One Intrepid Seal. Elle James

nodded. “And Ferrence didn’t want daddy’s protection?”

      “No. Not when he’d made plans to hunt endangered species.” Again, Reese’s body tensed. “Had I known he’d come to hunt anything but some plentiful deer, I’d have told his father where his son could go.”

      “I take it he was more interested in a trophy than food?”

      “He was hunting a leopard when the driver veered off course.” She half-turned toward him. “By the way, where are we? I have a feeling we aren’t in Zambia anymore.”

      Diesel’s arms tightened around her. “We’re not. We’re in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.”

      The woman sat stiff. “Okay. Well. We’ll just have to get the hell out of here. I don’t suppose your team is coming back anytime soon?”

      “They will.” He couldn’t say when. Since they had Klein to get out, the powers that pulled the strings might not want to redeploy the team to extract one SEAL and one civilian. Not in a hostile country. And not when they weren’t supposed to be there to begin with. With current tensions between the new presidential administration and international trade relations, Diesel wasn’t sure they’d risk a second insertion into the DRC.

      “In the meantime,” Reese said, “we’ll have to get out of this area, or risk being caught.”

      A sound alerted Diesel. He touched Reese’s arm. “Shh,” he said softly. “I hear someone coming.”

       Chapter Three

      Reese froze and listened. The animals and insects were suddenly silent. A slight breeze rustled the leaves around her. Then the snap of a twig alerted her to movement below.

      Someone whispered in a language she barely recognized, and didn’t understand. Then shots rang out, and the rapid report of a semiautomatic weapon filled the air.

      Diesel pressed his body against her, smashing her against the tree trunk. Something hit close to where her fingers dug into the bark, splintering wood fragments over her hand.

      As quickly as the burst of bullets began, they ended. Voices below spoke in rapid-fire anger. Then they moved away, heading back toward the camp where Reese and Ferrence had been held hostage for several days. As much as she hated being high up in a tree, she’d rather face the heights than her former captors.

      Diesel remained pressed to her back for a couple minutes after the sounds of movement below had dissipated.

      The solid strength of his body was unexpectedly reassuring. Reese frowned. She didn’t like that she needed reassurance. Having spent the last three years rebuilding her life and confidence, she didn’t need a man to reassure her about anything. She was the bodyguard, not Diesel.

      Then again, she’d failed in her first real assignment as a bodyguard and had fallen into a situation she’d sworn she’d never allow herself to be in, ever again. She’d been captured. This time, her captors hadn’t been as quick to torture and rape her. Had they tried, she’d have died fighting them off. Never again would she allow anyone to violate her, to abuse her like she’d been abused at the hands of the Taliban in Afghanistan.

      The mere thought of what they’d done to her had the usual effect on her. She broke out in a cold sweat, her heart raced and she felt as if she might explode if she didn’t get away and suck more air into her lungs.

      “I can’t breathe,” she whispered through tight lips.

      Immediately, the man behind her eased back. “Were you hit?”

      “No,” she said and dragged air into her lungs. The desire to move, to get away, took hold of her and refused to let go. At that moment, she had the uncontrollable urge to throw herself out of the tree. But she couldn’t. The enemy could return. They might be lying in wait just beyond the clearing around the tree, hoping to capture them as they came out of hiding.

      Instead, she bit down hard on her lip, clenched her fists and started counting to one hundred. Her body shook with the effort to control her reaction.

      “Are you sure you weren’t hit?” Diesel asked, his voice quiet, his mouth close to her ear, his body leaning into hers.

      Reese couldn’t respond, couldn’t utter a word. She remained focused on not losing her cool.

      Diesel’s hands gripped her arms and pulled her back against his chest. “You’re shaking like a paint mixer. It’s okay. They’re gone,” he said, holding her close.

      “I’m okay,” Reese said, forcing the words out from between her teeth.

      Diesel’s arms wrapped around her midsection and held on tightly. “Clearly, you aren’t.”

      “You don’t have to hold me,” she insisted, hating herself for her reaction and the need to feel his arms around her. “I can manage on my own.”

      “I’m afraid to let go. You might shake yourself right out of this tree.”

      “I’ll manage,” she insisted. “Please. Let go.”

      When he moved his arms away from her, Reese let go of the tree long enough to hug herself to ward off the chills threatening to take over. When she touched her arm where his hand had been, she felt something warm, wet and sticky. Blood? She felt around, but nothing hurt.

      Because the blood wasn’t hers.

      “Hey.” She half turned. “Were you hit?”

      “I got nicked. But it’s just a flesh wound. I’m fine,” he said. “I’m more worried about getting us out of here and away from our friends with the AK-47s.”

      “You should let me look at your wound.”

      “It’s not like you can see in the dark, and I’m not willing to risk turning on a flashlight for a little scrape.”

      Reese would bet her best pair of hiking boots the wound was more than a mere scrape. “At least let me apply a pressure bandage to stop the bleeding. Where is it?”

      “It’s okay,” he said, his tone sharp.

      “Look, you dripped blood on to my arm. If you’re still dripping, you might leave a trail for the goons to follow.” She grabbed the hem of her shirt and, carefully and as quietly as possible, ripped off a section. She tried to turn on the tree limb and nearly tipped over the side. Her heart clattered against the walls of her chest.

      Diesel held on to her arm to steady her. “Wait until we get down from here.”

      “For all we know, we’ll be up here for a while.” She shook her head. “Let me feel for myself. Where is it?” She touched his wrist and moved up his arm.

      “Higher,” he said.

      Reese ran her hand up his thick, solid forearm to the bicep. When her fingers encountered fresh, warm blood, she knew she’d found the source of the leak. “It’s more than a scrape. You might need stitches.”

      “I don’t. But if it makes you feel better, you can wrap it up to keep me from bleeding and leaving a trail.”

      “Damn right I will.” Pushing her fear of heights to the side, she maneuvered herself around to face him, her knees touching his, making it hard for her to reach his arm. She bent close, but still couldn’t get to the spot she needed to reach. “Could you lean closer?” she asked.

      “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” He grabbed her hips, lifted her off the tree limb and deposited her onto his lap, her legs straddling his hips.

      Heat rushed into Reese’s cheeks and farther south to her core. She’d never sat in a man’s lap quite like this before. The angle of their contact was more than intimate, and completely befuddled her thinking. Thankfully, it also took her mind off the fact they were over