Jeanie London - Her Last Protector

Lust was making him lose his mind. And this was an argument not to ignore his needs the way he too often did. He was a man in the intimate employ of a woman he wanted but couldn’t have. Of course normal relationships were out even if he had wanted one—that was not the life he had chosen—but he never lacked for companionship when he was off duty, taking the occasional leave. They didn’t happen often, but he always tried to make the most of them when they did.

But if he had seen to his own needs, he might be able to resist Mirie now. She sought warmth and comfort, lying here in the arms of someone she should be able to trust, an entirely natural response to their situation. And he should be worthy of her trust. He should shut down reactions that were inappropriate at best, forbidden at worst.

Torture either way.

But Drew’s best intentions meant nothing when Mirie nestled still closer, nestled her face in the hollow of his throat. Not an accidental action, but an intentional one, an inquisitive one that ignited fire in its wake.

One purposeful touch, and the whole world shifted.

The boundaries that had long established their relationship dissolved as she leaned into him, a slight arch of her back that pressed her breasts against his chest and brought her mouth in line with the sensitive skin beneath his ear.

Her breaths came soft and warm against his skin, smooth, silken sighs. Had she noticed the way his every muscle had fossilized? Did she suspect that one touch would shatter his willpower into a million brittle pieces and litter this cave with his best intentions?

Drew didn’t know. He only knew his arms ached with the effort of holding her already. He couldn’t push her away or pull her close, because in this moment he was paralyzed by her vulnerability.

And his need.

* * *

HE TASTED MALE. Mirie wasn’t sure why she was so sure what male tasted like, since she had only tasted one man, and the actual details of long-ago teenage rendezvous had faded in the haze of years. Drei’s skin was the texture of rough velvet, faintly stubbled and redolent with a hint of sweat.

She was so aware of him, of the way his body surrounded hers, generously shared his heat. His strength beckoned her to stretch out against him, melt over the ridges and hollows of his hard muscles. She liked the solidness of him.

He was a man, not a boy.

Loneliness faded beneath this. She felt no embarrassment to be nearly naked in his arms, only awareness of him in a way she had never been before.

The feeling made perfect sense.

Drei felt right because he was right. The only person she could trust.

She had never thought of him as anything but her shadow. He was a fact of life that she had long ago accepted. He was always there and always had been.

She had never considered him as a man.

She’d been a child when he’d shown up. But that had been so long ago. A lifetime. Right now he was a man, and quite a handsome one with his gemstone eyes and chiseled strength. And not so old, either. What had once seemed ancient to a girl was nothing to the woman. Ten years. A decade on the rosary or all of God’s commandments.

How had she missed this? She had looked at him for years, but had never actually seen him until this very moment.

Arching her body lightly, just enough for her thigh to settle a little deeper between his, she tested the feel of her skin against the textured hardness of his, half-afraid he would stop her and demand to know what she was about.

But even worry left her feeling more alive than she had in so long. As the seconds passed, emptiness yielded to daring. It was easy to be bold in this moment. They might be dragged from this cave and shot, their bodies tossed into the gorge. They might slip into a calm death from exposure, locked together forever because the spring thaw never touched these peaks.

This man may yet give his life for her.

Perhaps they would survive, and the general and his men would collect them. They would remind her unnecessarily that the risks she took involved others by default. They would return her to the royal compound, and life would go on, never-ending commitments that blurred days into loneliness. Her whole existence strung along by tiny triumphs after hard-won accomplishments that were never good enough.

One step forward. Two back. Ninety-nine to go.

Once inside her glittering shell, she would return to looking at Drei but never really seeing him.

How could she not have seen him?

He lay so still around her, he might have been carved from marble.... No, nothing as refined. Stone, she decided. Craggy and rugged and enduring like these mountains.

And she couldn’t stop touching him. That faint vibration she felt inside urged her to greater boldness, to see if a fire could be stoked from a single flame.

She nestled her face in the valley between his neck and shoulder, inhaled the scent that made him him. She liked the whimsical thought and shifted again. Just enough so her breasts lifted from his chest, a slight motion that grazed sensitive tips against wiry chest hairs.

The heat low in her belly flared as Drei’s hands locked hard around her waist. Mirie gasped, a sound that startled the quiet as she was hoisted off his lap as easily as he might have removed a pet.

“Your Royal Highness.” He used her title as her name, his tone a warning that she had crossed a line. He forcibly scooted backward as if she had become an ember that burned him.

Mirie stared at him across the blaze-soaked distance. She found the bright green of his eyes indistinguishable by firelight, found herself pierced by the reproach in his expression. And something else...

“What do you fear from me, Drei?” she asked, surprised.

“What are you doing?” A demand.

“I was...testing.”

He arched a quizzical eyebrow. “Testing what? I’m still breathing, Your Royal Highness.”

His indignation made her bristle. Or maybe it was the title that did. She had a name. He knew it.

Was it so wrong to want to be a woman? For one stolen moment, she wanted to think of nothing but what it felt like to feel again, to respond and to care. She already responded as a woman because she felt hurt by his withdrawal.

He dropped back into a crouch, a defensive stance, as though she were Eve with the apple. The muscles in his thighs bulged with the motion, drew her attention to the way he moved, so easy with his nakedness.

How had she never truly seen this man in all these years they had been together? She must have been blind.

The firelight cast his body in gold, his long legs, his narrow hips, the vee of his waist that spread into that chest that had provided shelter against the storm raging outside.

The storm raging inside.

Reason told her to retreat, but Mirie couldn’t stop. Not when retreat meant the spark inside would smolder to ash.

“You protect me.” Her voice wavered. She could be so weak.

Placing her hands over her heart, she stood her ground. “Protect me from this loneliness. Right here. Pretend I am only a woman who wants a man.”

“You’re a princess.”

His retort stung. Always the voice of reason.

“I’m a woman, too.”

And she could not lose this feeling that made her feel alive. To be like Bunică. Her family. Mirie did not want to live her life as one ready for the grave.

She feared that fate worse than men with guns.

“Please.” The word broke, not a demand but a plea.

Drei’s expression was unreadable, but his gaze pierced her as if he’d plunged a hand through her heart. She resisted the urge to shrink before him with her selfish demands.

Then she noticed his hands. They were balled into fists at his sides, tense-knuckled and desperate almost. Not because he didn’t want her, she realized.