Major Attraction (17 page)

Ethan leaned in and kissed her. “Oh, yeah. Maybe your style of
listening
is what I needed from you, after all.” He stroked his fingers across the curve of her lower lip as he pulled away. Something dark and territorial blazed in his gunmetal eyes. “But I don't want you practicing that particular style of therapy with anybody else.”

His words were just possessive enough to reassure her and make her want him all over again. “I won't,” she promised.

For two weeks, she was solely and exclusively his.

She didn't want to think beyond that time until she had to.

“I still don't earn much for style points, though, I guess. And I seem to be a little hard on your wardrobe.” He scooped up her discarded jeans and panties and laid them in her lap. He dropped both their shirts into the sink and ran water over them. “You know, one of these days I want to see if we can get all our clothes off and actually make it into a bed before we have our next therapy session.”

J.C. slipped into her underwear, eager to dress so they'd have the opportunity to undress. “How about tonight?” She nodded toward her bedroom, inviting him to make good on his challenge. “I'll race—”

A horrible thunk outside the living room window startled them both. It was eerie and unnatural, like a bird crashing at full-speed into the pane. “What the—?”

But Ethan recognized the sound. He was already diving toward her by the time she turned to get a better look. She screamed as the picture window exploded into the living room, raining shards of glass and terror into her tiny apartment.

E
THAN CINCHED HIS HANDS
around J.C.'s waist and dragged her to the floor. The discomfort of the tile's uneven edges digging into various parts of her anatomy seemed a minor inconvenience compared to Ethan's big, solid body lying on top of her, shielding her from head to toe.

Were they under attack? He seemed to think so.

“What's happening?” J.C. asked, fear and the weight of Ethan's body keeping her breathing shallow.

She heard the sounds of a vehicle grinding through its gears, then squealing rubber against the pavement and speeding off into the night. The sound was so clear, she realized, because of the big, gaping hole in her living room where the window used to be.

Ethan heard it, too, judging by the sudden tensing of his muscles. She knew this was Major McCormick in his true element, doing what he'd been trained to do. There was a rigid control about him now. Deep, careful breathing. He charged the air around her with an intimidating sense of hyperawareness—a man on guard to hear or see or sense anything that might put him or his charge in danger. She felt the jerk in his legs, as if he wanted to rise up and give chase. But he stayed with her, sheltering her, protecting her.

“I'm okay,” she reassured him. “Go.”

But only when it was clear no more missiles were flying
through the window did he roll to the side and let her get up. He immediately crossed toward the disastrous mess, stopping at the line where tile met carpet. He turned over his shoulder and glanced down at her bare feet. “Stay put back there.”

The carpet crunched beneath his work boots as he dashed to the side of the window, pressed his back to the wall and peered outside. J.C. scrambled into her jeans and hurried after him. But practicality forced her to obey. The minefield of jagged edges waiting to cut her feet reminded her of the aftermath of the earthquakes she'd experienced in Southern California. Large chunks of glass littered her living room furniture and floor, while a finer layer of glass dust glistened in the moonlight streaming in from outside.

The cool, humid air from outside filtered into the apartment, bringing with it the smells of the river and cherry trees about to bloom. But they weren't comforting smells tonight. They felt invasive, out of sync in her once-safe haven.

She could only stare at the destruction and wonder at its cause. Ethan moved from the safety of the wall and briefly studied the remaining shards hanging along the top of the window. Then he spun around and surveyed the room itself before looking across at her and releasing a deep breath. “There's no movement outside. Whoever did this is gone.”

J.C. met his gaze, wanting answers, too. “I heard a car.”

He nodded. “Me, too. I want to check with that guard of yours, find out if he saw anything.”

“If he did, he'd call the police.”

“Not a bad idea.” His distant tone told her that something else had distracted him. “We're on the third floor, right?”

“Yes.” She dodged from side to side, trying to get a glimpse of whatever had caught his eye.

“You'd need a grenade launcher to do this much damage from that distance.”

Grenade launcher?
“What are you talking about?”

Using a bandanna from his pocket, he bent down and picked up a jagged, fist-size rock from the center of the debris. He stood and held it out in his open palm. “Old-fashioned but effective.”

“
That
broke the window?”

“With enough force behind it, it could shatter anything.”

J.C. squinted, assessing it from across the room. “What are those markings on it?”

Ethan turned the rock in his hand. His grim look instantly put her on edge. “Friend of yours?”

He carried it to the kitchen and let her get a good, clear look at the unmistakable threat. Shock pushed the blood to her feet, leaving her feeling light-headed as she read the message a second time. Right there. In her home. Printed in a thick, hasty scrawl.

I know who you are.

 

E
THAN HOVERED
in the background as the two police officers took pictures and statements and told J.C. she could start cleaning up.

He'd already retrieved a clean USMC T-shirt from his truck to put on, and rounded up a piece of plywood and some tools from the building's super. He'd brought her socks, tennis shoes and a gray sweatshirt from her bedroom to put on. He wanted to find her a jacket or pull the blanket from her bed, because even though the spring air kept the temperature in the fifties, she'd been shivering ever since she'd read the words on that rock.

Ethan already knew as much as the cops had found out. Like Ethan, the security guard Norman Flynn had recognized the telltale explosion of heavy gunfire, but hadn't seen the shooter. Norm had caught a glimpse of a small, beat-up car speeding down the street beside the apartment building. But it had been too dark to catch any other detail besides the Virginia license plate.

The rock that had been used as a projectile had striation marks that indicated it had been fired from a large-bore weapon—the kind that anyone outside the military or law enforcement shouldn't legally have their hands on. The message indicated it had been fired on purpose and not as some teenage prank. The pallor of J.C.'s skin told him the message had hit its target.

Despite his concerns for her health and safety, J.C. had hung in there for almost two hours, answering each question the cops asked her. No, she didn't recognize the handwriting. Yes, she supposed she knew someone who might want to scare her. The suspect's name she gave twisted in Ethan's gut.

Corporal Juan Guerro.

The need to take action, to make this right for her—to punish the bastard who'd meant to terrify her and who might damn well have killed her if she'd been standing close to that window—burned inside every bone of his body. The bruises on her arm had come from Guerro, she'd told the officers—he'd stopped her on her morning walk. And that crazy, anonymous phone call had rattled her this afternoon—before she'd made up some flimsy excuse and dismissed it.

All the signs that she was in trouble had been there, and he hadn't seen them. She hadn't wanted him to. Why?

With his connections to both the military and security, wasn't he the obvious resource to turn to for help with
Guerro? And that was just the practical reason for confiding in him. The deeper, less logical, and far more personal reason for letting him in to share her burden and keep her safe was that he was falling in love with her.

Correction. He was there. He was too honest to try to convince himself it was just lust or loneliness talking—though J.C. had sated both those needs in him. Somewhere between class and brains and sirenlike sex appeal, she'd gotten under his skin. Her bold approach to life had struck even deeper. But it was her patient teaching and indulgent praise and insistent need to care about his scars, inside and out, that had sealed the deal.

Yet, by putting a two-week deadline on their relationship, he might have unknowingly encouraged her to place limits on what she would feel, how much she would trust, how much she might share. He didn't know if he possessed the skills to convince a woman he'd be interested in forever with her. She'd been gung ho about having an affair. But did that mean J.C. didn't want anything long-term? She'd admitted she hadn't had a lover for a while. Was that by choice? Had she not found the right guy? Or was she just not a forever kind of woman?

It pained him to think the latter might be true.

Not just for his sake, but for hers.

Even if their fake engagement turned out to be nothing more than two weeks of outrageously satisfying sex, he didn't want her to face whatever this cowardly attack turned out to be on her own. He didn't want her to deal with any of the challenges life threw her way alone.

It was his sworn duty to protect the citizens of the United States.

He made a silent vow of his own to keep this one particular citizen safe. Even if she didn't want him to.

Ethan slipped on a pair of work gloves and headed into
the living room with a double-lined paper sack to begin picking up the debris while J.C. showed the two cops out.

She closed the door with a weary sigh, then methodically fastened each lock—the dead bolt, the knob. Her hand lingered after hooking the chain. “Seems kind of pointless.” His own words came back to haunt him as they seemed to rob her of any sense of security. “There's always a way to get in, right?”

Ethan straightened from his work. “I'm here. I'm staying. Nobody's going to hurt you.”

Her blue eyes sought out his across the room. She nodded. But it wasn't very convincing. She seemed small and alone and devoid of the fire that had drawn him to her in the first place. She didn't believe his promise.

He set down his bag and closed the distance between them. As he wrapped her up in his hug, her arms circled behind his waist and she nestled her head beneath his chin. She trembled against him and he held on tight. He buried his nose in the silky cap of her hair and tried to let his body tell her what his words could not. His word was as good as his bond. She was protected. Cared for. Loved. Safe.

She breathed a heavy sigh and relaxed against him. But a moment later, she tensed again and pushed away, as if she'd suddenly remembered a forgotten task. She walked straight to the coat closet and pulled out her vacuum.

“I can handle this mess if you want to go lie down for a while,” Ethan offered.

“Nope.” She pieced together the equipment and plugged it in before adding, “I need to stay busy.”

He could relate to that. More than once, he'd taken a long run or attacked a punching bag in the gym when worries and frustrations threatened to get the better of him. He opted to work beside her in silence, keeping a
watchful eye on her as she cleaned the chaise lounge and chair that had sustained most of the damage. He hauled the biggest pieces of glass out to the building's Dumpster and came back to find her vacuuming the carpet with a vengeance.

Temper was a better sign than the shock and acceptance she'd shown earlier. She was gathering her energy now, toughening her hide. The spots of color on her cheeks and the determination blazing in her eyes reassured him that she was going to weather this personal attack and come out all the stronger for it.

It also meant she was up to doing a little of that talking she preached so much about.

Ethan fitted the plywood into the empty window frame and reached for a hammer and some nails to anchor it into place. He tried to sound casual and reassuring as he launched his own investigation.

“I already put in a call to Quantico to track down Corporal Guerro. If he can't account for his whereabouts tonight, they have orders to detain him until he can be handed over to D.C.P.D. for questioning.” She nodded her comprehension over the roar of the vacuum. Good. She was listening. “Why didn't you tell me about his threats sooner?”

“I thought it would just blow over at first. And then, well…” With a resolute sigh, she flipped off the vacuum switch. Ethan positioned another nail, but paused to listen.

“I'm used to handling my own problems,” she explained. “My family's not like yours, Ethan. They're not there for each other when there's a crisis. And let's face it, you're not going to be there for me after a few days, either. I don't want to depend on you. I don't expect that you'll come running if I need you.”

He turned and faced her, genuinely confused by the
idea that she thought she couldn't depend on him. “I know our relationship started out as a lie, but I think we've gotten closer than either of us expected. Why wouldn't I be there for you?”

She almost laughed, but he didn't detect any humor. “Because you're a Marine.”

“What?” He pounded in the nail with a single blow. He sure as hell hadn't expected that answer. Breathing deeply to steady his knee-jerk response to any attack on the Corps, he set down his hammer and demanded an explanation. “Why does my job mean you can't trust me?”

Her eyes darkened with some kind of hurt, but her mouth stayed set in a stubborn line. “Because you're going to ship out of my life. Your loyalty is to your job, your country—the next continent you're assigned to protect—not to me.”

“I can do both. I have done both. A lot of men take care of their duty
and
the people they care about.”

“And a lot of men don't.”

He ignored the admission that he cared about her and advanced a step closer. “Are you comparing me to a bully like Guerro?”

“No.”

He kept advancing. “Do you think a man like General Craddock doesn't take care of his own family as well as he takes care of his men?”

“I didn't say—”

“Do you think my father, who was married to the woman he loved for twenty-six years, didn't ache inside every time he had to leave us? Didn't bust his buttons with pride and joy every time he came home?” She was retreating now. “What is it you don't like about the Corps, J.C.?”

To her credit, when she backed into the chaise, she planted her feet and stood up to his verbal attack. “I have a hard time knowing that you might not come home to me—and I'm not just talking about the danger of your job. I'm talking about trust. About how a man handles himself when he's not with his wife and family or girlfriend or fake fiancée. Men like you have needs—”

“Men like me?” That sounded like an insult waiting to happen. “Let me get this straight. You didn't want to tell me about a guy who assaulted you and threatened you because you think I'm going to skip town and get with some other chick just when you need me most?”

Her bravado misfired. Hell. That
is
what she thought. Her gaze dropped to the floor, then darted around the room as if searching for an ally. Her tone was less convincing when she looked him in the eye again. “I don't need you. Not for anything more than sex. I don't need anyone. I can handle this all on my own.”