Lone Star Knight

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With steel will, he ignored all the pulse-altering groping going on south of his belt buckle. At least he tried to.

Way too late—or way too soon—she gave a victorious tug and pulled the keys free.

“I got them.”

“Thank you, Jesus, Joseph and Mary,” he muttered through gritted teeth, and sincerely hoped she hadn’t noticed what she had unintentionally done to him.

“Click the lock release.”

Her slender right hand gripped the keyless remote, the tip of her index finger poised on the red button. “This one?”

“That’s the—” horns and sirens bleated into the relative stillness in absurdly loud and frantic blasts “—alarm,” he finished unnecessarily.

Wide blue eyes met his with startled comprehension. “Oops.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see what kind of attention they’d attracted—and caught her expression instead.

She looked a little mortified and a lot fearful of getting caught. What could he do but smile at her and try to make that look go away?

“It’s not a problem, okay? It’ll just make our getaway more interesting. I’m going to set you down now. Can you support your weight on one leg for a second?”

“Considering that in your estimation I weigh roughly the same as a Hereford,” she enunciated over the irritating drone of the alarm, “it will be a challenge, but I’ll give it my all.”

He hugged her then. He hadn’t meant to. He knew she would bristle right up at the notion, but she was just so darned cute with her upper-crust attitude and her put-upon pride that he acted before he thought, and then it was too late to do anything but make nice.

She merely blinked at him, big and bright and, if he chose to believe it, a bit shyly.

With another glance over his shoulder, he relieved her of the keys, neutralized the alarm, and hit the lock release. “In you go.” He quickly opened the passenger door.

Very carefully, he helped her get comfortable then stowed her bag in the back seat. “Do we need to put that foot up?”

“It’s fine. Let’s just get out of here before they figure out they’ve been fooled.”

“I’m with you on that one.”

He sprinted around the vehicle, jumped in and slammed the door behind him. “Fasten your seat belt and hang on to your hat. We may be in for a wild ride.”

A long beat of silence passed. “Well,” she said quietly. “I’d like to do both. The problem is, I don’t have a hat. And at the moment, I’m afraid that seat-belt issue is beyond me, too.”

One hand on the wheel, the other on the ignition, he glanced her way—then realized his insensitivity. She couldn’t fasten the belt.

From the moment he’d walked into her room, he’d not only been profoundly aware of her as a woman, but he’d sensed a self-consciousness about her hand that he suspected she’d never admit to. He’d tried not to stare, but now he did and fully realized what she was up against. Her left hand was covered in a snug, protective mesh glove, her fingers extended at a stiff, unnatural angle.

When she cupped her injured hand protectively with her right, he could have kicked himself.

“I’m sorry.”

Her chin notched up a fraction. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s not you who can’t manage this contraption.”

No. It wasn’t him who couldn’t manage, although there were a few things giving him his own share of trouble at the moment. One of them was that kissable mouth of hers. It was lush and full and just begging for someone to kiss her and make it all better.

He couldn’t make it better though. And kissing her was out of the question. His job was to protect her. If he didn’t get her out of here soon, he wasn’t even going to manage that.

“May I?” he offered gently.

She stared through the windshield. Gave a clipped nod.

Her breath caught—he swore it did—when he twisted at the hip and leaned toward her. By sheer force of will, he kept his gaze from connecting with hers as he reached across her body for the seat-belt strap—and then he was the one struggling for an even breath as the soft whisper of hers feathered against his jaw.

Her generous breasts rose and fell beneath the silk of her blouse as he fumbled with the belt like a horny teenager before finally managing to buckle her in. In silence, he absorbed it all, the scent of her, the heat of her, and the pride that she was having a difficult time clinging to. Then there was the very obvious fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and his suspicion that something other than the mild March chill had caused the tips of her nipples to harden like tiny buttons and strain against soft gray silk.

He eased away, far too aware of the absence of all that delicious heat no longer snuggled against him. And way too willing to taste those full, lush lips.

Squared up behind the steering wheel, he thumbed back his hat, rolled his shoulders. Well. That was interesting. And stupid. There was no way he was going in that direction with her. For a lot of reasons. None of them having to do with how vulnerable she looked. Most of them having to do with lessons learned about high-maintenance women. Women who lived, breathed and required a lifestyle that was well within his means, but not within his disposition to provide.

Without a word, he shifted into first gear and eased out of the lot just as his cell phone rang. Relieved to have the diversion, he opened the console that ran between the bucket seats. Snagging the phone, he punched the button on the second ring.

“Walker.”

“Matt. It’s Greg. I take it you made it without incident?”

Matt let out a breath he’d probably been holding since he’d made the mistake of looking into eyes so blue it made him think of bluebonnets under a summer sky. Without incident? Not quite.

“Close enough.” He hooked a left turn at the corner of Market and Fifteenth. “We’re headed for Casa Royale now.”

“Sorry, but that’s got to be a negative. Once the troops figured out they’d been hoodwinked, they decided to divide and conquer. Half of them tore back into the hospital. The rest are following Anna and me to the ranch. You bring Helena here right now and they’ll hound her like a wolf pack.”

Matt swore under his breath.

“What is it?” Despite her attempt to conceal it, enough tension to string a guitar hummed through Helena’s breathless question. “What’s wrong?”

He glanced from the street to her face. If possible, those telling eyes of hers had grown bigger and more apprehensive. It was looks like those that made him forget why he didn’t want to get involved with her.

“It’s all right,” he assured her and returned his attention to Greg. “Okay. We regroup. Any ideas?”

“I don’t see too many options except the obvious. You’re going to have to take Helena to High Stakes for a few days until this settles down.”