Myla Jackson - Wyatt’s War

Fiona sucked air into her starving lungs and slipped to the floor, out of his reach, her gaze on him wary, ready to move quickly if the need arose.

Wyatt’s eyes were wide open as he stared down at her. He blinked once, his brows drawing together. “Fiona? What are you doing on the floor?”

She gulped hard to clear her throat, her hand pressed to the skin still warm from his arm’s lock. “You don’t remember?”

He shook his head, his eyes widening. “Oh dear God, did I hurt you?” He dropped to the floor beside her, reaching for her.

Moving out of range of his hands, she shook her head. He didn’t remember. He’d been so entrenched in his dream world, he didn’t recall grabbing her. “Wyatt, you were dreaming.”

He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I hurt you.” He buried his face in his hands for a long moment. “I was afraid of that.” He pushed to his feet and turned away.

Fiona rose and started to lay her hand on his back when she noticed the ragged lines of welts crisscrossing his skin. She’d felt them earlier, but had been too overcome by passion to ask. Now that she could see them clearly and feel the raised scars, her chest tightened. “Wyatt, what happened to you?” she asked softly, tracing one of the angry lines.

“Nothing.” He shrugged off her touch and reached for his T-shirt, pulling it over his head. Grabbing his jeans, he dragged them up his legs and buttoned them. Then he bent to shove his foot into a boot.

Her heart aching for him, she stepped closer. “Come back to bed,” Fiona said, feeling him slipping away from her, the stone wall of silence eating at her.

At first he said nothing as he dragged his jeans down over the boot. “I can’t sleep with you, Fiona. I might hurt you again.”

She laid a hand on his shoulder.

Wyatt jammed his other foot into the boot and then straightened. “I told you. I’m not the forever kind of guy. I come with far too much baggage. I’ll see the concierge about another room. If I can’t get one, I’ll sleep in my Jeep in the parking garage.”

“No.” She grabbed his arm. “You can’t sleep in parking garage. I’m sure there’s some rule to that effect.”

“Then I’ll sleep out on a park bench. The weather’s warm.”

“Please.” She gripped his elbow. “Please stay with me.”

“No. I’ll end up hurting you worse than this time.” He stepped past her and her hand fell to her side.

“I’m willing to take that risk,” she said softly.

He turned to face her. “You might be willing to risk your life. I’m not. I’ve already lost someone I cared about by not recognizing my limitations. I won’t lose another.” He looped his shoulder holster over his arm. “Do yourself a favor and stay away from me. I’m bad news.”

Fiona could tell by the firm set of his square jaw that there was nothing that she could say that would change his mind. With her heart heavy in her chest, she watched as he left, closing the door with a definitive click behind him.

“You’re not bad news,” she whispered. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

And now he was gone.

Wide awake and hating himself for hurting Fiona, Wyatt channeled his anger into his work. He walked the short distance to the convention center, checking in with the night security guard. The sun had yet to appear over the horizon, but it was on its way, heralded by the gray pre-light of dawn. For the next three hours, he combed the building, checking storerooms, walking every inch of the facility, memorizing the entrances, the staircases and the security camera blind spots. Vendors started arriving and unloading at around seven o’clock, anxious to set up display booths where they’d demonstrate the products or services they had to offer in a free trade market. The flurry of activity increased with each passing hour, the number of trucks coming and going giving Wyatt an uneasy feeling about the security of the building and its occupants.

Joe’s team of dogs and handlers arrived at eight o’clock and laid out the plan for checking through the vendor-delivered items and the trucks waiting at the loading docks, as well as making a thorough sweep of the building itself.

Wyatt met Joe at the entrance and shook his hand. “Sorry about running out on you last night.”

Joe shrugged. “I know what it’s like. Been where you are and still have my moments.”

Wyatt swallowed past the lump in his throat. Damned right, Joe knew how it was. He’d been in therapy for over six months. The dogs had been the ticket out. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. You didn’t hurt my feelings.” Joe grinned. “Besides, I got some one-on-one time with the pretty redhead.”

Wyatt’s hands knotted into fists until he realized Joe was yanking his chain.

“She’s feisty that one,” Joe said. “I had to hold her back to keep her from going after you.” He shot a glance at Wyatt. “Smart, pretty and caring. Three of the things I like most in a woman. You going after her?”

Wyatt shook his head. “I’m not ready.”

“Well, if you’re not ready, mind if I ask her out?”

“Yes, I mind,” he bit out before he could think.

Joe laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it. You don’t want to stake a claim, but you don’t want anyone else poaching on the lady in the meantime.” He crossed his arms. “Doesn’t quite seem fair, but then I’m not a man to horn in on another man’s lover.”

Wyatt started to tell Joe that he wasn’t Fiona’s lover. But then that would be a lie. He’d made love to her the night before. That didn’t mean he had any kind of claim on her. He’d told her he didn’t want to start something. And he meant it. With his memories so fresh in his mind and the violence of his dreams, he didn’t trust himself to sleep with anyone. Especially not Fiona.

“I can see you have some issues to gnaw on.” Joe jerked his head to the side. “While you’re chewing, let’s get this show on the road.” He assigned sectors for each handler to manage and sent them on their way with instructions on what to look for and the procedure for if they found anything. When the dogs and handlers had dispersed, Joe tugged on Bacchus’s lead. “Come.” He glanced at Wyatt. “You’re welcome to tag along if you want. Bacchus and I love company.”

Wyatt fell in step with Joe and Bacchus as they searched one of the sections of the convention center Wyatt had been through earlier that morning. The dog sniffed and nosed around, moving on without stopping for long. Once they’d completed their sector, Joe guided the dog to the vendor displays in the center of the convention center. One row at a time, they traversed the showroom, noting each display, the items arranged on the tables and the people representing the products. Wyatt had scanned through the list of names and companies. Each entrant had been run through the FBI’s watch list before being approved, something Fiona had arranged months in advance of the convention.

Bacchus never once stopped to lie down like he would if someone had packed a bomb among the display setups or swag.

When they’d completed the sweep, Wyatt felt a little more confident about the building and the contents. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten. “Want to get some breakfast?” he asked Joe. “I’ll buy.”

“I’m always up for a free meal. Why don’t we ask your boss to join us?” He nodded toward the door where a perfectly dressed, prim and proper event planner entered. Her light charcoal skirt and wrinkle-free matching jacket were as neatly put together as the woman wearing them. She wore her deep red hair up and twisted into an elegant knot, pinned to the back of her head, the wild curls tucked in place, exposing the long pale length of her throat.

Wyatt could almost taste her skin. His groin tightened as he recalled every line and curve of the body beneath the skirt and jacket.

Before Wyatt could stop him, Joe raised a hand and called out, “Fiona, over here.”

Fiona glanced up and smiled at Joe. When her gaze connected with Wyatt’s her smile slipped and a rosy red blush crept up her neck to blossom in her cheeks.

Joe’s brows dipped and his lips curled up on the edges. “I didn’t know redheads could blush that red.” He glanced from Fiona to Wyatt and back. “Damn. You two got it on last night, didn’t you?” he said quietly enough only Wyatt would hear.

Wyatt’s jaw hardened. “Shut the fuck up.”

Fiona crossed the tile floor to where they stood.

Joe’s grin broadened and he reached out to shake Fiona’s hand. “You look gorgeous as usual, Ms. Fiona.”

Her answering smile made Wyatt’s cock jerk. “Thank you, Joe.”

Joe tilted his head to the side. “Are those shadows I detect beneath your eyes? The convention making you lose sleep?”

Wyatt shoved an elbow into his friend’s side. “With as much riding on this event, as well as terrorist threats, I imagine sleepless nights come with the job description.”

Fiona gave him a brief smile. “Right. I’ll be glad when it’s all over and everyone is safely on their way back to their respective countries.”

“In the meantime, won’t you join us for breakfast?” Joe asked. “Would sure make the scenery a lot brighter than looking across the table at Wyatt’s ugly mug.”

Even before he’d finished asking, Fiona was shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I have too much to do this morning.”

“You should eat to keep your strength up. From what I understand it’ll be a very long day, and if I’m not mistaken you probably skipped breakfast.” Joe gripped her elbow and led her toward the exit, refusing to take no for an answer.

“Joe, let her be. If she doesn’t want to go to breakfast with you, don’t push her,” Wyatt said.

Fiona wavered. “Well, I could stand a cup of coffee.”

“It’s settled then.” Joe pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow. “You’re coming with us.”

Wyatt followed behind the two as they walked out into the already warming Texas sunshine. As he trailed the other two, he couldn’t avoid noticing the twitch of Fiona’s hips and the way her skirt tightened around her thighs with every step she took. Those thighs had been wrapped around his waist at several points during the previous night’s mattress gymnastics. They were strong and sexy as hell. The woman worked out. Another thing he liked about her. Hell, there wasn’t much he didn’t like. Which made it even harder to resist her.

His jeans tightened, his cock pressing hard against his zipper. If he could trust Joe not to make a move on Fiona, he’d leave and let them eat breakfast alone. But the thought of Fiona with anyone else but him set his teeth on edge. Which didn’t make any sense at all. He didn’t want her. No, that wasn’t right.

He wanted her more than he wanted his next breath.

Trouble was, he didn’t want to hurt her.

Fiona sat beside Joe, directly across the table from Wyatt. Though she didn’t let her gaze connect with his too often, she could feel him staring at her and it made her squirm in her seat, her thighs tightening, her pussy creaming all over again. She could still feel the warm, wet rasp of his tongue across her clit and the weight of his palms cupping her breasts.

Trying to force her mind out of the bedroom, she picked at the breakfast taco on her plate, her appetite nonexistent.

For food.

What was Joe saying? So deep in her thoughts about being naked with Wyatt, she’d missed half of what he was talking about.

“One of my connections at the local FBI office informed me that they have been getting warnings from Washington to be on the lookout for trouble. The tech gurus in the cyber division say there’s been increased activity among known terrorist organizations in connection with the International Trade Convention.”

Fiona dragged her attention back to the conversation, the importance of which could be the difference between a successful convention and a complete disaster where delegates and civilians could die. “All the more reason to be on our toes at all times. We don’t want anyone hurt.” Despite her effort to avoid Wyatt, her gaze rose to his and locked.

His dark brown gaze bore into hers. “No, we don’t want anyone hurt.”

Joe stared from Fiona to Wyatt. “On that we can all agree. Which makes it all the more imperative to stop situations from happening before they become dangerous.”

Wyatt nodded. “Exactly. We should avoid trouble where at all possible. Even if it means denying certain persons from being around others.”

“Right.” Joe tapped his finger on the table. “I understand the Columbians and the Venezuelans have been calling each other names. Perhaps you should keep the delegates from those two countries out of each other’s way.”