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

True. While Dare was away, he could complete his work and have the rest of the time to himself. But he didn’t want her to know that. “I had some chores to do.”

Her expression said she didn’t believe him. “You’ve been keeping an eye on me all day.”

Had she seen the viewers mounted around the property? “What makes you think so?”

“I don’t know. I just felt it.”

Ah. Something else she and Dare had in common—keen awareness. “Actually, I keep an eye on everything, including the property, and you just happened to be in the scene.”

“Did you expect trouble?”

“Nope. At least, not any more than any other day. Dare is nothing if not cautious.”

She said nothing to that, but Chris knew she’d just stored away that knowledge. After she finished preparing her snack, she put away the utensils and food and said, “Would it be okay if I used a computer?”

“Uh …” Dare didn’t want her on any of her accounts, but how was he supposed to police that?

In dramatic fashion, she crossed her heart. “I won’t break any rules, I promise. My accounts are off-limits. It’s just that while I was out walking earlier, I had an idea for my WIP and I wanted to get it down while it’s fresh in my mind.”

“WIP?”

“Work in progress. I haven’t been able to write for a while, and not writing makes me … antsy.”

Being held captive probably made her antsy, too, but he got her point. “Hey, have at it. I just refilled all the printers, so feel free to print off whatever you write.”

“Actually, if you have a flash drive or something that I could pay you for, that would work better. Then if I want to change things later, I can.”

Fascinated by her writing process, Chris said, “I’m sure I have some extras stored in the library.” She trailed him as he started out of the room. “You can use the computer in the room Dare gave you.” But maybe she didn’t want to be alone there, so he quickly added, “Or the one in his room, or the library … Doesn’t matter, really.”

“I’ll use the one upstairs.” She wrinkled her nose. “I like a lot of privacy when I write.”

Was that a hint for him not to try looking over her shoulder? Bummer. It’d be cool to watch a writer at work.

Chris located a flash drive in the library desk and handed it to her. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” She juggled her glass of milk and the plate with the sandwich and pushed the flash drive into the sweatshirt pocket. Then she gave Chris a direct look. “And since I’ll be occupied, you really don’t need to hang around—that is, unless you want to. But don’t change your plans on my account, okay? I really, really detest being a bother.”

Telling her that she wasn’t a bother wouldn’t have made a difference to how she felt about it. So instead, Chris asked, “You’re going to stay in the house for the rest of the night?”

Molly hesitated. “Do I need to?”

“No.” God, he hoped she wasn’t planning another jaunt around the perimeter. “You’re safe enough anywhere on the grounds right around the house, under the security lights, but I’d rather know what you’re doing, and where you’ll be.” Just in case.

Her shoulder lifted. “If it’s okay, I might go down to the dock again later. The change of scenery jogs my muse, and the fresh air keeps me alert. Will that be a problem?”

Since the dock was closer to his place, and monitored, Chris was relieved. “That’s fine. Just be careful, okay?” And then to tease her, “We wouldn’t want you to fall in.”

As he started out of the room, the dogs followed, making Chris pause with a laugh. “I guess they’re ready to turn in for the night, so now they’re coming with me.” He eyed Molly. “You don’t mind being alone?”

She shook her head. “I usually am.”

And for whatever reason, that damn near broke Chris’s heart.

THROWING HERSELF into her work, Molly spent two hours on the computer and managed to write the entire scene before her muse took a rest and reality sank back in. The house was so quiet, and when she looked at the clock, she saw it was almost 10:00 p.m.

She saved her file and stored the flash drive with the few belongings she owned. Earlier, she had carried her dishes back down to the kitchen and stowed them in the dishwasher. The silence of the big house hadn’t really sunk in then; she’d been too anxious to get back to her story.

Now, however, she heard every unfamiliar noise.

Arms wrapped around herself, she walked over to the French doors to look out. Her head started to ache, so she freed her hair from the haphazard topknot fastened with paper clamps she’d found on the desk. Of course two men with short hair didn’t have any hair clips or bobby pins just lying around.

She shook her hair free, rubbed her temples a little. And still the tension continued squeezing in.

Earlier, the walk had helped. Then the hot bath. And then writing. But now …

Surely Dare would come back tonight … right?

She looked at the bed and shuddered at the thought of trying to sleep there, alone, with only her turbulent memories.

Regardless of how Dare had told her to come to him, it wasn’t fair to impose on him that way.

But … she didn’t want to sleep alone with her nightmares, and she had no one else.

Pacing the room, she took note of all the shadows cast from the glow of the computer monitor and the full moon outside. She took note of the silence, the chill, how the walls closed in.

She fought it, but anxiety tightened around her, smothering, insidious, consuming.

She drew a deep breath, then another—and knew she had to move now, before she lost control.

Swiping the quilt off the bottom of the bed, she went down the stairs, through the house and out the back door. Immediately, a million stars shone down on her, twinkling bright around a fat opalescent moon.

This time she filled her lungs with the brisk night air—and the freedom of it calmed her.

Dare would return tonight, and if he didn’t, she’d stay outside. Out here, she didn’t feel trapped or small or helpless. Having the wide-open skies over her was nothing like that cramped, airless room where they’d kept her chained up like an unwanted mutt, breathing the scents of fear and desperation and filth.

Where they had taken pleasure in tormenting her.

Hurting her.

But not too much, not enough to really injure her. They’d been waiting for something, she knew it.

But what?

When she stepped off the porch and onto the path, ambient security lights flickered on to show the way to the dock. She could hear the lake washing up to the rocky shoreline. She heard the teasing rustle of leaves, the songs of crickets and other night creatures.

She didn’t know what else might be out there with her, but she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore, not of this. Not of everyday, normal life. To the contrary, she’d never again take it for granted.

Off to the left of the path was the quaint white cottage where Chris lived. The large, front windows were shielded by drawn curtains, but light shone through, letting her know that Chris hadn’t yet gone to bed. Of course, he probably wouldn’t until Dare returned, because he felt responsible for her.

Dare did, too.

She wanted to be responsible for herself again.

Leaves blew over the path, crunched under her feet. The chill breeze cut through her, but she embraced it. She was alive, and after thinking she might die in that sweltering-hot, squalid little hellhole, being cold reminded her that she hadn’t let them win.

She’d held on—and then Dare had saved her.

The dock squeaked and rocked as she walked out onto it. The light didn’t reach this far, and she felt safely concealed in shadows provided by the high walls of the boathouse to her right. She moved close to it, letting it block some of the wind.

The moon painted a glow over the rippling surface of the lake, so beautiful that it engrossed her and further eased her angst. Molly sank down on the hard wooden planks with her knees drawn up close to her chest and wrapped the quilt tight around her.

How long she sat there, she wasn’t sure. Her thoughts drifted over the present and the future. She thought of Dare, of what he’d done for her, but more importantly, of who he was. Not many men could ever be like him. No other man would affect her this way.

Without even meaning to, she drew comparisons to Adrian, and felt like a fool. Now that she knew Dare, Adrian seemed less than insubstantial in every way. He didn’t have the strength of character or conviction that was such a part of Dare. He didn’t possess even a fraction of Dare’s honor and courage.

And in no way did he possess the same sex appeal. Around Dare, she could not ignore her own sexuality—as she’d often done with Adrian.

She couldn’t discount the incredible circumstances, because they had happened; they served as an impetus for everything that followed. But what she felt didn’t depend on what she’d suffered, or how Dare had saved her.

If she’d met him back in Ohio, maybe while on a book tour, she still would have recognized him as an amazing man. She had to believe that.

When she heard the sound of a car approaching high up on the road, she turned to see the headlights veer into the drive.

She knew it was Dare, and relief left her boneless. She considered going up to greet him but … she wasn’t ready yet.

Sitting there on the dock beneath the wide-open skies, snuggled into the quilt, feeling safe and serene kept her captivated. It enabled her to think objectively.

More comparisons presented themselves as she thought of her abductors and how Dare helped her to put the ugliness into perspective.

The men had hurt her, but Dare eased the pain.

They had taunted her; Dare reassured her.

They belittled her, and Dare showed her respect.

He served as the antithesis to all the harsh, ugly memories. Through him, she could counter the remaining abhorrence and lingering fears.

He soothed her fear, and her soul—even while inflaming her senses. She wanted him, not just his comfort, but so much more. Sleeping beside him made her feel safe, but it wasn’t enough, not when his nearness heated her blood and sharpened her desire almost painfully.

Tonight, she’d make her feelings known to him.

If he came to her.

Not for a second did she doubt that Dare would know right where to find her, if he wanted to. But he could be tired; he could want to shower and sleep…. No.

Their time together had been brief, but she already knew him, and she knew he would seek her out first thing. And so she waited for him.

Like glittering diamonds, starlight reflected off every ripple in the surface of the lake. The lulling sound of gentle waves rolling up to the shoreline had eased her tension earlier, but now they amped up her awareness, heightening her senses. Molly concentrated on the feel of the cold air blowing off the lake and into her heated face.

And she listened for Dare.

Her heart began to pound, and her skin tingled. Somewhere out toward the middle of the lake, a fish jumped. To her left, in a small cove between this dock and the one situated in front of Chris’s cabin, a frog croaked.

When she felt Dare’s approach, Molly closed her eyes. The dock shimmered with his every footstep.

“Molly.”

At the sound of his deep, soft voice, her starving lungs reminded her to draw breath. In an agony of anticipation, she tipped her head around and, sounding more breathless than she intended, said, “Hi.”

He came to crouch down beside her. “I didn’t want to startle you.”

“I heard you pull up.”

He reached out to touch her hair. “Chris went on to bed.”

She twisted, saw that the lights had gone out in the cabin, and nodded. “I think he was waiting for you.” She hugged her arms around her knees. “I hate that he feels responsible for me.”

Dare hesitated, saying nothing, and then he eased down to sit beside her. He, too, stared out at the lake. After a time, he spoke softly, saying, “You’re in a precarious situation. Any man would worry for you. But the fact is, Chris is paid to do as I tell him, and I told him to keep an eye on you.”

It amused her how both Chris and Dare constantly tried to make light of their protective instincts. “Maybe, but it was more than that.” She rested her chin on a knee. “He’s one of the good guys, and I know that.” She peeked over at Dare. “I know the difference.”

Brushing the backs of his fingers along her cheek, Dare said, “You’re chilled.”

Molly shook her head. “It’s beautiful here.”

His hand eased under her hair to cup around the nape of her neck. “I think so, too.” He tugged her a little closer to him, sharing his body heat. “We both worry for you, Molly. No woman should have to go through what you did, and it’s understandable to have some difficulty with it. All Chris wants, all we want, is to make sure you’re okay.”

Closing her eyes, Molly bit her lip and tried to decide how to speak her mind. His thumb brushed over her skin, inciting her and doing so much to obliterate clear thought.

“I like your hands, Dare.”

He went still, cautious. “My hands?”

“Before … before what happened, I never paid that much attention to the differences in a man’s hands.” She reached out and found his other hand, cradling it in both of hers. “They’re so much bigger, so much stronger than mine.”

“True.”

Her throat felt tight. “And they can do a lot of damage without a lot of effort.” Palm to palm, she compared their hands—but there was no real comparison. He was large and strong and capable, more than able to defend himself from harm. But she had been utterly helpless.

Dare laced his fingers with hers. “They can also protect.”

“I know.” She looked up at him. That silvery, magic moonlight limned his features, emphasizing the sharp lines of his face and making his dark blue eyes fathomless, sexy and so appealing. “That’s the difference I see now, with you. Not the possibility of inflicted pain, but the compassion. The care. I look at your hands, and I think of how you touch me, and how it makes me feel.”

“Molly.” As if pained by her words, he touched his forehead to hers.

“You’ve given me a whole new perspective, right when I needed it most. If you hadn’t shown up that day—”

“Shh.” His hold grew tighter. “I did, and that’s all that matters.”

Needing him to understand, Molly shook her head. “Every day got a little worse, and I got a little weaker. I don’t know how much more I would have suffered. I don’t know if I’d even be alive right now if it wasn’t for you.”

His hand shook as he smoothed her hair behind her ear. “I’m damned glad I was there.”

He couldn’t promise that nothing bad would ever happen to her again, because they both knew he wouldn’t always be around. And it wasn’t his responsibility to protect her, anyway. It was hers—and it was time she took control of her life, starting with recovery from her fear.

“Those men … they hurt me on purpose.”

“I know.” He kissed her forehead.

“Sometimes, especially when I’m alone, I can’t help thinking, remembering, what it was like.”

“Molly …”

She drew a slow breath. “It hurt, but the fear was worse than the pain. One of them would do something, and the others would like it, and they’d join in, and I wouldn’t know …” She swallowed. “I had no idea how far it’d go.”

“I wish I could kill them again for you.”

She fisted her hand in his flannel shirt. “Knowing that the other women were watching, and that they knew how afraid and helpless I was, made it worse.”

“You hated being defenseless. Most people do.”

“I thought I would fear all men after that. But I opened my eyes and saw you that first time—”

“And kicked me in the nose.”

She couldn’t really laugh right now, though she smiled with him. “Right after that, as soon as you spoke to me, I felt so damn safe and so grateful….” The tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away. This wasn’t a time for crying. It was a time for healing.

Dare tipped up her chin. “You’ve been incredibly brave and smart, and I admire you a lot, Molly. I hope you know that.”

He admired her. Great. It was nice—but she wanted more. She needed more. “Would you do something for me, Dare?” Before he could speak, Molly carried his hand to her breast.

His body went very still. Seconds ticked by.

Sounding hoarse, Dare whispered, “Tell me what you want.”

The feel of his broad, strong hand against her left her quaking inside—in a good way. The tremble sounded in her tone as she tried to explain. “I want to be whole again. I want to be me, the person I was before I was taken to Tijuana.”

Dare said nothing. Molly felt his hesitation, his indecision. God love the man, he didn’t want to take advantage of her.

“I know what I want, Dare.” She covered his hand with her own, pressed him closer. “I want to replace the bad memories with new ones. Better ones.”

His hand curved around her, but he said nothing.

Watching his face, Molly whispered, “I want to do that now, with you.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LITTLE BY LITTLE, Dare relaxed until his hand curved around her breast, cuddling her. Molly could hear the acceleration of his breathing, the increased heat from his body.

With his voice going low and harsh, but his touch gentle, Dare asked, “They put their hands on you?”

Recalling the total humiliation, the nausea and fear, she nodded and said brokenly, “Yes.”

“Here?” When Dare’s thumb found her nipple, they both drew in sharp breaths.

“Yes.” Oh, God, she couldn’t think when he touched her. “They did … but not like that.”

The maddening stroke of his thumb continued. “More to hurt you?”

Words were beyond her, so Molly nodded again.

With small kisses to her temple, her cheek, the bridge of her nose, Dare nudged her face up until he could feather light, teasing pecks to her open mouth. When she made a sound of excitement, he nibbled on her bottom lip, licked her upper lip—and finally sealed his mouth over hers in a consuming, tongue-twining kiss.

All the while, his hand played with her breast. Molly wore a T-shirt and the sweatshirt, and still the touch of his hand on her was unbearably intoxicating.

Clasping a hand around the back of Dare’s neck, she tried to kiss him harder, deeper.

He lifted away, but not far. “If I’m going to do this—”

“You are.” She needed him so badly that she’d insist if she had to.

Dare smiled. “Then I want to do it right.”

She had no idea what he meant by that.

His eyes glittered at her in the darkness before she saw his resolve. “Tell me if you feel any panic at all.”

“I won’t. Not with you.”

He freed her from the quilt and spread it out behind her.

Cold air washed over her, but she wasn’t chilled. Far from it.

Easing her down to her back, Dare stretched out beside her. Even with the quilt as a cushion, the wooden boards of the dock should have been uncomfortable to her back. But at the moment, all Molly felt was Dare, breathing so close to her, touching her so carefully. She stared up at a velvet blanket of stars and the fat, glowing moon, and she knew the truth.

She was fast falling in love with a man who wanted her almost as much as he pitied her.

For now, it just didn’t matter. She needed this, she needed him, too much to care about anything else.

DARE LOOKED DOWN AT Molly, so trusting and so vulnerable in ways she didn’t even know. He’d made a vow to himself, but how could he have known that she’d offer herself like this?

All during his drive home, he’d thought of Molly’s life thus far. Her mother had died too young, and her father was a world-class bastard. Growing up under Bishop Alexander’s rule would have been a trial of endurance; that man could make anyone’s life hell.

Now, thanks to the photos Trace had shared, Dare knew that Bishop had the affiliations necessary to continue making Molly’s life miserable. He held close associations with a number of shady characters, but two in particular were of interest to Dare.

The grainy shots had been of Bishop and his wife at a formal party, chatting up well-dressed couples. But Trace had recognized a few faces: Ed Warwick and Mark Sagan. Trace had gone one further and done a preliminary dig on the relationship background between the men.

During a political fundraiser years back, Bishop had aligned himself with Ed Warwick, a retired military man who’d taken a post as an immigration official. On the surface, the two had only associated in their combined effort to financially back a senator. Later, when Warwick was accused of accepting bribes to clear the way to citizenship for ineligible aliens, Bishop broke ties, and Warwick hired Mark Sagan, a highly paid, very elite lawyer to represent him.

Amazingly enough, Sagan was known as a white separatist. Many despicable deeds had been attributed to him, but without proof. Sagan was the kind of man that Dare detested: polished and suave on the outside, bloodthirsty on the inside. Throughout his law career, Sagan had acquainted himself with numerous criminals who always managed to skirt the law.

Shortly after Warwick hired Sagan to represent him, one witness died in a hit-and-run, and two others changed their stories. Warwick wasn’t cleared, but lack of evidence made it impossible to prosecute. Bishop and Warwick had celebrated a subdued reunion, and since then, they’d been involved in many joint efforts with Sagan.

It was clear to Dare that Molly’s father had contacts he could have easily used to set up her kidnapping, and with Sagan, he had access to the muscle to see it done.

The facts didn’t lie: Bishop had the associations and the means.

But what would be the motive?

As Dare smoothed back Molly’s hair, he couldn’t think of a single reason why her father would want to cause her so much physical harm. And without a reason that would lead him to some hard evidence, he couldn’t officially accuse the man.

That meant that the worst—not knowing—was still ahead of her.

How could he ever turn her loose without knowing she’d be safe? And how could he, in good conscience, accept her intimate offer when she needed him so badly for protection?

Dare made up his mind, and it already tortured him. He’d give Molly what she needed, but he wasn’t going to have sex with her.

Not yet.

Finding her on the dock, half-frozen and with so much need, worked miracles toward shoring up his sometimes-misplaced honor. She needed to know that her life could still be the same, and that the nightmare would eventually fade into a dark but manageable memory.

“Are you cold?” She kept trying to crawl into him, clutching at him to keep him near, pressing herself close.

“No.” Her nails dug into his upper arm. “Dare, I want—”

“Shh. It’s all right.” He unzipped the oversize hoodie and slipped his hand inside. “Just relax for me.”

The second he touched her breast through the thin T-shirt, she tensed—and a soft moan escaped her parted lips.

The sound was sweet and desperate, proof that she’d been thinking about this, about him, for a while now.

“You’re in a bad way, aren’t you?”

She nodded, licked her lips. “I need you, yes.”

Because they had touched her, hurt her, abused her.

He had to remember that this was to eradicate ugly memories. He had to remember all that she’d suffered.

Seeing the bruise on her cheek, Dare bent to brush his mouth over it. “They hit you … here?”

She said nothing, but her breath hitched.

“And here?” Skimming his mouth along her throat, he gently touched each mark, occasionally licking over a fading bruise or putting a soft love bite over angry fingerprints. It was so dark out that he worked by memory—not that he’d ever forget a single mark on her delicate skin.