Line of Fire by Cindy Dees

lightly on his back, lust shot through him like an armor-piercing round. Each time it happened, it got harder and harder to fight off an urge to turn around and kiss her senseless. Fear of that urge gave him a nearly uncontrollable need to cut and run from her and the sexual shocks tearing through his gut.
    That had been a close call back at the shelter. Too close. Not the soldier putting a knife to her throat, although that had been dicey, too. But the way she’d crawled all over him, teasing his body to a fever pitch of desire…he’d very nearly rolled over and ravaged her. He’d walked a razor’s edge of self-control and had almost lost it.
    What in the hell was he going to do with her?
    He pondered the question grimly as they marched onward through the night.
    He’d loved two women in his lifetime. And they’d both cut and run when the going got tough.
    There was his mother of course. He vaguely remembered her face. She’d been blond and beautiful, too. And she couldn’t deal with living way out in the middle of nowhere on a lonely cattle ranch. She’d lasted until he was seven years old and his sister, Susan, was five. And then she’d bailed on her husband and two young children. He was still embarrassed to think about how old he was before he stopped crying himself to sleep each night, his face buried in a pillow so no one would know.
    And then there was Emily. His childhood sweetheart. He’d dated her from the moment his dad said he was old enough to have a girlfriend. They were together all the way through high school and college. He always assumed they’d end up married someday. She’d been sweet and gentle, a nice girl. Loyal. Or so he’d thought.
    And then he’d come home from his first mission for Charlie Squad, full of pride and still on a high from pulling off a near miraculous mission to capture a dangerous drug lord. He’d never forget the look on Emily’s face as he described the details of sneaking close to the guy’s compound, shooting all the guards dead, rushing in and arresting the drug lord, and then airlifting him out by helicopter while under fire.
    She’d recoiled from him in horror, distaste written all over her face. “You actually enjoyed all that violence and killing?” she’d asked with utter loathing.
    She didn’t get it. No matter how hard he tried to convince her that he was one of the good guys and was making the world a better place, after that day she only saw a violent, brutal thug when she looked at him. She’d been gone—packed up and moved out—before he got home from his second mission.
    After that, he went strictly for groupie chicks who got a thrill out of sleeping with dark, dangerous guys like him. They hung out at all the bars near military bases, waiting to pick up soldiers just in from the field or just about to go out.
    They wanted rough sex, a wild ride, and no commitment whatsoever. They didn’t give a damn about him or who he was. They just wanted the fantasy of the he-man lover.
    It didn’t take him long to get sick and tired of them, either. He mostly avoided women now. They either didn’t have staying power for when times got tough or were only out for themselves.
    Kimberly’s hand landed harder than usual against his back. He slowed down until she regained her balance and her hand retreated. Desire shuddered through him.
    Kimberly Stanton was the worst of both female worlds. She was appalled by what he did and she wanted no part of sticking around. Worse, she was turned on by him. She’d use him and lose him without a second thought. Clearly she was a woman he’d be well advised to stay far, far away from.
    A new sound disturbed the usual noises of the jungle. He spun and yanked her down beneath him, rolling with her until they lay under a thick stand of brush.
    Her breasts pressed against his chest, her long legs tangled with his. Her belly contracted hard against his and the blatantly sexual position they lay in made his breath come in