Prologue
I carefully listen to the soft sounds of her breathing, wondering how I have allow myself to get into this situation. I am not a cuddler. Yet here I am, my arm numb and asleep resting under Camila’s cheek. She has no problem staking her claim and getting comfortable in my bed, even if that means using my various body parts as a pillow. Her favorites seem to be my chest or shoulder. Though right now, I’d say my bicep is a close third.
I don’t want to move her, I can’t even bring myself to because I don’t want to rouse her from sleep. I’d promised her she’d be okay and I found myself unable to break that promise in any form. If she need to be close to another warm body while she sleep, what hardship is it for me? Other than this awkward erection and numb arm—I will live. She sigh contentedly and roll in closer, throwing one leg over my hip, damn this is temptation!
I know if I cross that physical boundary with her I won’t be the gentle lover she deserves. The overwhelming feeling of want she stirs within me won’t allow for that. I will fuck her hard and fast. And since I am pretty sure she is still a virgin, she deserves someone who will be careful, soft, and take his time. Another reason why I am not the man for the job. I shift her knee to relieve the pressure of her warm thigh against my groin and I try to relax.
During times like this my mind would often wander and I can’t help but remember the first time I laid eyes on her. She’d been a startled little thing, huddled in the corner, watching me with wide eyes. Even then she’d roused in me all kinds of protective instincts, made the alpha male inside me come out in a big way. And if my current cuddling status is any indication, she still does. I tighten my grip around her unconsciously drawing her nearer. Even if I can’t act on the desire I feel for the woman in my bed, I sure as fuck won’t let anyone hurt her.
She squirm in her sleep, murmuring lightly. I bring my free hand to her hair, sweeping the tousled strands from her forehead to quiet her. She is too vulnerable, too damaged, which is exactly why I need to stop thinking with my dick. Pronto.
CHAPTER 1.
ALEX POV
What a shit ton of fuck! I have seen some messed up things in my day, but the scene before me takes the cake.
A stream of people flee through the front doors and others jump from the first floor windows of the large brown compound. Then again, what did I expect when my squad gassed up the place?
After waiting for the fumes to clear, and most of the bodies to filter out, I run toward the building, rain pelting my jacket. I duck through the door and remove my gas mask taking a tentative breath to test the air around me. I felt only a slight tingle in my throat. It would do. I didn’t plan on hanging out in the front area where the canister had crash through the window anyway. My goal is to seek out the back rooms and find anyone still lingering inside. And bonus points if I find the Cartel boss, Solano, before my commander did. If Solano is guilty of even half the crimes they have him on, I wouldn’t mind punching the guy square in the jaw.
Solano is a certified whack job, the kind of evil I won’t hesitate to eradicate, but the CIA wanted him alive for Intel. Solano had a new kind of illegal drug, and had about forty new buyers coming from parts of the world to test this drug. When one of our operative, an inside man in Solano cartel learned of the location of the meet. The CIA had to moved fast, warrant be damned. So far, it appeared they’d made it in time.
I adjust the strap of my rifle and tread along the hallway. I turned the corner, the lighting dim from the lack of windows, and listened for any sounds. Dead silence. Hearing nothing to indicate a threat, I entered the room on my right.
A young woman is huddle in the corner of the bedroom. She sit slump against the wall, knees hug to her chest. Her breath come in quick shallow gasps.
For a long second, I couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Something about this woman captivates my attention. Eyes, the color of emeralds, she stare up at me in fear and confusion. Trembling hands hug her legs tight to her chest. Unshed tears burn in that brilliant green gaze.
I Snap out of my daze, and step closer. The woman flinch and shrunk back against the wall. She is shaking uncontrollably but her eyes follow my movements. I scan the bedroom, checking for other victims or threats, but found only several bunk beds, clothes strew across the floor, and a crib in the corner. Once the room is secure, I lower my gun.
Procedure dictate I shout my command before taking action. But my gut told me a different tactics may be required.
“What’s your name?” I ask, gazing down at her petite form.
“C-Camila,” she stammers, her voice raspy.
I pull in a deep lungful of air and cross the room, my boots thudding against the tiled floor. She presses back hard against the wall, watching me approach. I slung the rifle’s strap over my shoulder, letting the weapon hang free and lift my hands—palms out, fingers splayed—facing her. “It’s okay. I’m here to help.”
She watches me with wide eyes that hold a flicker of curiosity. Even though she remains hunkered down, she lift her chin as I approach.
I consider to help her up, but I instinctively know her hands will remain tightly locked in her lap.
I have two choices: pick her up and carry her out, or win over her trust. Trust takes time. Making a split second decision, I crouch down and lift her, securing one arm behind her knees, the other around her waist. A startled gasp escape her throat, but as soon as Camila was in my arms her body relaxes. She rest her head against my shoulder and let out a deep sigh, as if she’s been carrying around some great burden and is suddenly free now that she is in his arms. She laces her fingers behind my neck and bury her face in my chest, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Momentarily stunned by her warm body wrapped around mine, it took me a moment to get my feet moving.
I carry her through the building, catching surprise glances from the other agents as I hold her tightly to my chest, crossing through the emptying rooms. She sinks into
Me, into my protection and that measure of complete trust and surrender twisted something inside me, invoking a feeling I have never encountered until now.
“Found a girlfriend back there, Coulson?” one of the guys said, followed by a wave of laughter.
Normally, I would snap back a retort, but I can’t focus on much with her locked in my embrace. The fragrant waves of dark hair spilling over her shoulders, the soft curves of her body molding to my hard chest was more than a little distracting.
When we enter the front room, Camila finally speaks. “You can set me down now.” Her breath is warm against my neck and it sent a tingling rush down my spine.
I lower her feet to the floor, suddenly finding myself reluctant to let her go. She look at me and blink twice, her mouth opening to draw in a shuddering breath. I feel just as speechless. Emotions I’d thought long dead stir within me.
She turn and strode toward the few people still left in the building—a small group of children line up against the far wall, looking bewildered.
It was no big shocker that a group of male agents were clueless as to what to do with the littlest victims. At least they had enough sense to bring them inside out of the rain while they wait for the vans to arrive.
Camila kneel before the children and speak to them in a hushed voice. Whatever she said had the power to calm them. Several of the older kids swiped at tears and fix on brave faces. The littlest one, a toddler with blonde curls crawled onto her lap.
At first I had been solely focused on the mission—to capture Solano—but now I wonder what will happen to the women and children. Well, mainly the young woman, Camila.
When the vans arrive, I watch her help the children fashion capes out of discarded blankets to shield them from the rain. Then she parade them outside to the waiting vehicles.
The unfamiliar sting of worry pierce my chest. This was the only home they know, and it is now the center of a CIA investigation. They have been literally cast out into the cold. I shook the thought away. Damn. I must be going soft. This is the same kind of thing I’d counseled junior agents on—never get emotionally involved in a case. It is a mind fuck waiting to happen. But watching Camila walk away, her shapely backside and legs encase in a pair of jeans, damp hair hanging down her back, I knew better than to pretend I wasn’t affected. Damn it.
As I stand in the doorway, the cold air snatched my breath away instantly, forcing me to pull the edges of my jacket tighter. I can’t help thinking about her lush, soft curves and how she’d felt in my arms. Wanting her was a powerful, primal need, an instinctive response, and one I hadn’t experienced in a long time. The difference is I’d never act on it.
Hell, I was willing to bet I’d never even see her again. And that was for the best.
