Unprepared

“Caitlyn.”

A shiver rippled over her at the sound of his voice. She turned and cuddled into his chest before settling again. Much as he needed to, Duke couldn’t bring himself to attempt to rouse her.

Something peculiar fluttered through his chest, settling there lightly. Something more than his usual protective instinct. He cursed himself silently. She was the job, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t die to keep her safe. But this?

This was something else entirely.

Caitlyn Maddox had him— hook, line and sinker— from the minute she’d spoken his name. That one arched brow over those great big toffee-colored eyes and that teasing little smile on her absolutely luscious lips.

His mission briefing hadn’t prepared him for her.

Neither had the grainy images taken at a distance of a mousy-looking researcher. Which she might be. She definitely gave off an air of fragility and the social ineptitude of a genius savant.

But this tallish, slender woman with the figure of a centerfold certainly didn’t look mousy or fragile up-close and in person. And when she talked—mmm-mmm-mmm. She sounded like the brilliant female foil in a spy movie, her voice low and a little breathy.

His thoughts abruptly turned black. If he hadn’t known what had happened to her late husband, he could easily have imagined her being exactly that. And to an extent she truly was, even if she didn’t know it.

When he’d seen her the first time—at her husband’s discharge from the hospital—Duke had wondered if it wasn’t already too late and she hadn’t been targeted as her husband had. In a dark moment as he’d studied her through the binoculars, he’d wondered if there was even a point to protecting her at all.

She’d looked hollow. Half-dead and wholly drained both physically and emotionally after Alex Maddox’s rapid but brutal decline from his illness. And she didn’t even know as much as he did about what had actually happened to him.

She’d been thirty-one when her husband had been handed his death-sentence diagnosis. Not even to the peak of her life. Certainly not remotely close to her scientific potential. Yet when he’d seen the emptiness, the dull, aching lifelessness behind her eyes, she’d seemed so much older.

Exhausted.

As if the weight of hundreds of lifetimes rested on her thin shoulders alone. Dragging her down. Choking the life out of her.

Maybe it did.

Already her research had cured over a hundred, previously untreatable, genetic malfunctions in people all over the world. With research using Zebra fish, of all things—he’d had to do an internet search to know what they even were. And as soft of a personality as she was, as kind-hearted and empathetic, it had to rest heavy how many more desperately needed her help. Needed her knowledge. Her cures.

His heart ached for her. Her whole life had been taken from her when her husband had been murdered—childhood friends and classmates turned lovers turned partners both professionally and personally. Hers was a storybook life she’d barely begun to live, even adventurous as she was. With her husband’s death, a big part of it was gone.

Duke studied her heart-shaped face, his gaze lingering on her lush, kissable mouth, relaxed now in sleep. That he could tell, she wore no make-up, and in his humble opinion, she didn’t want for it at all. Had she turned a different corner in life, he could easily see her as some glamorous supermodel or high-paid famous movie actress. Her face artificially enhanced with layers of make-up and plastered all over creation, known to everyone.

He drew a sharp breath, lifting his gaze and skimming the visible areas of the cabin’s interior. He was treading dangerous waters with this woman. Get your head in the game, he warned silently, then gave himself a mental shake. You’re acting like a rookie.

Overhead, the announcement chime rang softly, barely audible over the noise of the engines. The seat belt signs brightened incrementally in the plane’s dimly-lit cabin. A flight attendant rattled her spiel about passengers remaining in their seats with their seat belts fastened and something about possible turbulence, first in English, then in Italian.

Reluctantly, Duke jostled her gently in his arms, calling her name again softly. “Caitlyn. You have to wake up, darlin’.” 

She drew a hiccupy breath, struggling with the airline’s cheap little blanket that he’d laid over her, before finally freeing one delicate hand and threading her fingers into her hair with a groggy yawn. Around them, the plane shuddered aggressively and suddenly, she was wide awake, roused violently and clinging to the front of his shirt with startled eyes.

“Duke!? Good grief! I’m so sorry!” Bolting upright, adrenaline flooding her veins, she jerked herself out of his arms by grabbing the chair in front of her, then apologized profusely to the startled person seated there.

Wrapping his arms about her shoulders, he drew her to a sit and gave her a light squeeze to comfort her. “It’s alright. Caitlyn. Darlin’. It’s alright. You’re safe.”

It took her another thirty seconds or so for her to regain her bearings, to remember where she was, then she eased herself out from under his arm shyly. When she turned her head, her expression nearly leveled him. There was so much trust there, so much confidence, so plain to see, that Duke suddenly felt wholly unprepared and inadequate to the task assigned to him.

What if he failed? Like the agent who’d been assigned to protect them before? Intel had identified that someone was here already—someone with malicious intent was looking for her. What if he became complacent too? Lulled by the general drudgery of watching her day-to-day living and let down his guard?

Shake it off, Duke!

Failure couldn’t be an option. He owed her a life safe from the people who’d already taken so much from her. No matter how much her graces made him wish they truly were two strangers who’d met by chance and enjoyed each other’s company, that wasn’t what this was. At least not on his part.

“It’s about a half-hour until we land. Seems like it might be a bumpy one,” he warned her, then nodded towards her lap where the flimsy airline blanket pooled. “Need to buckle up again.”

“I—yes.” She shifted in her seat, feeling along it for the two sides of her seatbelt. “I’m sorry about—.”

When her fingers brushed his, he caught her hand. Lifting it to his lips, he kissed the baby-softness of her palm and flashed her a million-megawatt grin. “I’m not. Who do you think put you in my arms?”

Her mouth fell open in shock. “Uh—wh-why?”

“You were already asleep against my shoulder. I didn’t want you to get a crick in your neck.” Duke set her hand in her lap and retrieved the side of her seatbelt between them for her. “It’ll be daylight when we land, darlin’. Morning, on your first day in Italy. You and me got exploring to do.”

She flashed him a fragile smile, then stood carefully, pivoting towards the aisle.

Duke could only stare, astonished that her slender figure fit in that narrow space. Only her head was ducked to avoid the overhead storage bins. Did she never eat? With the kind of curves she sported, that couldn’t be true, but she was willowy thin anyway.

“Excuse me. I’ll need to—.”

“Oh. Right.” He nodded and rose, stepping into the aisle to let her out of their two-person row. Using the opportunity, he skimmed the passengers behind them. Then watched her make her way towards the restrooms as far as he could comfortably without being obvious.