To Love and Protect. Susan Mallery

released her hand and pulled her hard against him. Sitting next to her, he knew, it would be difficult to touch her everywhere, but he wanted to try. He wanted to feel her breasts pressing against his chest and know the weight of her body on top of his. Need filled him, making him ache. He was hard and ready, and damn it all to hell if he didn’t have a plane to catch.

      “This is crazy,” Liz whispered when he pulled back. “We just met.”

      He was pleased to see that her eyes were dilated and her breathing just as fast as his own.

      “Some things don’t take very long,” he said. “When they happen fast, they’re usually right.”

      She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never reacted this way. Have you?”

      He brushed his mouth against hers. “No. Not even close.”

      She shivered. “Hold me. Hold me for as much time as we have left. Please.”

      He tugged her close and draped his arm around her shoulders. They talked some, kissed some and mostly watched time slip away. At a little past eight, they walked out to the parking lot and got in his rental car. He headed back to the Children’s Connection parking lot where they’d left her car.

      Liz couldn’t believe how sad she felt. She’d only known David a few hours, but it seemed more like a lifetime. The thought of him going away, of never seeing him again, broke her heart.

      When he pulled up beside her aging sedan, she turned to him. “Do you really have to go?” she asked softly.

      He put the car in Park and faced her. “It’s my job, Liz. I’ve been working for this assignment since the day they hired me.”

      She ducked her head. “I know. That was silly. If anyone understands giving it all for a career, it’s me. But I just…”

      “Me, too.” He touched her chin, raising her head so she looked at him. “I can’t decide if we should stay in touch or make a clean break.”

      “I don’t know, either.”

      Her chest tightened until it was difficult to breathe. She wanted him—not just sexually, but in so many other ways. She wanted to learn everything about him. She wanted to meet his family and talk about goals and have dates and fights and make memories. If it wasn’t completely crazy, she would swear she’d fallen for him.

      “Take me with you,” she said impulsively. “To Russia.”

      He cupped her jaw. “You don’t know how that tempts me, Liz. We could keep each other warm through the long winter.”

      It could work, she thought frantically. As a freelance illustrator, she didn’t have to punch a time clock. “I could work from there and send my drawings back to my clients,” she told him. “It would take me a couple of days to wrap things up here but I could—”

      He silenced her with a kiss. The sweet pressure of his mouth told her his answer even as she struggled not to believe him. Her eyes began to burn.

      “I know, it’s crazy,” she whispered.

      “But a great dream.”

      A dream. That was what this was. A beautiful, perfect dream that could never be real. Take off for Russia? For a guy? Never. Not that David wasn’t great, but what did she know about him?

      Torn between what was sensible and what her heart cried out to claim, Liz opened the passenger door and forced herself to slide out into the night.

      “Thank you for a terrific afternoon, David Logan,” she said as she fought tears. “I don’t think it could get better than this. We should probably keep the memory intact and not try to repeat it.”

      He nodded. “You’re right. But if you ever find yourself in Moscow…”

      “I’ll look you up. And when you’re back in Portland, you do the same.”

      “Right.”

      She stared at him, at his face, his eyes. She was making the right decision. They both were.

      “You’re not the one who got away,” she said firmly.

      “Neither are you.”

      As she closed the car door, she knew they were both lying.

       Two

      Nearly five years later

       D avid Logan generally avoided recreational social events at the embassy. His work required more than enough cocktail parties at which he either had to keep his eye on someone dangerous or extract information without the person in question knowing. He no longer found the endless chatter relaxing or fun. Give him a good covert kidnapping or prisoner extraction any day.

      But tonight was different. Even though it was his day off, he found himself nodding politely to people he’d seen at events like this a dozen times before and making inane conversation with spouses of staff members. Even as he explained a point of baseball to a security operative from the British embassy, he kept his eye on the circulating crowd. Nearly thirty American tourists had been invited to the evening’s festivities, including one Elizabeth Duncan from Portland, Oregon.

      Liz had finally made it to Russia.

      He knew her visit had nothing to do with him—they hadn’t been in contact since they’d parted company the evening he’d flown to Moscow. Still, he’d come to the party with the hope of catching a glimpse of her. Maybe more than a glimpse. He wanted to look at her, talk to her, find out what was different and what was the same.

      Funny how after all this time he could remember everything about their time together. While he wasn’t willing to admit she was the one who got away, he would claim a certain interest. He’d never forgotten her. Would she be able to say the same about him?

      He concluded his conversation with the British security operative and made his way to the bar. As he crossed the large, crowded room, he glanced toward the entrance and saw a group of Americans standing there.

      They wore their nationality as easily as their formal clothing, something that would surprise most of them. His time in Russia had taught David to size up a person in a matter of seconds, and he recognized the well-dressed, well-fed posture of relatively successful Westerners. A few were in Moscow as tourists, some had come to adopt children, and a couple were here for work.

      The crowd parted, allowing him a view of a beautiful redhead in a black gown. He wasn’t close enough to see the color of her eyes, but he remembered. A vivid green. He also recalled her curiosity, her humor and her drive.

      “Champagne,” he said to the bartender. “Two.”

      After collecting the glasses, he made his way through the crowd.

      Liz stood talking to a couple in their late thirties. She’d piled her hair on top of her head, which left her neck bare to view. David wanted to move close enough to brush that pale skin with a kiss. Okay, maybe he wanted to do a lot more than that. The slender straps holding up the dress offered possibilities.

      “Down, boy,” he murmured to himself as he made his way closer. He was acting as if he hadn’t been with a woman since he and Liz had parted, but that wasn’t true. There had been plenty. Still, none of them had been her.

      “Liz?”

      He spoke her name quietly. She had her back to him and when she heard the single word she stilled, then slowly turned.

      The action gave him a view of her profile first, then her whole face. Humor and surprise and excitement danced in her large green eyes. Her full lips curved up in a smile that both welcomed and beckoned. Heat sizzled, then arced between them.

      “David Logan,” she said, her voice exactly as he remembered. “I’d wondered if you were still haunting the halls of the Moscow state department.”

      She’d thought of him. The news pleased