Soldier of Fortune by Diana Palmer

beneath her touch, and when he looked down at her she had to fight the urge to back away.
    “What the hell did you think you were playing at out there?” he asked coldly. “Didn’t you realize that the bullets weren’t blanks, that we weren’t acting out some scenario from a television show? You’re a dull little secretary, not a professional soldier, and if the force of the recoil hadn’t knocked you down, you’d have been killed, you stupid child!”
    So that was it. Shirt had been right, his pride was hurt because Gabby had seen a threat and he hadn’t. “J.D., if I hadn’t shot him, he’d have killed you,” she said, trying to reason with him.
    He slammed the bag back down. “Am I supposed to thank you?”
    Her temper was blazing now, too. “Don’t strain yourself,” she told him icily. “And I am not a dull little secretary!”
    “Don’t kid yourself,” he said, staring at her. “You aren’t Calamity Jane and you’re never likely to be. You’ll get married to some desk jockey and have a dozen kids.”
    Her face paled and his eyes narrowed when he saw it. “What’s wrong, honey?” he taunted. “Were you expecting a proposal from me?”
    She turned away. “I expect nothing from you.”
    “Liar.” He caught her arm and swung her around. Seconds later, she was flat on her back on the bed and he was looming over her, holding her down.
    “Let me up, Jacob!” she burst out, struggling.
    He threw a long, powerful leg across hers and pinned her, his hands on her wrists. “Now fight,” he said coldly, “and see how far you get.”
    She gave up finally and lay breathing heavily, glaring up at him. “What’s this supposed to prove, that you’re stronger than I am? Okay, I’m not arguing.”
    His dark eyes wandered slowly over her body, lingering on the curves outlined by her tight jeans and the expanse of bare skin where her shirt had ridden up during the struggle. Her breath caught, because she wasn’t wearing a bra, and the hem of the garment was just below the curve of her breasts.
    “I wanted you yesterday morning,” he said bluntly. “And if you hadn’t been a virgin, I’d have taken you. But you were just a body to me, so if you’ve been weaving me into your future, forget it.”
    Her heart leaped in her chest. It was true, she had, but she couldn’t let him see just how involved she was emotionally. Very obviously, that wasn’t what he wanted from her.
    “I haven’t asked you for any promises, have I?” she asked quietly, searching his dark eyes. “You’re safe, Jacob. I’m not trying to tie you down.”
    His fingers contracted. “For your sake I hope that’s true,” he said in a menacing tone. “Make damned sure that you don’t ever try.”
    Her lips parted to ask a question, but he moved suddenly. One hand imprisoned both of hers above her head. The other pulled up the shirt, baring her taut breasts to his eyes.
    “Now, Gabby, let me show you how a real mercenary treats women.”
    She lay still, feeling half-afraid of him as he covered her with his own taut body. His hands touched and gripped and his body moved suggestively, making a travesty of everything she felt for him.
    Then his hands moved lower on her body and contracted, grinding her hips against his. “I’m not a soft man. This is how it would be between us, quick and rough. And if you’re remembering yesterday morning, don’t,” he added. “Because that was a flash in the pan. This is the reality.”
    The crush of his mouth was as suggestive as the motion of his hard body. She tried to make her own body move—whether to push him away or pull him closer—but his assault on her senses paralyzed her.
    “Are you shocked? Come on, honey.” And he kissed her again, oblivious to the confusion and growing panic in her eyes.
    She must have tensed because he stopped and looked at her. He cursed and rolled away, but she couldn’t move. She lay there, her face pale, her eyes closed. The fear subsided,