He'd come here to enjoy himself and plough through as many women as he could to get over his stupid broken heart. And as much as he wanted her to be his big finale-because she would be the perfect lay for the last day of his two-week vacation-being a conceited b.i.t.c.h disqualified her.

He broke their gaze and turned away just in time to see a big white bald oaf charge at her. It was clear he was after her-his gaze was locked on her and his powerful heavy strides spoke trouble. Victoria Secret was the only one who looked worth the trouble in the whole place. Damien turned back to her. She was still staring at him, not at all sensing the danger. How could she not? Everyone else on her side of the pool seemed to have created a cautionary distance.

The oaf stopped next to her, grabbing her arm and yanking her up. "Vladimir vants you now!" he barked.

The woman just gave him a bored look, nonchalantly taking her arm out of his hold. She bent to retrieve her robe, sparing Damien a look that said something, but he wasn't sure what before she sashayed away, walking with no urgency despite the oaf's grumbles behind her.

What was that look? He wondered before he asked himself why he cared.

She seemed quite comfortable being the girlfriend of a Russian mobster. Another a.s.sumption, yes, but he'd been a cop too long not to be able to recognize the type.

His cop instincts wanted him to check them out but... "I'm on vacation. I'm not here to work or end up in a shootout over a girl. They are the feds problem anyway."

He pushed his gla.s.ses back in place, crossed his wrists behind his head and went back on the hunt to find his finale girl.

"Some finale night!" Damien grumbled, yanking off his shirt and tossing it on a chair.

He was back in his hotel room, alone, after his date's boyfriend showed up during dinner. s.e.xy Amy from California hadn't bothered to share that piece of information with him until it was too late. He'd put the boyfriend flat on the ground with his arms twisted behind his back.

Apparently, she wanted to find out if the stories were true-if black men did have larger than life d.i.c.ks. The whole 'once you go black you never go back' saying had peaked a lot of curiosity if the equipment matched the mantra. When he told her he was half j.a.panese, she blatantly asked if that made it bigger or smaller. He would have happily shown her if her boyfriend hadn't started whining about calling the cops on him for a.s.sault.

He flopped back on his bed.

Now he was back in his room, alone. The worst part, he had nothing to distract him from thinking about Miss Victoria Secret. The entire night he'd found himself wondering if she was okay, or if he'd made the right decision to let her go off with that oaf. And now that he was alone, he was drowning in unfamiliar worry for a woman he didn't even know.

The pounding on his door brought him out of his thoughts. Immediately he went into cop mode, pulling his gun out of his bedside drawer and cautiously moving towards the door.

"What?" he barked.

"Let me in. Please, let me in!" the weepy urgent voice got to him.

There was nothing he hated more than women being abused.

He opened the door a crack, but she pushed it, charging in and slamming the door shut. She pressed against it like she was trying to keep whatever was on the other side of the door from breaking it down and coming in. The midsection of her short torn nightgown had a huge blotch of blood and the neckline had dribbles of blood on it. He knew that came from a bleeding nose or a cut lip. He could also take a lucky guess how she got it and it made him mad. But he was certain the blood didn't come from her. She didn't look like she had any major injuries and she was standing upright, not doubled over like she'd been stabbed. She might have got it defending herself. And judging by how she was reacting to the angry shouting on the other side of the door, whomever that blood belonged to was not one to mess with.

They stood silently, waiting for the voices to fade away before Damien felt it was safe enough to move or speak. He wanted to hold her hand and lead her to the bed. But he knew that would be a bad idea. She was wound up so tight and shaking so badly a simple touch would either have her screaming and drawing the attention of the people looking for her, or running out the door and right into their arms.

"Ma'am, why don't-" Damien stopped when she pushed her clammy hair out of her face and looked up at him. It was Victoria Secret.

"Oh s.h.i.t!"

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes glazed over. She was looking at him but wasn't seeing him. Where was she in that pretty head of hers? Did she even realize the state she was in?

Praying she wouldn't scream, Damien cautiously placed his hand on her shoulder. She jumped, grabbing his hand and twisting it at the wrist. He pulled his hand out of her hold just in time, slightly taken aback. She would have had him on his knees, maybe even broken his wrist if he hadn't pulled away. He took several steps back, slipping the gun into the back of his pants before he held both his hands open palm out to her. If she knew that move, he was in no hurry to find out what else she knew if she felt threatened by the gun.

"Hey, I don't want to hurt you. You banged on my door, remember?"

That glazed look remained in her eyes a second longer before she blinked. Her eyes immediately filled with tears. And as if she'd just woken up from a nightmare, she rushed to him, slamming her body into his, breaking down in sobs, her arms wrapped tightly around him. He had one arm wrapped around her shoulders while his other hand covered the gun behind him just in case her hands slipped down and grabbed for it.

"Help me!" she wept into his chest, her tears warm against his bare skin.

Slowly, he led her backward until they got to the bed-side drawer where he deposited his gun before he lowered them onto the bed. But she immediately climbed into his lap, curling against him her head tucked under his chin. She wanted to be held, he realized, to feel safe again. Damien wrapped his arms around her. He was both sad and angry on her behalf. What exactly had happened to her to make her shake so badly? And what kind of mess had he gotten himself into by sheltering her?

He pushed that question to the back of his mind and holding her securely against him, he shifted back until he was leaning against the headboard. He pulled the bed cover over them, hoping it would help with her shakes but she quickly pushed it away. He wondered what she was about until she began yanking hard on her night gown.

"Get it off! Get it off! It has blood on it, I don't like blood!"

Damien quickly ripped the unwanted thing over her head and tossed it as far away as he could then hurriedly covered her with an uncomfortable groan. She was naked except for the s.e.xy lace panties he'd had a little peek at. He'd gotten a glimpse of something else. Everything he'd been admiring at the pool earlier that day, but it would be a d.i.c.k-a.s.s move focusing on that at the moment, considering her current state of mind. But h.e.l.l, he was no saint, especially with her perky b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against his bare chest. He kept his hands over the covers and soothingly caressed her back as he rocked side to side, hoping to lull her to sleep.

A long ten minutes later, she stopped shaking and her body relaxed. The long breathes against his collar bone told him she'd finally succ.u.mbed to sleep. He made himself comfortable and turned on the television; keeping the volume low he watched a few late night shows. Considering the predicament they were in, falling asleep was the last thing he intended to do. He needed to be alert just in case the oaf and his partner came barging into his room. And in the spirit of being prepared, he opened the drawer, pulled out the gun and placed it on top of the table, next to the lamp and in easy reach.

h.e.l.l, this was the last thing he needed on his last vacation day.

Damien pulled away from the light flicker on his nose. The fly was disrupting his sleep. Why was he even sleeping sitting up? When it moved to tickle his ear, he reached up to slap it away and his hand ended up clasped in another much smaller one.

"What the..." he opened his eyes to the brightest brown eyes and the cheekiest grin on a very gorgeous face.

"The sun's out... thought you would like to know," she half whispered with a slight laugh in her voice.

Morning? He never let a girl stay overnight in his hotel room. Why was he sleeping sitting up and why was she in his lap, naked?

As the fog of sleep lifted from his mind, the memory of the night before settled in. Damien looked her over more keenly. She didn't resemble the frightened girl who forced herself onto his lap like she was trying to hide against his large body. He turned to the bedside table-the gun was still where he'd left it. He picked it up, discreetly weighing it in his hand-the same as he'd left it, one bullet in the chamber and eleven rounds in the magazine-then opened the drawer and placed it inside. He watched her to see her reaction, but she didn't seem at all fazed by the gun, like it was something normal. Was it? She could defend herself; that he knew for sure from last night, but... no. He didn't know her and a.s.sumptions were dangerous at this point, so he made none.

With narrowed eyes he asked, "How are you feeling this morning?"

Though she smiled shyly at him, she never lowered her gaze from his, "Naked."

He smirked. He knew exactly how naked with her warm skin pressed against his. "Probably because you are."

She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Gee, thanks. I would never have guessed that." His eyebrow shot up at that and this time she did look down, her lips twisted to the side. "Sorry. I shouldn't be so snippy considering you saved me last night."

He shrugged. "All I did was open the door."

She looked up at him, "Good thing I got your room number then, ha?" she cantered her head to the side. "Have I thanked you yet?"

Damien glared at her. "What do you mean you found out my room number?"

She rolled her lower lip between her teeth. "You are a cop, right?"

He didn't answer, letting her take whatever she wanted from his silence.

"I had a feeling I would need police protection. The client had gotten a little handsy for my liking."

"You're a prost.i.tute?" he exclaimed a little too loudly.

She glared at him. "No, I'm not a prost.i.tute. I'm an escort."

He snorted. "What's the difference?"

"A prost.i.tute takes money for s.e.x and an escort is basically arm candy for social functions. Some may like adding s.e.x to the packages they provide, but I don't," she said tersely.

"Right," he responded, not believing a word of it. What male would pay for just conversation and friendly company with a babe like her? "Listen, are you okay to leave now?"

Fear filled her eyes as she vigorously shook her head. "No! I'm staying with you."

Damien sighed, brushing his hand tiredly over his face. "Listen. My vacation ends today and I need to leave."

"No one's vacation ends on a Friday!" her voice was so shrilly high that he actually winced.

"I need to be back to work on Monday."

She smiled, bouncing on his half numb thighs. "That's great! You can stay here for two days-Vladimir would have grown tired of looking for me by then and be gone by Sunday. It's a win-win for both of us."

"Exactly how is it a win-win for both of us?"

"You get two more days vacation-on me of course-and I get a bodyguard until Vladimir goes back to his h.e.l.lish hole."

Damien chuckled, shaking his head. He lifted her off him; keen to keep his eyes away from her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s-for an escort, not prost.i.tute, she was very comfortable being naked with him-and stood, stretching and shaking his legs to get the blood flowing again. "That's not happening Victoria Secret. I watched over you last night because you needed me to. Now if you want police protection I suggest you go to the local police and tell them you are afraid for your safety. Your b.l.o.o.d.y nightgown should be proof enough."

She sat crossed legged on the bed, the cover between her legs, under her crossed arms, over her chest and covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as she stared solemnly at him. He could see her darting eyes fill with tears as she worried her lower lip. She was still scared and sadly she should be. Anyone with a name like Vladimir travelling with those big Russian sounding oafs sounded dangerous-and above his pay grade. Before he could say something stupid along the lines of 'fine I'll be your bodyguard' he made a quick escape to the bathroom hoping she'd be gone by the time he returned.

He'd been in the shower for around five minutes when he felt the presence of someone else in the bathroom. He kept his hands on his head, pretending to rinse his short buzz. The shower door slid open then soon shut. He waited until he felt her arms slip around his waist, her chest pressing into his back. He lowered his arms, keeping them at his sides with his hands clenched. He might have been able to resist her the night before because she was scared, but now... he considered this an invitation he was going to have a d.a.m.n hard time turning down.

"What are you doing?" he demanded sternly.

"Taking a shower," she purred, rubbing her hands up and down his torso. One hand lightly floated down his hip and he quickly caught it before it reached its target.

"Let me make one thing clear. I'm no gentleman."

She pressed her lips to his shoulder. "I didn't accuse you of being one."

"I accused you of being a prost.i.tute and you said I was wrong."

She went stiff at the implication. She knew what he was saying and was probably thinking about it at that moment. But apparently she didn't have much to think about when she relaxed against him and her one free hand continued wandering over his torso.

"If I'm going to end up dead, I might as well enjoy my last few hours."

That caught his attention. He quickly turned around to face her-he had to lower his head to do that. She was almost two heads shorter than he was, her hair curled in wet tendrils around her face, over her shoulders ending right over her chocolate covered areolas and tight nipples. She looked like a large C cup-his favorite.

"Why did you say that?" he asked, still bashfully staring at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her closer so that her tight nipples pressed against his torso and his already jutting erection nestled between her thighs.

She swallowed hard, her head falling to his chest as her thighs clenched around him. "I stabbed him before I ran from him. What do you think?" she muttered breathlessly.

Damien pulled her closer until they were completely touching, her head resting on his chest as her arms wound around his waist. He caressed her back, loving how well she fit against him, how small she was to his large body. He liked small women for just this reason-easy to pick up, easy to shield if need be and easy to carry on his chest as they slept after a night of wild lovemaking. And women loved him for just the same reasons, including how well hung he was; and the Celtic tats over his large muscles.

He was a tattoo and fitness freak like his cousins Dale and Derrick, who not so coincidentally, all worked for Uncle Sam. They were more like brothers as their mothers-sisters-only had one child each and they were raised together having been born just months between each other. But immediately after they enrolled into college, their parents each took off to their husbands' ancestral homes to live out their golden days-Dale's went Ireland, Derrick's Brazil and his, j.a.pan. Yup, they all married men of different races, which made growing up pretty interesting with all those different cultures.

She trailed her hands lightly from around his waist and up his torso and chest to wind around his neck as she looked up at him, desire blazing in her eyes. "So, do you plan on just standing there and staring at me or are you going to do something about that thing twitching between my legs?"

Who was he to refuse such a direct invitation? He lowered his hands to her a.s.s, ma.s.saging the voluptuous globes before he lifted her up and pressed her against the shower wall, her legs going around his waist.

"You clean?" he whispered against her lips.

She nodded. "And on the pill-don't say it. I'm not a prost.i.tute, but I'm not a nun either."

He chuckled, rotating his hips so that his tip teased her entrance. "Good to know because there is nothing saintly about what I'm going to do to you," he nibbled on her lips. "I guess I'm here for another two days guarding this delicious body."

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