Saving Amber - Zoe Dawson Page 0,19

how he tried to stay neutral, detached, that woman got to him.

“Dammit!”

He’d asked her to trust him and she had. She’d given Sheppard a chance to handle his own thoughts, his own loss and grief over Connelly. They had been tight. It was something that Tristan recognized and had shunned with his partners. He hadn’t wanted to ever get into a situation again where he would be betrayed by anyone. A guard that had stood heavy against any entanglements.

All except for Russell “Rock” Kaczewski.

Rock and his personality punched through Tristan’s armor, and he’d been a steadfast and supportive teammate for a good solid five years until Rock had retired five years ago. Tristan was convinced that Rock would move on, but he hadn’t. He’d remained just as solid as he had when they worked as a pair to complete sniping missions all over Middle East.

Rock had asked for his trust, too, but Tristan wasn’t sure if he’d given it. Still wasn’t sure.

He stalked into his room.

Stripping out of his clothes and donning his own running gear, he went out the door and looked both ways. He could see her retreating form some ways off in the distance. The girl was fast.

The afternoon was turning to dusk, and the sky above the jutting, snow-covered peaks of the mountain range spread out before him had turned a colorful red, orange and purple, tingeing the uppermost peaks in a colorful hue. The wind had picked up and the cold slapped his face. He loped after Amber, marveling at the progress she’d already made in the snowy footing.

He heard a car come up behind him but kept his eyes on that blue vision in front of him. It wasn’t until he saw the car was way too close to the side of the road that he focused on it. The idiot! Was he drunk? The car continued to barrel toward Amber without swerving away, keeping a dangerous trajectory that would lead to directly hitting her. Tristan’s heart climbed into his throat.

“Amber! Look out!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. She jerked her head up, but the car was almost on her. For a minute he lost them in the long shadows of the mountain, but then he saw her body sail into a snowbank as the car roared past.

“Amber!” he shouted as he increased his speed, his lungs burning, thighs pumping, feet slipping on the snow-covered road. He raced toward her still body, his mind frozen in fear.

When he got closer, his heart racing, he heard her groan and relief rushed through him. As soon as he reached her prone body, he knelt down. “Amber, geezus, are you all right? That stupid nut job!”

He reached out as she opened her eyes and their gazes collided. She took in his face and blinked a couple of times. He wasn’t sure what she saw, but the fear in him was still stinging, thrumming through him with adrenaline and panic. And he fell into the deep green pools of her eyes, fell like a meteor, a stone into warm, seductive liquid. The silence between them stretched out, expanded in a way that lent texture to the very air between them. The sun was disappearing behind the mountains, smudging her beauty with purple shadow. He swore he stopped breathing, her gaze still locked on his face. Her body was so close to his as he bent over her, aware of how much bigger he was, responding to her in ways that were instinctive and fundamentally male—warming, hardening.

He got hard. It happened in the field, in combat mostly from the surge of adrenaline. But he wasn’t sure he could pretend in this situation his erection had anything to do with his adrenal glands.

“Can you sit up?” he said, his voice rough.

“In just a minute. I thought while I was down here, I’d make snow angels.”

He closed his eyes against the way his chest filled at her attempt at humor. But he couldn’t laugh, not this time. His fear had been so acute; he swallowed hard against the thought of this bright and beautiful woman no longer here.

“Did the car hit you, for Pete’s sake?” he growled.

“No. I threw myself out of its path, just hit my shoulder in the fall. I’m fine.”

“Jackass didn’t even stop.”

“Did you get a look at the car?”

“Yes, silver sedan, late-model Honda. Got a partial plate. Most of it was covered up with mud. I’m turning that madman in.”

He slipped his hands under