Bodyguard Rescue. Donna Young

the shadows to cloak her movements, she slowly raised her makeshift club, then waited—and watched.

      This egghead doctor is going to knock you clear into Christmas, pal. Then you can go back and tell your boss to forget about his plans for the formula.

      With his back toward her, the man paused at the couch. She drew in a deep breath as he reached for the covers concealing the decoy. When he grabbed the quilt, Kate lunged. She swung the log hard, intent on striking the back of his head, only to have it disappear in an inky blur before she felt any impact.

      Twisting away, he caught the wood with one hand and jerked it from her grasp. In an instant he grabbed her and sent her flying over the couch like a bag of garbage. Her back hit the floor, cutting her scream off with a whoosh.

      She bit back the pain that exploded across her shoulder blades and rolled away from the couch, using the momentum to scramble to her feet. The man dived over the furniture, missing her by mere inches. A whimper of terror tore from her lips when she bolted toward the door, her lone chance for escape.

      Suddenly a hand snaked out and caught her ankle in a viselike grip, slamming Kate to the floor, chest first. Before she could recover, he was on her back, straddling her waist and locking her hands behind her.

      Enraged and frightened, she thrashed about, fighting the inevitable, her body heaving and kicking, trying in desperation to buck him loose.

      “Enough.” The command cracked through the room. Its echo bounced sharply off the wall, making Kate cringe.

      Exhausted and near collapse, she stopped struggling to lie still on the floor.

      “Get off me.” The low, guttural words exploded from her as she tried to gulp in oxygen while his weight crushed her lungs.

      “No way, Doc.” The fact he was speaking softly didn’t lessen the fury behind the tone. “Not before I get some answers. Capisce?”

      A flicker of déjà vu swept through her. Only one person owned a voice like that, husky and warm like her father’s favorite scotch. He was the only person who got away with calling her that name. And the last person she wanted to see.

      God, let me be wrong. Let it be a hit man on my back.

      Deftly he flipped her over and snagged her hands above her head. His body straddled hers in a position far more intimate than before, one her body was achingly familiar with.

      “Roman?” she gasped, her mind refusing to believe what her heart now recognized.

      He leaned down, putting his face inches from hers. His sharp, stony features were barely visible in the darkness, still it didn’t matter. At one time Kate cherished every angle, every plane, every…

      “I’m waiting,” he said, the impatience slicing through her thoughts.

      His tone sent a shock wave of old memories sweeping through Kate’s body—memories that aroused, then infuriated. He’s waiting.

      So what? She’d been waiting for two years, since the morning she woke up and found herself alone. No note, no explanation—nothing.

      Kate tried to laugh, but the sound was so weak it came closer to a sob. “Go to hell, D’Amato.”

      “I’m already there, Doc.” He laughed, too, the savagery in it making her stomach lurch. “So your suggestion is pointless.”

      “I…” Kate stopped as a wave of nausea rolled through her. Bile rose to the back of her throat and she gulped in order to keep it down.

      “Roman,” she whispered, the panic evident while she struggled for control. “Please.” With a snap, the dam burst down at the base of her spine and wave after wave of anxiety flooded her body. Oh God, oh God. Not a panic attack. Not now.

      “Let…me…go!” She screamed, her voice, thin and high with hysteria as she tried to break free of his suffocating hold. She was shaking violently now, almost convulsively, her hands and feet ice-cold. If she could reach the couch, she could curl up into a ball until the worst passed.

      Evidently Roman was way ahead of her. He tightened his grip and lifted her into his arms, then headed for the couch.

      “It’s okay, Doc. Just hold on,” he coaxed while he laid her across his lap. His unbreakable but oddly gentle grip pinned her to his body. “Let me help.”

      At first Kate ignored the words he crooned in her ear. Time held no meaning while she dealt with the emotional turmoil within her. It didn’t take long before her body, already weakened from the past twenty-four hours, gave out. Gut-wrenching sobs racked her, draining what little strength she had, finally, mercifully leaving her purged but exhausted.

      She turned into Roman’s chest and buried her face into the sturdy column of his neck, instinctively searching for a warm refuge from her fears. Under her lips, she could feel his pulse, strong and reassuringly steady. Kate moved her fingers over his heart trying to absorb its solid rhythm.

      Roman caressed her back. The strokes felt tender and soothing while he continued to murmur soft, unintelligible words into her hair.

      Gradually she drifted back to reality drawn by his voice, its husky timbre vibrating against her face. She could feel dampness on her cheek and realized it was from her own tears. How are you going to explain this, MacAlister?

      Kate didn’t want to think about explanations or make any decisions, so she pushed the question away. She’d forgotten how comforting it was to be held in a man’s arms, in Roman’s arms.

      Strange how it had always been that way. From the first time they’d held each other to the last time, Kate had responded to Roman on more than just a physical level. From the moment their souls connected, she was lost. She’d never wanted another lover after he’d left because she knew deep down no man would ever reach her as he did.

      “Thank you,” she murmured. Then, unable to stop herself, she moved her mouth softly against his neck, relishing the familiar musky taste of him on her lips.

      A soft hiss brushed past her ear, and his body tightened against hers. He cupped the back of her neck, bringing her face up. His warm breath fanned her lips in a light caress. A shiver of desire skittered down her spine. She squashed the feeling of betrayal that threatened to surface and closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss, her mouth parting with an eagerness that surprised her.

      A muttered “hell” was the only warning she got before he slid her from his lap onto the cushions of the couch. She blinked, stunned, as he wrapped her in the discarded quilt and stood.

      “Try to relax, Doc. I’m going to stoke the fire, then find us something hot to drink—or if I’m lucky, something strong.” She tried not to blanch at the coolness in his voice. It was apparent the man was not happy to see her again.

      The sharp sting of humiliation traveled down to the core of her being, but thankfully she was too numb to care.

      Almost.

      KATE GAZED into the fireplace, watching the flames lick greedily around the new logs Roman had tossed there. She tucked her bare feet under the quilt as a shiver danced over her. Even with the extra fuel, the fire did not drive away the coldness seeping into her bones.

      The wind howled outside the cabin, and its agitation echoed her unease. Ignoring Roman’s order to rest, she draped the quilt over her shoulders and forced herself off the couch toward the window. He wouldn’t be happy, but she didn’t care. While the panic attack had left her feeling drugged and unstable, she refused to succumb to the aftereffects. Experience had taught her that immobility only delayed her recovery.

      Her legs wobbled but supported her well enough to get her across the room. Once there she peered into the pitch-black beyond the cabin, careful to remain concealed behind the slightly parted denim curtains. How much time did she have before they found her? Were they out there now, watching, waiting?

      The faint clatter of pans reached her from the kitchen, and reminded Kate of her unwanted company. What was