Possessed by a Warrior. Sharon Ashwood
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to pick up the threads of their conversation, to make these insane thoughts disappear beneath the surface of adult conversation. What had he been talking about? Oh, yes.
“Well, did your investigation go anywhere?” Her voice was rough and breathy. She cleared her throat.
He gave her a careful look. “Yes.”
“What did you find out?”
Sam did his best impression of a blank wall. Chloe sighed.
“I’m protecting you,” he said, voice dropping almost to the range of a growl. “Everything I do is to keep you safe.”
“If the dress thief is any indication, ignorance is a lot more dangerous.” She pulled the robe tighter around her throat.
“I’m not sure about that.”
She shrugged, aching, frustrated and tired of playing games. “Oh, forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
She threw the statement down like a dare.
* * *
Sam watched the shrug do lovely things to the sliver of skin showing at the neck of the white robe. She was trying to hide it, but it still showed like an arrow pointing toward more intimate beauties. Her golden hair hung in glistening waves down her back, much longer than it looked pinned up. All that gold and white softness gave her an angelic air, spiced by the strong scent of her desire. Sam’s body tightened, transfixed for a moment by her loveliness, by the promise of pleasure. It was so different from his world of missions and weapons and blood.
He ached with wanting her, a sweet, slow pain filled with yearning and regret. Only part of it was a need of the body. His spirit reached for her, too, somehow knowing that she was a woman who would offer solace and strength. Things War shouldn’t need.
She was a good person, and that was exactly why he had to walk away. They had no business being in each other’s lives.
Then his brain caught up with what she was saying: “It doesn’t matter.” The look in her eyes said clearly it did.
But what could he say? That he’d found a dead body? Chloe didn’t need one more thing to keep her awake tonight, and knowing the security guards had been compromised wouldn’t help one bit. That kind of news could wait until morning.
The moment dragged by like a physical ache. Sam struggled, his instinct to take her then and there warring with the knowledge that whatever might pass between them would end badly. Human women were so sadly vulnerable. He could protect, but he could never have.
Then the moment faded, falling in on itself when the moment of burgeoning desire was ignored. Chloe’s face grew set, the corners of her mouth pulling down. Sam felt his neck prickle, instincts responding to her darkening mood.
“Where did your pet go?” she asked, a little too crisply. “What’s his name, anyway?”
Pet? Scrambling for a reply, Sam looked over to where Kenyon had been sitting. There was nothing left but a few dog hairs.
Sam cleared his throat. “Fido’s shy of people. Some wolf blood, you know.”
Her expression said she didn’t believe any of that. “He’s a marshmallow. I can’t believe you didn’t mention him before this. Why keep him a secret?”
Sam grunted, knowing he was going to lose if he kept talking. He was the guy who hit things, not the one who provided plausible deniability for werewolves. And something about that fluffy robe was shredding his thought processes. “I’ve got to go catch him.”
“Yeah, there are too many gun-happy guards around.” She blinked, her eyes shadowed with fatigue.
“Are you going to get any sleep tonight?”
“I keep trying.”
Sam would have liked to personally tuck her in. Maybe she’d stay put this time. Maybe he’d stay there to make sure she stayed put. Yeah, what was that saying about foxes and henhouses?
He had a wolf to catch. “Good night, Chloe.”
Her lips curved in a tired smile. “Good night, Sam.”
He opened his mouth to keep talking, but she turned away before he could think of anything else to say. Just as well. He wanted a few seconds more, but then it would be a few seconds after that, and so on until sunrise.
She turned back, her expression oddly naked. “Are you going to guard my door?”
“Absolutely. Personally.”
Her head drooped, not quite a nod. “Thank you.”
To his regret and relief, she closed the bedroom door, and the moment passed.
Sam slowly turned to see Kenyon’s human shape lurking in the shadows. He’d pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie.
Sam stalked over to him. “What happened?”
Kenyon snorted with disgust. “I heard Chloe moving around and tried to get out of sight before she opened the door. But she saw me. Then she chased me.”
Despite himself, Sam chuckled. “She chased you?”
Kenyon gave a lopsided smile. “What’s the point of being a monster unless you can have fun with it?”
Good question. He wouldn’t have minded a show of feminine gratitude. After all, the vampires on TV got the beautiful blondes. Not that Sam watched, of course. He yanked his mind back to business. “We’ve got to call Winspear.”
Kenyon ran a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers caught in clumps of hairspray. “He won’t have done the autopsy yet.”
Sam recoiled from the image of Jack lying on a cold metal table. That was just so wrong. “Then the doctor had better get busy because I have another customer. I found the thief’s getaway car, plus the driver. He was one of the security guards, shot in the head.”
Kenyon’s eyes widened. “Where? I lost the trail at the edge of the garden.”
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