Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(30)

“See? Smart. Alex taught them silent commands in case...” Gabe made a mistake. He looked down at this nervous woman burrowing under his arm where he didn’t quite want her to be.

But there she was, snuggled up to him like his new best friend with her hand on his chest. Nurse Sullivan didn’t wear much makeup, either. She didn’t have to. Thick, long lashes fringed the most incredible violet-blue eyes. A guy could get lost in there.

Her brows were delicately arched for the moment, lifted in wonder and curiosity. She almost looked interested in Whisper and Smoke the way she peered around him at them.

Straight blonde hair hung to her shoulders in a blunt cut that lent a pixyish quality to her. High cheekbones. An upturned nose that was elfin delicate. Lush lips moistened by the pink tip of her tongue. She only needed wings. Violet wings. With glitter.

A good case of nerves rattled her slight frame, straight through his arm and—all the way to his groin, damn it. He didn’t want to stop looking. The woman snuggled up against him for protection from Kelsey’s dogs was downright good-looking, in a severely controlled way. She needed to lose those ugly men’s glasses, though.

His gaze drifted to the peaked mounds beneath her scrubs, dropping lower to take in hips that swelled in perfect proportion to her small breasts.

The faintest hint of rose and vanilla and damp grass wafted up from her creamy skin, now flushed with a pinkish hue. His nostrils flared, pulling the delightful scent in. He took another long breath, relishing the pleasure of her close proximity—the last thing he’d expected. Or wanted.

She glanced up and caught him looking. Shit.

That did it. She jerked her hand out of his and stuck those glasses back on her nose with a wicked stab of her index finger. The pleasant warmth of the moment evaporated under her icy glare. Damn. Those pretty violet eyes had turned to cold blue icicles. All four of them.

She took a quick step back. “What are you looking at?”

“Ah, nothing. I just thought you’d like to see how good these boys can be when—”

“They’re not boys. They’re dirty animals that have no business being inside the house with a sick woman. Don’t bring them in again, and leave your boots on the back step while you’re at it.”

“Yeah, but Kelsey—”

“But nothing. I came out here for a serious discussion about our client, not to be treated like this.” Sullivan dusted her hands off, rubbed them against her pants again and stepped back. “I should’ve known. You’re no help. Tell your boss about her blouse. I’ll post her orders in the kitchen. You can read, can’t you?”

“Umm, yeah.” He watched the dirty butt prints on her jeans bounce with every step she took away from him. What the hell just happened?

Nurse Sullivan might be uptight and rude, but he’d seen her interest in Whisper and Smoke. He’d also seen tension below the nasty attitude she exuded—or thought she had to. He’d lived through enough crap. He’d seen worse behavior in nastier guys. It usually disguised something else.

She wasn’t just afraid of the dogs. No way.

Wait a minute. Did I just tell her I’d leave my pistols at the back step?





Chapter Ten


The nerve of that man.

Shelby couldn’t get away from Agent Cartwright fast enough. Humph. As if he knows anything about taking care of a sick patient, much less a sick woman, much less—anything!

She’d intended the back door to slam behind her, hoping to punctuate her aggravation and let him know exactly what she thought of him. It didn’t. No. Some thoughtful homeowner had installed a hydraulic hinge to cushion its closure. Probably the same guy who’d remodeled that exquisite bathroom for Kelsey. Didn’t it figure?

It only made her angrier. Shelby rubbed a shiver off her biceps, not that she was cold, just aggravated she’d fallen on her butt in front of Agent Cartwright. And embarrassed. The jerk had laughed. He always seemed to get the upper hand, and it bugged her.

Darn. Who knew dogs could be so smart? She didn’t, and of course he’d enlightened her once again just as he’d done with the skid marks. The problem with this more recent enlightenment was the jolt of energy that came with it, an awareness that tickled when he’d taken hold of her hand.


Tickled, nothing.

More like it shocked the heck out of her. He had strong fingers. Hard as rock biceps. Heck, the whole guy was hard and strong. That single touch had all but sizzled up her arm and over her shoulders. And other places. It meant nothing, absolutely nothing, but still…

The scent of some manly body wash that made her tongue lick her lips every time he got too close. He was not at all what she’d expected from an Army guy.

She turned, dusting her pants while she kept an eye on Cartwright and those dogs from the back door, which opened directly off the kitchen. He’d tossed the bone a few more times and of course the dogs loved him. But did he have any idea how the air rippled with every breath he took?

She did. Every time she got close to him, her pulse rate skyrocketed—and she didn’t even like him. Not really. Cartwright was minor league good-looking. Nothing to brag about. Athletic. Broad shouldered. The stereotypical well-groomed, mahogany-haired, chiseled-ab kind of guy on the cover of GQ, Men’s Health or Esquire and…

Oh. My. Heck.