Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(87)

He noticed Margo had gotten quiet. Not surprisingly, she had drifted off to sleep. Just as well since he tended to get more done when she wasn’t awake. Margo did a good job of claiming his attention, intentionally or not, and he wasn’t sure just what he could do about it. He hadn’t known her for a long time, but she had gotten to him in a way no other woman had. Now he knew why and refused to deny it any longer—he loved her.

Striker rubbed his face but not in frustration. Only because he knew it was a do-or-die situation. He could no more deny loving her than he could refuse to take his next breath. He had never loved a woman. When he was younger, in his teens and a star football player, he’d assumed he had plenty of time to do so. Instead he had enjoyed playing the field. Then a few weeks after graduating high school, when he was looking forward to the fall and utilizing that football scholarship he’d gotten to Ohio State, his world as well as Wade’s had come to an end. It would be fair to say the world of the entire Jennings family seemed to end, given the physical and mental toll on his mom.

When he had been released from prison, getting seriously involved with any woman had been the last thing on his mind. Getting his life back together had been the top priority. Women had only entered the picture when sex was needed. He understood that and made sure they understood it. It should have been that way with Margo, but he could no longer think of what they’d been sharing as sex only. For him it was a lot more than that. And because of that, the job—protecting Margo—was more important than ever.

Striker needed to check in with Stonewall. He’d left his cell phone on the bathroom vanity before stepping into the shower. Easing away from Margo, he untangled their legs and stood, telling himself not to look at her or he’d never leave the bed. He slid into jeans and a T-shirt before strapping his gun and holster on his shoulder. He crossed the room to the bathroom. When he picked up his phone and tried dialing Stonewall, he discovered he couldn’t make a call. What the hell was going on? Somehow, reception was being blocked. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something definitely wasn’t right.

He was about to check if any text messages had managed to get through, when suddenly there was an explosion.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

MARGO DID HER best to ignore the pain throbbing through her entire body as she tried lifting herself off the floor, only to fall back down again. What was going on? What had happened? There had been some sort of blast. She had been in the bed asleep and now she was naked on the floor. And where was Striker?

She tried saying his name but the sound lodged in her throat. He had been in the bed with her. Hadn’t he? With eyes stinging of smoke, she quickly looked around. From the moonlight shining in through the broken window, she could see the room was in total shambles. Dragging herself to her knees, she ignored the fact that she was stark naked and began feeling around on the floor. Striker had to be here somewhere. What if he was injured? Unconscious? Or even...

She fought back a wave of hysteria, refusing to consider it. Please let Striker be okay. The thought that he might not be okay made her heart seize. All was quiet as she crawled around on the floor in the darkness. Her stomach began to roil when she couldn’t find Striker anywhere. What if he was on the other side of the bed and—

Suddenly she was pulled into big strong arms. She would have fought if she hadn’t recognized those arms. His manly scent. “Striker!”

He quickly put his fingers to her lips. “Shh,” he whispered, drawing her even closer, while rubbing her naked skin with his big hands, as if he was trying to determine if she was all in one piece.

“I’m fine, Striker,” she said, softly. Unlike her he was clothed. When had he put on clothes? He must have dressed and left her sleeping. “What’s going on? What happened?” she asked, trying to talk above the loud security alarm that had begun blasting when the window had been blown out.

“Someone is firing missiles in here. We need to get someplace where there aren’t any windows,” he said, tugging on her arm.

“No,” she said, pulling back. “I’m not going anywhere naked.”

The next thing she knew, he was pulling something over her head. From the scent and warmth of the material, she knew he’d removed the T-shirt off his back to put on her. It barely covered her thighs, but she loved the way it felt against her skin.

“Where did you put your shoes?” he asked her.

“On this side of the bed somewhere,” she said, following his lead by speaking in a low voice. She could tell he was feeling around on the floor.

“Got them.” He proceeded to help her put them on.

“Where are we going? There are windows in every room in this house.”

“Underground. To the wine cellar. The bastard expects us to run outside just so he can use us as target practice.”

“It’s the assassin, isn’t it?” she asked.

“That’s my bet.”

Her head was spinning. “But how did he know where to find me? We made sure nobody followed us.”

“Evidently someone talked.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know, but I intend to find out. At least Stonewall and the team know something’s going on.”

“How do you know that?” she asked, hearing rather than seeing him doing something to his gun.