Maddie panicked. There was too much noise and mayhem, but not enough air! She couldn’t think! Couldn’t see. So much smoke! Her eyes and nose stung and watered. She couldn’t catch a decent breath because of the excess fluid in her throat. Didn’t want to breathe when she did. Her lungs quit working. Her bare breasts, now pressed flat to the rough concrete floor, hurt. She was dying!
Suddenly, the noise stopped. Jameson lifted her into his arms, and he was carrying her upstairs. But she was a miserable snotty mess. Worse, she hadn’t fired a single shot to help him, and she was half-dressed. And oh, yes. She was still the loser her dad always said she was.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Jameson chided as he settled her on his knee with one arm around her. “Your dad’s an idiot.”
“But, but, but…” she sputtered, embarrassed she might’ve said that last part out loud.
“Losers quit, and that’s not what you did tonight, Maddie,” he said as he poured water over her face. “Sounds to me like he’s the real loser and a bully. Your dad quit on you, didn’t he?”
The rush of cool water instantly soothed, but didn’t completely wash the effects of the tear gas away. She was still choking and snotting, but she could see they were at the kitchen sink, and Jameson was scooping water from the running faucet over her face Something warm and wonderful blossomed in her chest for the first time ever, and it wasn’t tear gas.
“Yes,” she admitted weakly, wishing she had a blanket or something to cover up with. “Every day of my life.”
“Asshole,” Jameson muttered. “Real men don’t denigrate children. Any children! They build them up, and they teach them how to have confidence in this shitty world. To stand tall and walk proud. They provide positive reinforcement, and they always have their kid’s back. They’re proud of them every single damned day.”
Not all men. “W-was your dad? Proud of you? Every day?”
“You bet. Want to meet him? He and Mom are expecting me for dinner this Sunday. They’ll adore you. Come with me.”
Maddie shook her head, feeling embarrassed and vulnerable. Exposed and naked and, well, snotty. Yet the sensation of Jameson leaning over her was so, so nice. Even there in the dark, with her eyes burning and watering too much for her to see, she could feel the capable, strong male leaning over her. Sheltering her. That all by itself was a really nice, really new feeling. It’d be better to have her shirt back, and she wished she didn’t look this awful. But then, what difference did it make? He couldn’t see her. “My hair. I must look like—”
“Like an angel,” Jameson murmured. “Maddie, are you…? My God, you are.”
He cocked his head more sharply then. He had one hand on her bare shoulder, the other on her rib cage. She hadn’t had time to tell him how she’d stopped Mr. Vlad’s gunshot wound from bleeding. That she’d lost track of her shirt in the scary confusion downstairs. That she was naked from the waist up. But he knew now.
“Y-y-you can’t see me, can you?”
“Oh, yes, I can,” he whispered as one big, manly, wet hand smoothed over her bare shoulder. His other was behind her, his fingers splayed against her bare back. “Where’s your shirt, babe?”
“Somewhere downstairs,” she whispered. “You said take it off, but then I lost it, and I had to cut up my bra to save Mr. Vlad, and I don’t know where my guns are, either. Dad was right. I’m such a loser.” Her eyes welled with bitter tears.
“No, Maddie. Your dad was dead damned wrong,” Jameson breathed. His deep voice had dropped an octave into bedroom range. “You’re strong and smart. And you’re beautiful.”
“No, I’m not. I’m noth—”
“Shush. Who knows better, me or your dad?”
Was that a trick question? “Y-y-you…?”
“Right again. Let me tell you what I know about you that your old man doesn’t and never will. You’re four feet, eleven inches tall and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Long silky hair. Still don’t know the color of it, but I’m working on that. More importantly, you’re braver than any woman I’ve ever met. You’re resourceful. You know how to think for yourself.”
“Blonde. I’m blonde, and I’m half-naked.”
“Oh, yes you are,” he rumbled with something akin to delight in his tone. “What color are your eyes?”
“L-light b-b-blue.”
“God, you’re perfect,” he moaned.
Darn, this was embarrassing. He knew she was bare to him, yet he couldn’t see her. Any of her. How pitiful was that? To look more womanly, she needed her padded bra. But it was gone, and Jameson was still here, but he couldn’t see, so what did it matter? Yet it did, damn it. She wanted Jameson to really look at her with his eyes, the way he seemed able to see her with his ears.
But he was smiling. “You’re so damned beautiful, Maddie,” he breathed.
By then, he’d leaned farther into her face. She could smell his breath and their combined sweaty, tear-gassed bodies. Okay, maybe seeing wasn’t believing after all. The air around them went still. She could hear how ragged his breathing had turned. His heart was probably pounding as hard as hers was, too. The intensity etched on his face was almost feral. Good grief, she wanted him.
Blinking furiously through watery eyes, Maddie saw it coming. Wanted it with every beat of her quivering, timid body. Like a man on a mission, Jameson closed the distance between them. One big, warm, wonderfully damp hand
