Page 107 of Missile Strike

Her post-sex blissful haze evaporated. Her fingers tightened around the bindings.

Something in his voice had changed.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Adventure?” Bella echoed. Her body went rigid.

Danny rolled across the bamboo sheets to the side of the bed, then pushed to his feet. He already missed the feel of her beneath him. Her cries of pleasure. The orgasm that robbed him of a piece of his soul.

The trust she’d given him was a gift beyond measure. Her willingness to confront trauma and find pleasure in its place.

But he needed to use that trust to keep her safe.

And pray she didn’t hate him for what he was about to do.

He slid the leopard-print scarf off her head and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Be right back.”

She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light. “Wait, aren’t you going to untie me?”

“The scarves are loose enough if you really want to get free.” He met her golden eyes, still dazed but now gathering confusion and a hint of wariness. “But I’m asking you to wait.”

Not bothering to throw on pants, he headed downstairs.

Fear rode him hard.

Not for himself. SEAL training had disciplined him, and combat had hardened him. He trusted his instincts. Knew how to survive.

But Bella? She was small. Soft.

Vulnerable.

He’d taught her basic self-defense.

Taught her how to use a weapon.

There was another set of skills she needed to learn.

The gala was three days away, and somewhere out there, an enemy waited to strike.

With Trip on his heels, he headed into the garage. An open toolbox sat on the shelf—screwdrivers, a hammer, pliers, a tape measure, and a box cutter. When he closed the lid, a roll of duct tape came into view.

That’s what he was looking for.

There was one other thing he needed. Returning to the living room, he scooped the romance novel off the floor, then shooed Trip out of his way as he grabbed a kitchen chair and carried everything upstairs.

“Miss me?” He made sure his voice held lazy amusement, hoping to ease the tension in her clenched fingers, the way her body curled inward in a protective reflex.

But she hadn’t released her hands.

His throat grew tight.

Because she trusted him.

He let his gaze wander over her perfect breasts with their tight pink tips, down the gentle swell of her stomach and hips to her bare mound, before continuing down her shapely legs to her pink-tipped toes.

Everything about her was perfection.

He wasn’t the only one looking his fill. Her eyes went wide, taking in his nakedness.