Untamed Desire by Lindsay McKenna Page B

she winced when he touched her. It was magic…. It meant that there was still a chance for her to grow whole again.
    The door opened and closed quietly, and Storm met Jim’s penetrating look.
    “Storm?”
    She fought to halt the flow of tears his voice brought very quickly to the surface. Trying to swallow them back, she realized it was something about Jim Talbot that brought all her deeply hidden emotions to the surface.
    “You’re still shaking. Hey, look at me.” Jim took the coffee cup from her hands and placed it on the desk. Very gently, he lifted her chin. He knelt down, his eyes narrow with concern, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. “Rickson told me everything. It won’t happen again. Not ever, I promise you….”
    She looked up at him miserably, her lips parted and trembling. “Give me another chance,” she gulped. “I want to keep this job! You don’t know why I reacted—”
    Jim nodded grimly, his hands cupping her wet, tear-stained face. “I have an idea,” he answered, his anger resurfacing. “You overreacted. It has something to do with your past, right? Now, don’t look away from me, Storm. Tell me the truth.”
    “Yes,” she sobbed quietly. “He reminded me of—”
    “Come here,” he interrupted huskily, and lifted her to her feet, pulling her into his arms.
    The gentle touch of his hand stroking her hair released the dam of pent-up tears. Storm wept without restraint within his protective arms, until finally her fear was washed away. Eventually, other sounds crept into her consciousness—a jet taking off in the distance, the wind gusting against the window behind them and the steady beat of Jim’s heart.
    “Better?” Jim asked.
    “Better,” she agreed, her voice strained.
    “Storm, I don’t want you to think your job’s in jeopardy because of this. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault he made a move—”
    “Don’t talk about it, please,” she begged hoarsely, pulling away from him. She sat back down in the chair, trying to force her confused emotions into order.
    Jim rested against his desk, his expression grim as he watched her.
    “Sometime,” he murmured, “you and I are going to have to talk about your past.”
    Storm’s eyes widened. “I said it won’t happen again! Why won’t you believe me? Or is every damn hunting party like Rickson’s? Do I have to take karate lessons to defend myself against these—these animals?”
    Jim smelled the contents of her cup and handed it back to her. “Take a drink,” he ordered, his tone coaxing.
    She swallowed, inhaling sharply at the strength of the whiskey as it curled down into her knotted stomach.
    “What happened today is not the norm. You were at the Monday-morning conference. Dan gave us ten pickups of various hunters’ groups, and this was the only one he warned us about. Doesn’t that tell you that most parties of fishermen, photographers and hunters aren’t like Rickson’s?”
    “Great,” she muttered. “My luck is holding as usual.”
    Jim grinned briefly. “Looks like the patient is going to live. Your dark sense of humor is coming back.”
    “It’s the only thing that’s kept me in one piece,” she shot back, more strongly than she intended.
    He seemed unaffected by her touchiness. “I don’t think you’ll have to take karate lessons. You did a pretty good job with that clipboard. You broke one of the bones in his wrist.”
    Storm groaned, and stood up restlessly. “Oh, no! Will he sue?”
    “No. Personally, I don’t think it could have happened to a more deserving person. You got his gun arm, so he’s out of commission for the entire season. Maybe he’ll think twice before he tries to manhandle the next woman he takes a fancy to. Don’t look so worried. The hunters all sign a release before flying with Bradford’s. He’s so worried you might press charges, that a lawsuit against you is the last thing on his mind.”
    Her shoulders relaxed at that news, and her features