Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,155

cocooned between the warm arm wrapped around her shoulders and… Walker’s chest? Well, that answered a few questions. As long as she was with him, nothing else mattered. Her cheek rested easily against the solid muscles she craved, her thigh and knee against his hair-roughened leg.

Peeling one eyelid open, she breathed into his neck. What a pleasant view, the scruffy underside of this man’s chin. It embodied all that he was. Strong and brave and true. His show of defiance in the face of betrayal. He was her one true hero. The man she trusted with her secrets. Confided in. Wanted.

Her fingers were splayed over his belly, another fine way to wake up. For two cents, she would’ve let those fingers walk up his chest to cup that sexy chin before she covered it with kisses. Instead, she traced her fingertips through the trail of hairs leading past his navel to those hot, steamy parts below. Once her fingers slid over and around his manhood, he’d wake with a smile and a promise. Funny how that happy trail reminded her of Men Working signs. As if any woman needed a sign to lead her into temptation. Man working, indeed!

But why was he in her bed? Or was she in his? Okay, that was disconcerting. If they were still on his yacht, why wasn’t she rooming with Izza?

Panic intruded like a thunderclap. Persia shoved away from Walker, needing room to breathe. To think! The last thing she recalled was—

Peckering! Where was he? Is he here! Her pulse spiked. Her fists clenched. She would not be taken again!

The same out-of-control fear she’d lived with in Brazil, roared through her now, lighting up every last panic receptor, sending her survival instincts into overdrive. Would she never be free from monsters? Adrenaline screamed, ‘Run!’

He’d caught her! She was sure. After all the good she’d done in Minas Gerais… After all the women and children she’d saved…

Hysteria lifted inside her chest, demanding to be heard. A scream crawled up her throat like a tsunami, blocking her good intentions and her last shred of logic. Drowning her. Suffocating her.

Just as quickly, a big warm wave slipped up her spine and tangled in her hair. “I’ve got you, Persia,” Walker whispered, his warm, moist lips pressed against her forehead. “I’m here, and you’re safe, sugar.”

“I… I…” She couldn’t speak!

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Alex and McQueen, me and Izza found you, and that asshat Peckering’s dead now. Come on, try to relax. There’s nothing you and I can’t overcome together. Deep breaths.”

His chest expanded as if he needed to show her how it was done. Which he did. She was barely able to match his breaths with her own.

“Slow down. One, in. One, out. There you go. You’re on my yacht. You’re in my room. Izza’s on deck. Ryder’s on guard with her. Breathe with me, baby.”

Clinging to his broad shoulders like a crazy drowning woman, Persia mashed her face into his chest. “What…?” she squeaked like the timid little mouse she was not. “Guarding who?”

“Peckering’s gopher, Rodrigo. He can’t get you. Trust me.”

“W-w-what happened?”

Walker held onto her so gently. So carefully. “Peckering poisoned you, sugar. Least he tried. But the rest of us saved you, and Peckering’s dead, and his toady, Rodrigo, isn’t going anywhere. Right now, he’s shackled outside the cockpit and Izza and Ryder are keeping track of him. I’ll gladly chain him to the anchor if you want. You can throw him overboard, or you can make him walk the plank. Either way, he’s all yours. Alex wanted to call the authorities, but I’m captain of this ship, and you get first shot at him.”

“H-h-he…” Shit, it was so hard to think. Persia licked her dry lips, sure she was making a fool of herself, clinging like she was to Walker. “He injected me with something, I think… In my neck.” Her fingers drifted to the tender spot below her ear. “I… I lost my phone… and Alex… I called Alex because…”

Because she’d known Peckering was going to kill her for helping Walker. She’d seen it in his eyes. True evil, as wicked as the malevolence that had poisoned Domingo Zapata’s soul, had stared back at her. Then he’d pushed her into… somewhere else. That was all Persia remembered. Admiral Peckering shoving her backward. Her falling. The sting in her neck.

She’d only been in a skimpy bikini top and cutoff jeans. An overwhelming need to cover up and hide consumed her usual sass. Her