Avenging Angel by Tara Janzen Page B

shower, and she hated him for that. Then he’d gone and been brave and very matter-of-fact about what needed to be done to hold his body together, and he’d stirred her respect to life. He’d made her feel compassion, and she didn’t know what to think. She remembered what he’d made her feel months ago, when he’d been Dane Erickson and she’d been safe behind her executive desk, and that frightened her. It was the only thing left that did frighten her. The night had been full of threats and violence from the instant he’d grabbed her, but there wasn’t a mark on her. He’d told her twice he didn’t want to hurt her, and he was a man who got what he wanted. He wasn’t going to hurt her, not with his hands, or the shotgun, or any of the other myriad weapons he had stashed in his duffel bag along with his clothes.
    “Ready?” he asked, pulling a length of thread through his antibiotic-cream-smeared fingers.
    “No,” she said softly, her jaw tightening, her emotions suddenly getting away from her. “Damn you, I am not ready. You can’t make me do this.”
    He lifted his head, and his gaze flicked over to where he’d laid the shotgun on the vanity.
    “No,” she repeated, aware of the action and the subtle meaning behind it “You don’t scare me.”
    “I could.” He let his gaze drift back to her. The threat was clear in the mahogany depths of his eyes.
    Johanna knew she was playing with fire. Austin had called Dane quiet and dangerous, and both descriptions were true. But an attorney wasn’t much use to anyone if she let herself be pushed around. She faced him squarely, her chin lifted.
    Dylan noted the obstinancy tightening her soft lips, the stiffness of her shoulders, and he lowered his eyes, letting her win. He wasn’t going to shoot her, and she’d finally figured it out. But he still needed her help. He was as tough as the next guy, tougher than some, maybe tougher than most, but he’d be damned if he thought he could sew himself up.
    “Please,” he said. The word came out rough and foreign sounding, and he realized it had been a long time since he’d asked anyone for anything. Within seconds, he knew it hadn’t been long enough.
    A long, tense silence ensued, stretching between them and filling up the small space. Dylan was sorry he’d asked. Damn sorry. He didn’t mind looking like a mean son of a bitch, but he hated looking like a fool.
    “Get out,” he said under his breath, turning away from her.
    He busied himself with his preparations, waiting for her to leave, not really caring how far she went. He’d saved her life once, and once was more than he’d thought he could pull off. She’d seen Austin and his goons. She was smart enough to go to the police.
    Maybe.
    Maybe not.
    Dammit . Even if she went to the police, they couldn’t protect her, not the way he could. She wouldn’t last forty-eight hours without Austin picking up her trail, and once he did that, she wouldn’t last another two.
    He turned to retract his command and caught her rising from where she’d sat on the edge of the bathtub. As she reached toward the vanity he grabbed her wrist. Their eyes met, and he finished pulling her to her feet.
    “I’ve changed my mind,” he said.
    “So have I,” she countered, her voice no less angry than it had been before. She tugged on her wrist.
    He held her just long enough to reestablish his authority.
    Agreeing in silence, he sat on the counter next to the sink and Johanna took the needle in hand. She knew what she had to do . . . sort of.
    She looked at his chest and the neat slice arced between collarbone and breast. Logically thinking about stitching him up and actually doing it were going to be two completely different experiences. That was her first realization. The second was how soft his skin was beneath her fingers. She touched him lightly with her fingertips, but the softness and warmth of him registered as if she’d caressed him with her open palm.
    Damn. Of