The Protectors. Beverly Barton

at being brave, at pretending she wasn’t slowly falling apart. And he figured having him around wasn’t helping her any. But he couldn’t leave, couldn’t let Sam Dundee send another agent to protect her. Deborah was his responsibility, his to protect, his to defend against whatever harm came her way.

      “What happened?” Deborah asked. “I’m sure they didn’t admit that Buck Stansell was harassing me, trying to convince me that he’d have me killed if I testify against Lon Sparks.”

      “No, the boys didn’t admit to anything. They didn’t have to. I know my cousins. I know their kind. My father was one of them. They’re what I came from.”

      Without hesitating, without thinking, Deborah touched his hand. Comforting. Caring. So much like the Deborah he’d known and liked.

      “You were never anything like those people. You didn’t get into any real trouble when you were a teenager. Everything you did, you did to improve your life, to get away from your roots.”

      He laid his open palm atop her small hand, trapping it between his big, hard hands. “You never looked down on me, never thought you were better than I was, like so many people did. Even though you were just a kid, you seemed to understand what I wanted, what I needed.”

      Deborah shivered, her stomach quivering, warmth spreading through her like the morning sunshine slowly bathing the horizon with its life-giving light. She couldn’t bear feeling this way, longing to put her arms around Ashe, to tell him that she had loved him so dearly, had wanted nothing more than for him to return her love. She’d been a foolish girl; he’d been in love with her cousin.

      She pulled her hand out of his gentle clasp. “So, your…you…” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “…your visit to your cousins didn’t accomplish anything.”

      Dear God, how he wanted to kiss her. Here in the feminine confines of her sitting room, surrounded by all her frills and lace. The smell of her fresh and lightly scented from her bath. Her skin glowing. Soft. Begging for his touch.

      “No, you’re wrong,” he said. “The visit did accomplish a few things. I made contact with the enemy camp. I found out Lee Roy and I still have a connection. And I sent a warning to Buck Stansell.” He reached out; she retreated. He reached out farther and touched her cheek. She trembled, but didn’t pull away from him. “I laid claim to you. I told them that Buck should know you are my woman, and if he harms you, I’ll seek revenge.”

      “You…you…claimed me?” She widened her eyes, staring at him in disbelief.

      He ran the tips of his fingers down her cheek, caressing her throat, then circled her neck, urging her forward. “I know Buck and his type. They’re wild, they’re ruthless, but they aren’t stupid. The one thing they respect and understand is brute force. Another man’s strength. They know who I am, the life I’ve lived. And they know that if I say I’ll come after them if they harm you, I mean it.”

      “But Ashe, I don’t—”

      “For as long as I’m your bodyguard, we will pretend to be a couple. We’re old friends who have become lovers. As far as Buck Stansell and the whole state of Alabama is concerned, you’re my woman, and this isn’t a job anymore. This is personal. In taking care of you, I’m simply defending my own against any harm. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

      Yes, she understood. She understood only too well. Not only would she have to endure constant threats on her life and Ashe’s daily presence in her life, but she would have to put on an act, playing the part of Ashe’s lover.

      “I can’t do it,” she said, trying to pull away from him.

      He held her in his gentle yet firm grip, raking his thumb up and down the side of her neck. “Why can’t you?”

      “I can’t lie about something that important. I can’t pretend with Mother and with Allen.”

      “Tell your Mother the truth, and I don’t think Allen will care if you have a boyfriend. He seems to think you need one.” Ashe continued stroking the side of her neck.

      “You had no right to tell anyone that I’m your woman! I’m not. I never have been and I never will be.”

      He jerked her up against him, his lips a whisper away from hers. “This pretense just might save your life or at least make Buck think twice about harming you. I don’t give a damn about your objections—I’m more concerned about saving your life. From this moment on, for all intents and purposes, you’re mine. Do I make myself clear?”

      Deborah swallowed hard, then closed her eyes to block out the sight of Ashe’s face. She couldn’t pretend to be his woman. Dear Lord, didn’t he understand anything about her? Years ago she had lived in a fantasy world where she dreamed Ashe would leave Whitney and come to her, claiming her, making her his. And on that one night, the night she conceived Allen, she had given herself to the man she loved, and afterward he had told her he didn’t want her.

      “You can’t order me around. You can’t make me do something I don’t want to do.” She clenched her teeth and stared him straight in the eye.

      “You’re so damned stubborn.”

      His lips covered hers with hot, demanding urgency, the need to override her objections forefront in his mind. But his body’s needs overcame his intention to bend her to his will. He didn’t want to force her to do anything; he wanted her compliance.

      Deborah fought the kiss for a few brief seconds, then succumbed to the power of his possession, giving herself over to the feel of his arm around her, pulling her closer and closer, his fingers threading through her hair, capturing her head in the palm of his hand.

      Her breasts pressed against his hard chest. His tongue delved into her mouth. Slipping her arms around inside his shirt, she clung to him, her nails biting into the muscles of his naked back. Deborah and Ashe sought to appease the hunger gnawing inside them, their lips tasting the sweetness, their tongues seeking, their hands laying claim to the feast of their aroused bodies.

      Ashe felt hard and hot as Deborah ran her hands over his chest, across his tiny, pebble hard nipples, lacing her fingers through his dark chest hair.

      Ashe reached between their bodies, separating the folds of her silk robe, feeling for her breast. He eased the robe off her shoulder, then the thin strap of her gown, exposing her left breast, lifting it in his hand.

      When he rubbed his fingers across her jutting nipple, she cried out. He took the sound into his mouth, deepening their kiss. She curled against him. He dragged her onto his lap, lowered his head and covered her nipple with his mouth, sucking greedily. All the while he stroked a fiery path down her back, stopping to caress her hip.

      The taste of her filled him, urging him to sample more and more of her soft, sweet flesh. He hadn’t meant for things to get so out of hand, but once he’d touched her, he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t seem to control his desire.

      Deborah’s breath came in strong, fast pants as she clung to his shoulder with one hand and held his head to her breast with the other.

      They wriggled and squirmed, arms embracing, hands caressing, lips savoring, legs entwined. Losing their balance in the fury of their passion, they toppled off the window bench and onto the floor. Ashe’s leg rammed against the mahogany tea table, knocking it over, sending the tea service crashing onto the Oriental carpet.

      Breathing erratically, Deborah glanced away from Ashe to the wreckage on the floor beside them. Reality intruded on the erotic dream. She shoved against Ashe’s chest.

      He wanted her to ignore everything around them, to concentrate on recapturing the raw, wild need that had claimed them, but he saw the hazy look of longing clear from her eyes.

      She pulled up her gown to cover her breast and lifted herself into a sitting position on the floor. Ashe rose to his feet, offered her his hand and lifted her, pulling her back into his arms.

      “You’re Ashe McLaughlin’s woman. I think