Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) by Monette Michaels

only determination.
    In fact, his closeness drew another reaction from her, one not even her infrequent sexual partners could draw—a burgeoning desire. Vanko’s nearness made her pussy ache and her clit throb.
    When he spoke, his lips were so close to hers she felt his breath whisper over her mouth. “We’ll discuss all this military intelligence and field medical knowledge you have and how you obtained it—later.” He straightened and then strode to the door, speaking over his shoulder as he went. “For now, I’ll make the determination of what care you need and don’t need. You’ll be a good patient and accept it.”
    Then he left the room, shutting the door quietly. The firm snick of the lock seemed to emphasize the determination and finality in his voice.
    “Jesus H. Christ, Ellie, my girl.” She winced as she took in too deep of a breath. “You’re in big-time trouble. That’s one dominant male.”
    Just like her uncles.
    The thought made her smile.
    Vanko was nothing like the men she’d allowed herself to associate with since she’d moved to D.C. Thank God for that, or she’d have been dead already. At the first sign of real trouble, most of the men of her acquaintance would’ve screamed like little girls and run for cover. Vanko drove into it—literally.
    She yawned and remembered just in time not to stretch. She didn’t want to jar her wound, which was behaving itself for once at a low, but bearable, throb. The sleepless night, the stress, the run for her life, and the gouge in her side once again ganged up on her, and she closed her too-heavy eyelids and fell into a not-quite-awake, but not-quite-asleep state.

Chapter 7
    A loud noise startled Elana from her uneasy slumber. She swallowed a scream and automatically felt under the pillow for the knife she always kept there. Panic struck her as she couldn’t find the switchblade. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly as she wondered what she could use as a weapon when she heard “Elana” spoken in a soft, non-threatening tone. Then she recalled where she was. She stilled and forced herself to breathe. She was in Virginia, not D.C. The noise which had awakened her too-short nap was the sound of the lock on the motel room door. Her knife was at home—where she’d left it on Friday before going to work.
    What would Vanko say if she were to ask for a knife?
    “What were you searching for under the pillow, Elana?” Vanko stood by the side of the bed, a glint of curiosity flickered in his eyes.
    The eagle-eyed man missed nothing. He also read her better than anyone she’d ever met, so lying was not an option. Plus, there was no good reason to lie; she wanted a weapon. Now was the time to ask for one—before she really needed it.
    “My knife. I sleep with a knife under my pillow.”
    “Doesn’t everyone?” The warm approval in Vanko’s gaze eased her mind. She didn’t want him to think she was a freak for wanting a knife. “I’ll find you a knife as soon as we’re settled. Okay?”
    “Okay.” Elana exhaled the word as yet another one of the fraying tethers to her past broke.
    Vanko placed the bulky kit on the bed. He nudged his hips onto the bed until he touched the side of her leg. His body heat chased away the coldness in her bones. “Time to lose the rest of the blouse, devochka. ”
    And just that quickly, unreasonable fear drowned out the ease she’d begun to develop with this man.
    Jesus, Ellie, not again. Get a hold of yourself.
    “No,” she whispered, her voice strained as her throat threatened to close up on her. Whether she responded to Vanko or her inner self, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was being partially unclothed made her more vulnerable. She struggled to sit up so as to better defend herself, but a razor-sharp pain had her falling back against the mound of pillows.
    “Oh, God.” She swallowed hard and panted through waves of nausea. She’d forgotten the wound for several minutes. She’d always been good at