. We’ll work it out.”

“Give me a call when you know.”

“Will do. And Dare, thank you.”

They hung up, and Dare dropped the phone down onto his gloves. He watched Molly, saw her put her hand to her stomach as if to calm an unsteady belly. Did the idea of meeting with Alani distress her? Would it be an ugly reminder to her of how she had been separated and treated differently from the others?

“I feel so bad for her.” She looked up at Dare. “She’s young, isn’t she?”

Molly’s capacity for compassion amazed Dare. “She’s twenty-two.”

Appearing distressed, Molly shook her head. “Thank God she has you, Dare. I’m not sure anyone else could have gotten her out of there.”

Dare stepped over closer to the heavy bag. “Molly?”

She jerked her attention back to him. “Hmm?”

“How are you feeling?”

She waved that off. “I’m fine.”

Something was going on in that quick mind of hers—but what? Molly hadn’t come downstairs just to talk to him about his work or his social life. She wanted, needed , something.

For now, Dare let her keep her distance. Besides, he was sweaty as hell and still edgy with lust. He figured he could work himself into the ground, and the second he saw Molly again it wouldn’t matter one iota.

“You know,” he said to her, “you always say you’re fine, about everything.”

As if to keep from chickening out, she rushed into speech. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

His senses prickled. “We were talking.”

“I know, but there’s something else I wanted to know.”

“Yeah?” What more could there be? She had the basics of his history. If she wanted a body count, she could forget it. He didn’t dwell on the men he’d killed, but he didn’t celebrate them, either.

Her teeth caught her bottom lip. She shifted her stance. “Last night …”

Awareness sharpening, Dare took a step closer. “Last night?”

She half turned away, then jerked around to face him again. Hands out, face scrunched, she said, “I’d sort of forgotten how bad I look.”

Objection to that snapped down his brows. The second she’d come downstairs, he’d lost his battle with lust. Every muscle in his body burned, but not from exercise; it was sexual need that made him rigid.

And she thought she looked bad enough to discourage him? Dare put his fists on his hips and stared at her hard. “Come again?”

Her expression showed torment and determination. “I know the bruises and other marks are bad enough, but it’s worse than that. I don’t wear a lot of makeup, but like most women I have my own routine, and the fact that I’ve missed it shows. On top of being worn-down, my hair is the worst ever.” Self-consciously, she shoved a hand into the unruly tresses. “I look like … like a hag.”

Dare’s jaw tightened. “Not even close.”

But it was as if she didn’t hear him. “You had kissed me … before, I mean … so I assumed that …”

A constriction started in his chest. “I already told you why I kissed you.”

She shook her head as if dumbfounded by his reaction. “I know, but all things considered, it still seems like it was just to distract me, and to … help me.” Gesturing, she added, “You’re a guy, and guys don’t always do or say things that they mean.”

She dared to group him in with the assholes she’d known? Did she compare him to that dipshit ex-fiancé of hers?

Son of a bitch.

He hadn’t figured on that; if anything, he thought he’d be too different from other men.

Fighting himself was hard enough; fighting her, too, was damn near impossible.

Staring into her eyes, Dare held her gaze. “I want you, Molly. Never doubt that.”