Page 6 of A SEAL's Protection
My veins hum with adrenaline, every heartbeat loud in my ears, as I look down on the face of Allegra.
Her eyes are wide, and her breathing is ragged; her entire body is taut. She raises one arm out of my grasp, holding cold steel to my throat. Her knife presses hard enough to nick my skin and cause a sharp pain. She swallows hard, and my blade bobs on her throat.
I stare at her for a long beat. The only sounds are our ragged breathing.
Her body is hot under mine, her soft curves holding us both off the ground. I’m hit by her scent of wilderness and chamomile and something distinctly feminine that makes my heart flutter wildly, and it has nothing to do with the knife she’s holding to my throat.
It would be an intimate moment if it wasn’t for the pure fear reflected in the whites of her eyes.
“Easy…” I pull my blade back away from her skin, but she only presses hers harder to mine. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She trembles under me, and her knife shakes, causing the blade to cut my skin. I grit my teeth at the sharp pain.
Her hand shakes, but not from weakness. She’s holding the blade so damn tight her knuckles are turning white. Allegra is absolutely ready to use that blade. She doesn’t know I’ve been sent to protect her. She’s a woman traveling alone, and I’m the creep sneaking up on her in the middle of the night. The woman is terrified, and terrified people do whatever they can to protect themselves.
I could disarm her in seconds. She’s no weakling, and I’m not a big guy. But I’m wiry. Under my five foot eight height is a set of strong muscles trained for combat. I could have her flipped over and the knife out of her hands in seconds.
It will defuse the situation, but I still have nineteen more days on this mission. I’ll lose any chance of trust. Besides, it will make her feel weak and powerless, and that’s the last thing I want to do.
“I’m going to drop my knife.” I speak slowly. “I’m going to move my arm and let it fall.”
She doesn’t say a word as I slowly and deliberately move my arm holding the knife away from her. I let the knife go, and it falls with a thud to the forest floor.
Her gaze remains on me, and the tension remains in her body, causing her entire chest to rise up and down. “Can you lower your knife now, Allegra?”
Her eyes widen in shock, then her brows furrow in anger. The blade presses into my skin a little deeper, and blood trickles down my neck.
When she speaks, her voice is low and tight. “You’d better tell me who the fuck you are and how you know my fucking name.”
4
ALLEGRA
He knows my name. He knows my fucking name.
My hand shakes, and the man sucks air through his teeth as the blade sends another trickle of blood coursing down his neck. It snakes toward the leather band around his neck, where a large greenstone carving hangs.
If he knows my name, he’s got to be a stalker. He must have seen me in the press. But how did he know I was here?
My hand trembles at the effort of holding the knife to his throat. He could disarm me easily, yet he doesn’t. He dropped his weapon. But his body is his weapon. If I drop mine, I won’t regain the advantage. If he’s here to do me harm, this is my chance to do him harm first. I swallow hard and will my hand to stop shaking.
“My name’s Marcus Pere.” The man’s voice is low with a foreign lilt to it I can’t place. It carries no hint of concern. He’s introducing himself as if we’re at a cocktail party, and I’m not lying under him on the forest floor with a knife to his throat. “Your father sent me.”
Shock makes my hand waver, and my grip slips on the knife.
“Is he okay? Has something happened?”
The knife slips out of my hand and falls to the forest floor. My hand scrambles to find it but comes up empty.
I expect Marcus to grab the knife, but instead he sits back on his haunches and slowly raises himself to standing height.
He doesn’t seem remotely flustered by the fact that I had a blade to his throat and there’s blood trickling down his neck, as if I was never a real threat to him.
“Your father hired me to follow you and keep you safe on the trail.”
He speaks slowly and deliberately, and I note the elongated vowels that hint at an Australian accent. No, make that New Zealand if he’s wearing a greenstone around his neck. I’ve seen the carvings before.
“Of course he did.”
