MASTER PROTECTOR VAULT 12 Book Bundle

Code Red 7 Book Series -
Mission: Protect Her
Mission: Claim Her
Mission: Resist Her
Mission: Convince Her
Mission: Watch Over Her
Mission: Reclaim Her
Mission: Infiltrate Her

Thunder Elites 5 Book Series -
LUCAS
SAMUEL
ETHAN
DUSTIN
JAMES

Protective Alpha Heroes
Military & Former Military Men
Grumpy Heroes Who Fall Hard
Forced Proximity
Fake Dating
Second Chances
Brother's Best Friend
Enemies to Lovers
Touch-Her-and-Die Devotion
Romantic Suspense
Sizzling Chemistry
Guaranteed Happy Ever Afters

The vulnerable look on Bianca’s face makes me want to gather her up in my arms and never let go, but that’s dangerous. If I have her in my arms, I won’t be able to stop thinking about other things—like how soft she is, how good she smells, and how much that mouth has been wreaking havoc on me for who knows how long. But I can’t do any of that, not when I should focus on the matter at hand.

Namely, her safety.

I usher her in and direct her to the couch, where she sits without a word and looks around. It’s awkward. Guilt hits me at that, remembering she hasn’t been here in a while because I stopped inviting her to my place or heading over to hers. But the curiosity doesn’t last long as she looks pale again, her eyes glazing in a way that tells me she’s lost in her thoughts.

I sit across from her, the worry engulfing me but my military training dictating me to appear calm.

“Okay, tell me. What did you see in the lab?”

She bites her lower lip, bringing my gaze there. Then, I force my eyes to move up.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I echo.

“I didn’t see anything. But I heard a voice, and I know the voice. He was speaking to someone on the phone.”

“He?” A spark of jealousy strikes. “Who is he?”

“My boss, Mr. Smith. Michael Smith, a supervisor who works closely with our teams. He’s not normally in the lab this late, so I was going to visit his office and say hi and…”

Her cheeks lose even more color. Without thinking, I lean closer.

“And? Tell me what you heard, word for word.”

She startles at my closeness but considers my statement before she recites what she heard. I dissect every sentence in my mind, turning it over and giving her a frown.

“Is that it?”

She blinks. “What do you mean, is that it? He was asking for a large sum of money. He was talking about lighting up a city on fire and chemical warfare.”

“You also heard him say that it was for an event. And you only heard chemical war. Doesn’t your company deal with fireworks, too? And those advanced techno lights they recently produced?”

“We produce them. Not mass produce. Just unique ones for special orders.”

I nod. “Then doesn’t it make sense that your boss would use those words to describe fireworks or techno lights? He could have been talking with a client wanting a special order.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. “Mr. Smith doesn’t deal with orders. He supervises us.”

“So, there’s no possibility that he would accept orders from a client? At all?”

Silence. Then, her shoulders deflate. “Yes…I mean, no. He can still take orders if it’s a client he knows.” Blue eyes lock with mine. “Are you telling me what he said wasn’t suspicious at all?”

I don’t like the defeated look on her. But I also don’t think giving her false promises is helpful.

“I suppose the conversation sounded sketchy, especially when he mentioned it was dangerous…but it’s not enough proof to indicate that he’s up to no good. Fireworks, especially special ones, are considered dangerous.”

“Which means?”

“As far as greenlighting an investigation goes, you have zero evidence to offer.”

“Okay.” She slumps. “I…I know that. We work closely with science and hard facts, so I should have thought about this.”

“Bianca…”

“I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

I’m alarmed when she stands up. Is she leaving now? The sense of loss courses through me, and I instinctively stand up too, and shake my head.

“Don’t be. You didn’t waste my time.”

“I didn’t?”

“Not at all. I was just lounging around the house.”

Truthfully, I’m due to go out in about an hour after my fellow Navy SEALs invited me to a nearby bar where our other friends usually hang out. We will be having drinks and jousting around as we often do before they eventually find women to bring home for the night. That was my thing, too—meeting strangers, flirting with them, and hooking up in dark places with the intention of forgetting each other by the time our lusts are slaked.

Lately, though, the whole idea of a one-night stand has lost its appeal, and it doesn’t help that I’m well aware of when it started: when I was about to fuck a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman in the storage closet…and about to utter a sinful name.

Bianca.

That was the night I realized I was about to fuck someone while imagining someone else in my mind—and not just someone else but my goddamn best friend. That was also the night I realized that I’ve been seeking out blond-haired, blue-eyed women in the last few years because they appeal to me the most…because the one blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman that I truly want to put my hands on is off-limits.

So yeah, that was the night I started distancing myself from her for my sanity. We still text occasionally to check on each other, but I cut off our hanging out, calling each other almost daily, and going out on spontaneous friend dates.

It’s the best thing I can do to keep myself from corrupting her.

“I should go.”

Her words pull me out of my reverie. I take note of her still pale face and the slight shake in her voice, then block the doorway in an instant.

To hell with going out tonight.

“Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

Bianca blinks at my offer, taken aback. I scold myself and brace for the rejection, considering I’ve rejected her invites to go out until she stopped trying.

Imagine my surprise when her answer isn’t a big, fat no.

“Yeah, sure. Thank you.” She hesitates, then steps forward and reaches out. Before I can think about it, I open my arms and let her collapse against me in a tight, comforting hug. “I’ve missed you, Dean.”

A lump forms in my throat. My mouth rests on the crook of her head. “I’ve missed you, too.”

So much. Too much, and it’s bordering on overwhelming. The first week I didn’t call her was like cutting off a limb and feeling a pang in my stomach that wouldn’t go away. By the second week, I was in agony and about to drunk dial her or show up on her doorstep after going out with my buddies, but I still had the semblance to stop, aware that with my lowered inhibitions, I would have done something stupid.

Like kiss her lips.

Like peel off her clothes to see what she looks like underneath.

Like touching every inch of her skin and pressing the most intimate parts until she emits a sound—I shouldn’t be fantasizing about a moan, a whimper.

A cry of pleasure when she hits her climax.

The images and sounds are so visceral that my cock stirs, then gets hard when I realize she’s still in my arms and smells like jasmine. It’s the same smell from her college days—and it turns me on like no other. Immediately, I step out of her embrace and force a smile out.

“Get comfortable. You can have my second bedroom. You know where the pillows and blankets are.”

She smiles back, shy but pleased. I try not to stare at her lips. Focus on something else.

“Do you have any spare clothes?” she asks.

“You can use mine,” I offer.

And now I can’t stop imagining her in my shirt and boxers, and it is hell on my libido. Emergency, my mind screams at me.

Her smile widens, and her eyes radiate warmth. “Thanks, Dean. I could use a shower.”

Hell, no.

“No problem. I’ll, uh…stay in my room and order us some food.”

And probably lock the door before I do something I’ll regret.

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