Born To Protect. Virginia Kantra

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      It figured that the exiled princess of Montebello didn’t live in an apartment. Jack realized his mistake as soon as Christina swung her new-model pickup truck onto a private road flanked by stone columns. A discreet plaque identified the entrance to Eagle’s Nest Residential Community. No Soliciting, the sign said. Not Welcome.

      The truck swooped down curves and up hills. Through stands of tall, dark trees, wide windows flashed. Jack glimpsed piles of rock and spires of wood, some natural, some man-made.

      They sure didn’t look like any graduate student digs he’d ever seen.

      He was way out of his league here, he thought grimly. What had Christina called it? Some ill-judged sexual attraction. Yeah.

      And yet every time he looked at her—hell, even when he didn’t—he got this brain-fog image of her rising out of the lake, her magnificent body covered with water and sunshine and not much else. She had great breasts. He looked across at her aristocratic profile and imagined her wearing one skimpy nylon triangle. He looked out at the scenery and imagined her naked.

      And the pictures in his head were making him cross-eyed.

      He rubbed the back of his neck, where the muscles cramped as his shoulder stiffened. Focus, he ordered himself. Before he’d left the SEALs, his survival and the survival of his team had depended on his ability to concentrate. Now…well, hers might.

      That realization cleared his brain, at least temporarily. He sat up as Christina maneuvered into a sunken driveway and shifted the truck into Park. Her garage was buried in the side of a hill. A stone walk wound from the drive to the house, all angles and cedar and glass.

      Whoa. Jack climbed out. Looked up. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

      Christina’s face got that frosty look he was beginning to realize covered self-consciousness. “The house was one of my father’s conditions for my remaining at the university. It has a state-of-the-art security system.”

      He bet it did. Not that that would stop a terrorist. Not that it could stop him or Merlin or Crack or any of the SEALs, if they had time and the inclination to break in. Jack followed her up a hill landscaped with ferns and wild-flowers. She had a nice…walk. The soaring windows overhead reflected back the red and gold of the afternoon sun.

      Once upon a time there was a princess who lived in a tower….

      She unlocked the massive door. The foyer was flagstone, paneled in some light wood and pierced with windows. She pressed a security code into the keypad by the door.

      “No armed guards at the gate?” Jack asked dryly.

      Her eyes gleamed with humor. He liked that, liked that she was able to laugh at herself. “The only communities in Montana with armed guards are survivalist compounds. Even my father drew the line at my living in one of those. Please.” She stepped forward briskly, like a White House tour guide. “Make yourself at home.”

      He grimaced. “Right.”

      Home had never looked like this.

      It wasn’t that the Daltons didn’t have money. Jonathan Dalton may have been a lousy husband and father, but he was a great provider. His wife, Clara, had filled her empty days with shopping, her empty home with velvet sofas and walnut tables and china doodads.

      Jack parked his seabag at the bottom of the curving staircase and pivoted slowly, taking in Christina’s wide-open living room: cordovan leather couches and deco lamps, bleached wood floors and rich carpets. Paintings hung like jewels on the high white walls. He didn’t know a whole lot about art, but that one over the fireplace, all curving blues and greens, looked like a Chagall. And he’d bet the ranch it wasn’t a copy.

      Oh, yeah. Out of his league and in over his head. He stuck his hands in his pockets.

      “I’m sorry if it’s not…” Christina hesitated. “I don’t have time to spend on housekeeping. And my cleaning service won’t be in until Monday.”

      She wasn’t serious. Was she? What did she think—that he was going to order her to stand inspection?

      “I left the white gloves behind with the uniform, princess. But if you’re looking for compliments, you’ve got a really nice place here. Classy. You want me to take off my shoes?”

      She tipped her chin up. “Of course not. I…the phone’s in the kitchen,” she said, and escaped across the Oriental carpet.

      The red sun bled through the tall windows on either side of the fireplace. Jack glanced out on a tumble of rocks and plants. Plenty of cover for a sniper there. He wondered if her glass was bulletproof.

      “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

      “Yeah. Thanks.”

      “Whiskey? Wine? Tea?”

      He cradled the receiver between his neck and shoulder, fishing in his wallet for his father’s number. “Got any beer?”

      “I’m sorry. No.”

      For a princess, she sure was quick to apologize. He shook his head. “Never mind. Water is fine.”

      He listened to the phone ring on the other end of the line.

      And ring. Jonathan Dalton wasn’t home. Well, that figured. For sixteen years, the old man had never been around when Jack wanted him. Of course, a couple of months after Jack’s mother died, the major had decided to take a stab at fatherhood, and that had been even worse.

      Jack depressed the phone hook and dialed again, aware of Christina pulling glasses from the cupboard behind him.

      “Global Enterprises,” the receptionist chirped. “How may I direct your call?”

      “Jonathan Dalton, please.”

      “May I tell him who’s calling?”

      “Jack Dalton.”

      “Who?”

      He heard his teeth snap together. “His son.”

      Christina put his water on the counter by his hand. Her warm fingers left imprints on the cold glass. He nodded thanks and picked it up as a different female voice came on the line.

      “Mr. Dalton? This is Elizabeth Landry, your father’s executive assistant. He’s not available to take your call right now. May I help you?”

      Jack put the water down untasted. “No. Thanks. Tell him he can reach me at this number, please.” He rattled off the number on Christina’s phone. “Got that? Yeah. Anytime tonight. Thanks.” He hung up the phone and found Christina watching him, her mermaid hair and wide blue eyes like something out of a sailor’s fantasy.

      His fantasies. Smooth, dark water around long, pale thighs…

      Don’t go there, Flash.

      “I can’t reach the old man. Looks like we’ll have to wait for him to call us.”

      “Do you know when СКАЧАТЬ