Anita wrapped her arms around herself wondering why it had taken her life getting so far out of control that she’d had to hire security. Why did it take all of this for an average guy to come into her life to put back together all the shattered pieces of it? But, then, Zachary Mitchell was no average man. Far from it.
Aside from owning a decent soul and a sense of old-school values, he also had a stone-cut chest and a ripped abdomen that simply took her breath away. In a suit, or even in an Oxford button-down and slacks, she had only been able to imagine the definition covered by fine fabric and then allow her hands to roam over it. But seeing all that in a T-shirt that strained against chocolate-covered sinew, nothing was left to her imagination.
Steel-cable biceps stretched his sleeves as slow, easy breaths lifted his rock-hard chest. She bit her bottom lip as her gaze slid down his torso and stopped at his groin. Damn . . . even at ease and in a pair of sweats, the man was gifted. She remembered feeling all of that pressed against her pelvis, making her want to savor every inch of it, but that had been a dream deferred.
Her line of vision traced his thickly muscled thighs and finally came to rest on his mouth. Zachary Mitchell had a wonderful mouth, his kiss was so gentle, yet she was sure it could turn primal in a heartbeat. It had turned primal for a few glorious minutes until a letter stopped everything and turned the white-hot moment ice-cold.
Desire pulled her through the door, across the room, and toward the sofa. She wasn’t sure what she’d say or how she’d approach him, but the burn for him had eclipsed any shame. She wanted this man, needed him in her life. She knew he thought they came from two different worlds and saw how much that mattered to him in his eyes. But they’d both been products of the same urban experience.
That had to count for something, it meant everything to her. It had been the only reason she’d stayed with Jonathan as long as she had— needing someone from that familiar background to understand her; being so lonely, so tired of men looking at her fame and wanting her as a conquest or being too intimidated to stick around for more than casual sex. But Jonathan never had the honor, never had the values to go with all the money he’d made. And this man, who could have had her from the moment they’d entered the suite, had showered, covered her up, and gone back to his post.
Tears of appreciation stood in her eyes as she bent to kiss Zachary’s forehead. But before her lips grazed his skin, he’d flipped her and pinned her flat on her back with a nine millimeter at her temple.
She stared up unblinking, not breathing. He quickly sat back and cocked the gun.
“Jesus—I’m so sorry!” He put the gun on the table pointing away from them. “You okay?”
She didn’t move, just sucked in two strangled gulps of air and slowly placed her hand over her heart.
“Baby . . . I’m so sorry,” he said, trying to help her up.
Trembling, she sat up slowly, closed her robe around her more tightly, then bent over until her forehead touched her knees, hyperventilating.
“Anita, I . . .”
She just held up a hand to make him stop talking.
“I’m going to get a bag and I want you to breathe into it slowly, all right?”
He jumped off the sofa as she nodded and quickly returned with a bag. He held it out for her and she took it with trembling hands and placed it over her nose and mo
uth, huffing into it for a few moments.
“You feel better?” he asked, taking it from her and trying to help restore her disheveled towel.
Still numb, the towel fell away, leaving a cascade of damp hair to cover her shoulders.
“You called me baby,” she said, looking up at him. “Nearly blew my brains out, but you called me baby.”
Zach closed his eyes. “Anita, I’m really sorry.”
“About almost blowing my brains out and body-slamming me against the sofa or calling me baby?”
He just looked at her. “Both. I was on post and—”
“What if you had kids? What if a toddler came and jumped in the bed with you?” She shot up off the sofa. “Is this some kind of disease or condition? Tell me now— I need to know.”
He looked confused, didn’t seem to understand, but she could see that his mind was seriously trying to process her request.
“No, no, no,” he said, standing and beginning to pace. “When you have a family, when you’re with somebody, you know their sounds, unless you’re suffering Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, you don’t bug like that . . . it’s when you’re in a hostile terrain, expecting—”
“You were in a suite with me,” she countered, folding her arms over her chest as total shock now gave way to indignation.
“The last place I ever thought I’d be,” he said quietly. “I admit it— I was disoriented when I got startled awake and the last thought I went to sleep with was, protect her. I didn’t expect . . .” He looked toward the window as his words trailed off.
She nodded, feeling foolish for walking up on a soldier unannounced, and still slightly shaken. “Okay, now I know better.”
“You came to wake me up,” he said, clearly trying to change the subject. “What did you want? I can order—”