Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of the Jaguar

Chapter 1

“Mike? Mike, it’s time to get up!”

Groaning, Houston turned on his side, jamming his face into the feather pillow. Damn, he thought groggily, he’d had that nightmare again. A flashback really, the same one he’d had a hundred times before…

“Mike?”

“Uh, yeah…I’m awake….” he muttered.

Where was he? Rolling over, he forced his eyes open. The plain timbers of the Santa Fe architecture of the room met his eyes, reminding him he was no longer in the jungle. The sounds were different here. He heard the crow of a nearby rooster and the soft snort of some horses in a corral. As he blinked the sleep out of his eyes, he heard the lowing of cattle, too. Oh yeah, he remembered suddenly. He was staying at the Donovan Ranch near Sedona, Arizona. Helluva long way from his normal digs.

He shoved himself upright in the old brass bed, the covers falling away to expose his naked chest and upper body. When he got the chance, he never slept with clothes on—even pajamas—preferring nakedness instead. All too often in his work he had to sleep in his fatigues, ready to leap up and start moving at a moment’s notice. In fact, sleeping in a bed was a luxury for him.

Savagely rubbing his face to wake up, Mike felt the stiff prickle of beard beneath his fingers. He’d had that post-traumatic-stress-disorder dream again, reminding him of who he really was, of what made him different from other men, other human beings. Scowling, he shook his head and sent the fragments of memory back into the depths of that cauldron, his subconscious. More like Pandora’s box with an ugly twist, he thought with a sleepy grin.

What time is it? he wondered, shoving his feet from beneath the covers and placing them on the cool cedar floor. The clock on his bed stand said 0800.

Dr. Ann Parsons had called him from the next room, he realized belatedly. The alarm clock must have gone off and he hadn’t heard it. Damn. He’d promised Morgan Trayhern that he’d meet him at 0800 to get the details of his next mission. Grunting, Mike launched himself out of bed and stretched. He liked the feeling of each group of muscles in his body bunching, stretching and relaxing. Arcing his arms over his head, he closed his eyes and appreciated his physical strength. It was one helluva body, one that had more scars on it, had taken more blows and survived more than most.

Exhaling loudly, he ran his fingers through his military short, dark hair and headed to the bathroom that adjoined his room. As he padded across the pale gold floor, he remembered his nightmare. A smile cut across his thinned lips as he opened the door to the shower and turned it on. Nine years had passed since that incident in the jungle, and at thirty-five years of age, he still dreamed about that miraculous, life-changing event.

As he stepped into the pummeling stream of hot water for his morning shower—another luxury—the steam roiled in clouds around him reminding him of the endless twisting clouds that haunted the jungles of South America. He grabbed the soap and began to briskly wash himself. There was nothing like a hot shower to get the blood flowing and wake him up. For the first hour of the morning Houston was a bear of sorts, until he was fully awake and had poured a cup of good, black espresso down his gullet. Then and only then was he human and not growling or snarling at everyone. Mike had a reputation of being a grizzly in the morning.

Soaping his left arm, he blinked away the water running in rivulets across his face. Grinning, he studied the burn scars on his darkly haired arm, reminding him of his escape from the flaming copter that had been shot down. Various white scars from shrapnel that had exploded from the craft after it had crashed were also visible reminders of that day he’d faced death and won.

But he no longer saw a tuft of gold fur with black crescents across it. Scrubbing his arm, Mike turned his face into the stream of hot water. That old shaman from the village, Grandfather Adaire, had informed him that Mike’s guardian had guided him to rescue Mike and care for him. It took nearly a week of rest in that remote jungle village known as the Village of the Clouds before Houston had been in any shape to decide whether he wanted to live or not.

Mike recalled how his men at the military barracks just outside of Lima called him El Jaguar, or the jaguar god—the man who had returned from the dead. Jaguars were believed to be the only animal able to do that, according to legends about them that abounded throughout South America. Everyone had thought Mike died with the other men of his squad in that crash. But he hadn’t. And he never told anyone of his strange adventure through life, death and life again. They’d have called him loco—crazy. No one would ever know the truth of what had really happened out there.

Only that old shaman, his white hair sticking out around his head like a hen’s nest, seemed to know exactly what had happened. Mike had been too weak to question him. Inca, the young Indian girl from Brazil with the willow green eyes and long black hair, had fed him nourishing soup, kept him warm and tended him hourly in a hut near the shaman’s dwelling in the village. For that entire week, Inca had cared for him like he was a newborn baby. She was only eighteen years old, an orphan who had been adopted by Adaire and his wife, Alaria. Every time Adaire dropped by to see how well Mike was recovering, the old shaman would laugh the laugh of a man who knew an inside joke. Only Mike didn’t know the joke and the shaman didn’t seem particularly desirous of letting him in on it.

After washing his hair, Mike quickly rinsed, shut off the shower and climbed out. Rubbing himself briskly with a thick, white, terry-cloth towel, he reveled in the sensations it created across his goose-bump-covered flesh. Funny, but since that incident nine years earlier, he’d become far more aware of his body than ever before. He had walked away from his experience in the jungle with a sense of pleasure about his tall, strong physical form that he’d not had previous to his brush with death. Sometimes he felt like a great, giant cat stretching. And if he ran, he could feel the joy of blood pumping through him, the incredible power in his muscles. It was a euphoric sensation, one that he’d come to enjoy.

Hurrying through the rest of his morning duties, Mike quickly dressed in his camouflage fatigues, put his spotless, shining boots on and placed his beret in the left epaulet of his blouse. Taking one more look in the steamy mirror, he saw staring back at him a man who looked like one tough hombre, in his opinion. His blue eyes were large, though more often they were narrowed, focusing on something that would catch his wary attention. Tiny white scars stood out against his recently shaved jaw. The many lines at the corners of his eyes and the slash brackets on either side of his pursed mouth shouted of his military hardness. He was a major in Special Forces and damn proud of it. He’d survived thirteen long years in the Peruvian jungle, where life was often snuffed out in a heartbeat by vengeful drug lords.

Glancing at the watch on his hairy wrist, he realized he’d better get a move on. He’d just hurry out to the kitchen, grab his very necessary cup of espresso and gulp it down before meeting Morgan. And he was anxious to get to that meeting for another reason beside the fact that he was late. Though Mike had enjoyed the peace and quiet of this ranch, he had discovered other, greater benefits to staying there—such as spending time with the good doctor. Dr. Ann Parsons had been assigned to tend to Morgan and his wife’s recovery, while Mike had been assigned to keep guard. And he certainly hadn’t minded working with the pretty M.D.

Even better than seeing his boss today, Mike decided as he opened the door to his bedroom, he’d get to sit and look at Ann once more. Smiling to himself, he realized he was looking forward to that pleasure most of all. Even though she also worked for Morgan at Perseus, a high-level, supersecret government entity, he wouldn’t see her after today. Houston wanted to take every opportunity to absorb her beauty before they parted ways. Sighing as he walked down the gleaming hallway, he knew he could easily fall in love with Ann. If he allowed himself to. The price that they’d pay, however, would be too high. Besides, his keen interest in her was only one-sided. Yes, they’d shared a number of heated, promising kisses over the last two months, but she wasn’t really interested in him as much as he wished she were. Ann was afraid of commitment, Mike realized. Why, he didn’t know.

The memory of her sweet, soft mouth beneath his made him go hot with yearning all over again. Ann enjoyed their stolen moments together, there was no doubt. So why did she keep pushing him away? He’d seen the desire in her thoughtful blue-gray eyes after one of their torrid, hungry kisses. Had felt her tremble deliciously in his arms. The hunger in her eyes went all the way through him. So what had stopped her every damn time? Mike was confused. He’d tried to get Ann to open up, to talk about it, but she wouldn’t. It was like hitting a damn brick wall. But he didn’t press Ann any longer. Because although this was the first time in a long time he found himself wanting a woman, being with Ann wasn’t a game with him, either. Mike didn’t see her as a one-night stand or someone to amuse himself with while he was here in Arizona. He, too, was wary of having a relationship and he knew he couldn’t have things both ways. But what really did he want with her?

The realistic side of him told him that even though he could fall hopelessly in love with her if he threw caution to the wind, their relationship could go nowhere anyway. Not with his jaded past. Not with his dangerous present and future. His heart ached. He reluctantly admitted that he’d felt a lot of things for Ann over the past two months and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Maybe, Houston ruminated sadly, it was just as well she kept her distance from him—for whatever secret reasons she held. Anyone he had ever loved had died. It was that heartbreakingly simple. A fact. And he had no desire to see Ann die. Hell…

More than anything, Mike respected Ann. She had started out as an Air Force flight surgeon and her training also included work as a psychiatrist. Now a medical doctor for Perseus, she was very good at what she did. Her work with Morgan had often placed her in danger; she was frequently assigned to fly in and pick up wounded mercenaries when they got into more trouble than they’d bargained for. Mike decided that maybe Ann had made a pact with herself a long time ago not to get involved with military types. Oh, he didn’t blame her there. Hell, a military man could be alive one moment, dead the next. And where did that leave the woman who loved him? Alone, without the man she’d hoped to have around for a long, long time. Her lover gone—forever.

Too bad. She’s a looker. Tall, leggy, self-confident, she had a gutsiness he admired. There was nothing about the thirty-two-year-old doctor that didn’t appeal to him. Pity she didn’t see him in the same light. Maybe her womanly instincts warned her how different he really was. Maybe she was picking up on his secret life and it was scaring her away from him….

Mike turned the corner and headed to the kitchen. Hell, any woman who took one look at his hard-bitten, scarred countenance and heard of his fearsome reputation would run the other way. He was one mean son of a bitch and he had his actions in Peru to prove it.

Down there they called him the jaguar god because he seemed to have nine lives like the most powerful hunter in the South American jungle—the dreaded, mystical jaguar. The drug lords feared Mike and they damn well should. Those bastards had destroyed his mother’s helpless people, and as long as Houston could take a breath into his body, his whole life would be geared to eradicating them from Peru.

Maybe that’s why no women wanted to become involved in a long-term relationship with him. They wouldn’t be the focus of his life or his attentions. Houston couldn’t blame them. Still, he’d miss Ann Parsons like hell. Her soft, exploratory kisses, the hunger she sparked in him would be no more. It was a damn shame. For she was a woman who could not only turn his head, but even make him consider devoting a little time to her instead of the one-man war he waged continuously against the cocaine lords….

When Houston reached the kitchen, he heard voices. Groaning inwardly, he realized it was Ann’s honeyed, cultured tone and Morgan Trayhern’s deep, probing voice. Mike was so late the meeting was already underway. As he headed for the espresso machine, he heard them in the living room talking animatedly, like the good friends they were. Ann had worked for Morgan almost from the time he’d created Perseus many years ago. It was then he saw the note beside the tiled sink, next to the espresso machine. “In case you oversleep,” it said in Ann’s “doctor scrawl.” No one could read her writing but him, and he’d teased her about it mercilessly during the eight weeks they had been at the Donovan Ranch babysitting Morgan and his wife.

Mike hurriedly snapped on the machine. Ann had ground the coffee, put it in the small basket and filled the steel container with fresh water that would soon be boiling, ready to percolate his desperately needed espresso. A mirthless, one-cornered smile cut into the hard planes of Mike’s face. Though Ann didn’t like him to the degree he fancied her, she had a good heart. She’d even taken pity on the likes of him.

Houston poked his head around the entrance to the living room of the cabin he was staying in on the ranch. They’d agreed to meet at his cabin and he saw Morgan, dressed in a pair of jeans and a red plaid, flannel shirt, sitting at the end of a leather couch, near the open fireplace. Ann stood in front of the blazing flames, which brought out the red and gold highlights in her shoulder-length, sable hair. She was rubbing her long, thin surgeon’s hands together vigorously, warming herself.

Mike was chilly, too, but it was wintertime in Arizona, so what did he expect? When Ann lifted her chin and her blue-gray eyes met his, he grinned a little sheepishly.

“Morning,” he rumbled.

“Is it? You haven’t had your coffee yet, Major Houston, so I know better than to engage you in polite social conversation.”

His boyish grin broadened in embarrassment. He saw Morgan frown and look first at Ann and then at him.

Houston nodded. “Yeah, you’re right, Doc. I’m just an old, snarly jaguar before I get my espresso. I’ll be in shortly. A good fairy all but made my java for me and it’ll be ready pronto.” He winked at her. “I owe you, Ann….”

“Take your time, Mike,” Morgan murmured with a forgiving look. He lifted a heavy white mug from the coffee table and took a sip. “Today we’re not in a hurry.”

Mike saw Ann’s eyes sparkle mischievously even though her face had a deadpan expression. As he stepped back into the kitchen, he remembered the blush that had spread across her long, sloping cheekbones when he’d winked at her. She always reacted to his playful charm with some discomfort. He wondered why and lamented once more that Ann had never opened up to him about her past or why she couldn’t fully embrace him now. Her kisses said one thing, the fear he saw in her eyes quite another.

Damn, but the woman was pretty. Did she realize she held his heart in her hands? Did she want today to be goodbye? He’d dreamed torrid dreams of loving her completely. The closest they had come to that was the day they had shared a picnic down at the creek. He’d accurately read her desire that time, and when he’d kissed her, she’d asked him to touch her intimately, to explore her with his hands.

In the molten heat of the moment, as he’d stretched out on the blanket beside her, she’d frozen. Mike had sat up, for he had no desire to push himself on her. She had apologized and quickly pulled her blouse back over her shoulders, before getting up and hurrying away. Her face had been flushed and he could tell she was embarrassed by her behavior.

It was so frustrating! Everything about their relationship was on again, off again. She wanted him. She was afraid of him. Or maybe she was afraid of herself? Mike pondered that angle as he waited for his espresso to brew.

Ann was a type A personality who didn’t know how to rest or relax. She had to be doing something every single minute of her day. In his book, people like that were running away from something. So what was Ann running from? Sighing audibly, Mike scowled. If only she’d lower those walls she held around herself and talk to him. If only…

The aromatic odor of the espresso drifted toward him as he stood expectantly over the machine. Ann had often made a wry face at his need to drink only black, thick espresso, but hell, in South America it was the drink of choice, besides maté, Argentina’s national drink. He’d been raised on espresso since he was a small kid, following his mother into the kitchen as she made her own cup each morning.

Picking up the note with his scarred fingers, he shook his head. He couldn’t figure Ann out. Most of the time around the ranch she pointedly ignored him. His job was to run patrols and keep Morgan and Laura safe from possible drug-cartel attacks while they holed up and tried to heal from the kidnapping ordeal that had torn their lives apart, quite literally, at the seams. Ann had come because she was a qualified psychiatrist and Laura’s state had been rocky and unstable at first.

Mike ran his fingers across the ink on the note. Since she’d been staying at the hideaway cabin on Oak Creek with her husband, Laura spent an hour in therapy every day with Dr. Parsons, and Mike wasn’t surprised that Ann had helped Laura Trayhern tremendously. God knew, he wanted to feel the effects of Ann’s undivided attention on him. Grinning darkly, he told himself that he’d change, too, if given the chance to be the center of her focus. But thus far, Ann evaded him whenever possible. So why did she obviously enjoy his kisses so much when he eased her into his arms? He could feel all her walls melt away as they kissed.

Was Ann prejudiced against his skin color—the fact that he wasn’t a pure white, Anglo male with all the trimmings? Perhaps she couldn’t bring herself to admit it to herself, much less him? Questions, so many damn, unanswered questions. And today was the last day he’d ever see Ann. His heart squeezed with pain. With need.

As he poured the espresso into a small, delicate white cup with his large hands, he sighed in frustration, mentally preparing himself to shift gears and talk business with Morgan Trayhern. At least Ann would be in the same room with him and he’d get one last moment with her. He felt like a man being sent to the gallows and having his last wish fulfilled, but hell, there was no love life for him where he was heading. None at all. The only thing waiting for him was a bullet or a machete with his name on it. No, Peru was his hell. Whatever small piece of heaven he’d been afforded had died years earlier, and Houston knew that with his karmic track record—the many men he’d killed over the years—heaven wasn’t about to grant him a second chance at anything. With a careless grin, he shrugged his shoulders as if throwing off the grief and chains of the past, and headed toward the living room.

Chapter 2

Mike sauntered into the living room after taking his first, rejuvenating sip of the dark, fragrant liquid. He chose a leather wing chair opposite Morgan, in front of a coffee table littered with magazines. Ann was holding her own cup of coffee between her hands, standing with her back to the snapping, roaring fire. She refused to look him in the eye, some of the flush still lingering on her cheeks.

“I overslept,” Mike growled in Morgan’s direction, studying his boss’s somber features. The man who had hired him was internationally famous. Morgan headed up Perseus, a high-tech mercenary operation consisting of men and women, mostly from the military, who were hired to perform dangerous missions around the world. Though Perseus was privately owned by Morgan, there wasn’t a government in the democratic world that didn’t hire his renowned services. Like Morgan, whose honesty and strong military background kept this clandestine ship of state running smoothly, his people were the best at what they did. Most people, when they heard the word mercenary, thought of a turncoat bastard who had no allegiance except to the bottom line: money. Not so at Perseus. Trayhern’s reputation for integrity was well-known by almost every government in the world. He and his team were revered for coming to the aid of those who were in trouble and, for whatever reason, were without their country’s legal or political protection.

Because Trayhern had been wronged by his own country, had been labeled a traitor and been in hiding for nearly half his life before his name was cleared with the help of his wife, he knew the disastrous results of not being able to reach out to some powerful entity for help.

As Mike leaned back and relished each sip of his espresso, he noticed once again the white scar that ran from Morgan’s left temple all the way down his recently shaved cheek to his jaw, a mute testimony of his surviving on a hill in the closing days of the Vietnam War. There, he’d been a captain in the Marine Corps, and responsible for a company of men that had been wiped out and overrun by the enemy. Only he and one other man had survived. And then his troubles had really begun. Now that he was nearing fifty, Morgan’s black hair was peppered at the temples with silver though his square face was still hard, shouting of the rigid discipline of his military background. Because he was a hero in Houston’s eyes, Mike had agreed to act as Morgan and Laura’s bodyguard during this rather bland two-month stay in rural Arizona.

“You ready to talk?” Morgan asked him with a slight grin. “Ann’s been warning me about you being snarly without your espresso.”

“Yeah,” Mike rumbled, “she might as well have set up an IV and poured it directly into my veins this morning. Sorry I overslept.” He glanced at Ann, who refused to meet his gaze. Mike was too much of a gentleman to say why he’d lost so much sleep last night. The reason was that he’d cornered Ann and asked her why she was evading him. It had turned into a frustrating, angry confrontation and he’d ended up silencing her with a kiss—a kiss that had nearly been both their undoing. Ann had almost lost control of herself. He had felt her unraveling in his arms. And that’s when she’d pushed him away. It had been a miserable night for them, he acknowledged. She’d cried and he’d held her. Yet as he rocked her in his arms, she’d still refused to give in to him and talk about why she kept him at arm’s length. One thing he knew for sure, she didn’t trust him. That hurt Mike deeply and his heart ached with sadness.

Cocking his head in Ann’s direction, he saw a slight, strained smile cross her full lips as she lifted the cup and took a sip of her coffee. Her eyes were still puffy looking this morning. He wondered if she’d cried more after tearing out of his embrace and fleeing to her room last night.

Morgan nodded. “It was a good day to sleep in.” He picked up a file and handed it across the pine coffee table to Mike. “Here’s your pay and a little extra bonus for taking this mission on. I know you didn’t have to.”

As the manila file slid into his fingers, Mike placed his cup on the table. Opening the folder, he saw a check for thirty thousand dollars, plus papers detailing all his duties over the last two months.

His brows raised. “This is a little much, boss.”

Morgan grinned and crossed his legs. “I know soldiers like you don’t enjoy babysitting jobs like this one. But you knew the drug lords involved, and you knew their habits and techniques. I know you’d rather be down in the Peruvian jungles chasing them than sitting up here for two months playing watchdog.” He motioned with his finger toward the check Houston was holding. “I’m grateful you took the mission, pabulum or not, Mike. That’s our way of thanking you.”

Houston had heard several times from Ann how generous Trayhern was with his employees, as well as the charities they supported. Now Mike was getting a firsthand taste of it. “Hell,” he muttered, “this is almost a year’s army pay for me.”

Chuckling, Morgan nodded. “It probably is. There’s a first-class airline ticket there also, reserved under your assumed identity of Peter Quinn. You’ve got a flight out of Phoenix at 1500 hours today aboard Veracruz Airlines. They make a fueling stop in Mexico City and then you fly directly into Lima.”

The man was excessively generous, Mike decided as he found the airline ticket. He frowned as he saw another check beneath the ticket. Setting the folder down in his lap, he muttered, “What’s this?” His eyes widened considerably. It was a check for a hundred thousand dollars, made out to the Sisters of Guadalupe Clinic in Lima, Peru.

“Laura was telling me how, in your spare time, you work with two old French nuns down in the barrio, the poor section of Lima, using your paramedic skills alongside the nuns’ homeopathic treatments. She said you’d established the medical clinic eight years ago to help Indian children who couldn’t afford medical help.” He waved his hand toward the check Mike was holding. “That’s a donation to your clinic, Houston. Laura hinted that the clinic was usually running on hope and faith, and that you could use a lot more supplies.” His eyes grew thoughtful. “Maybe this will keep the wolf…or jaguar…from your clinic’s door for a while.”

Mike swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he held the check. The paper felt as if it were burning his fingers. “This…”

“Speechless for once?” Ann teased with a soft laugh.

Mike twisted his head to look up at her. That unreadable doctor’s facade generally in place on her oval face was gone. He waited for such moments because her openness gave her unusual features a warm attractiveness. Her nose was long and thin and had obviously been broken at one time because there was a slight bump on it. She was narrow all over—narrow oval face, narrow hands and skinny but shapely legs. Her eyes were one of her finest features: large, intelligent and widely set. Her mouth, which was now curved gently, hinted powerfully to him of her soft, vulnerable side. Mike hungrily absorbed her countenance, and he managed a slight grin. Ann was trying desperately to be civil to him.

He saw the darkness in her eyes and could feel her fear. Was she as sad over their parting as he was? His heart said yes. Although his intuition didn’t make sense at all to him, now was not the place or time to pursue it. He was sure Morgan didn’t know about Ann’s on-and-off relationship with him over the past two months, and he’d keep it that way—for her sake.

“Yeah, you’re right—I usually have a comeback for almost everything, don’t I?”

Ann nodded. “Without fail, Major Houston. One of your most reliable traits.”

“I’ll take that as praise, not an insult, Dr. Parsons.” A little of her old, teasing self was resurfacing, and Mike was glad. The last thing he wanted was to make Ann feel bad, and he sure as hell had managed to do that last night. Before he left, he knew he’d have to draw her aside, privately, and apologize. He didn’t want their friendship to end on a bitter note. Ann deserved better than that and so did he.

She shrugged her shoulders delicately. “Take it any way you want, Major. I’m always open to options.”

How he wished she really were! Laughing deeply, Mike returned his attention to Morgan. “This is unexpected.”

The warmth in Morgan’s eyes belied the expressionless mask he usually wore over his features. “Needed, according to Laura,” he said. “I like to help out the less fortunate. God knows, I was one for long enough, Mike.” He scowled at the memory of the atrocities he’d suffered.

Mike stared at the check. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this is going to help. I was trying to figure out a way to keep the clinic open. I’m afraid our little charity isn’t seen as very worthy by the rich and powerful in Lima. The children are dark-skinned Indians, not poor little Anglos in need. Believe me—” his voice shook with sudden emotion “—this is going to help more than you’ll ever know.” Mike vaguely recalled talking to Laura about his clinic once, a fleeting conversation he’d completely forgotten about. The woman didn’t forget anything! And she was just as generous and giving as her very wealthy husband.

“We’re glad to do what we can, Mike. From now on, your clinic is on our donation list. The sum might go up or down a little, but at least you’ll know that every January, you’ll be receiving enough money, I hope, to keep those doors open to the Indian children and their families.” Leaning forward, Morgan took a second manila file from the coffee table and handed it to Ann. “Here are your marching orders, Ann. You were asking me where I was sending you next. Well, take a look. I think you’ll be pleased.”

Ann smiled warmly at Morgan as she took the file. “Thanks. I love new missions.”

Mike saw how comfortable Ann and Morgan were with one another and realized they almost had an older brother–younger sister relationship. It was obvious Ann loved Morgan and respected him. Hell, who wouldn’t? Still, Mike felt a twinge of longing because he wished Ann would bestow such a warm, trusting look in his direction. But he knew that would never happen after today, and he found himself lamenting that fact far more sharply than he should. Such was the effect the good doctor had on him, although she pretended to be oblivious of the way he mooned over her like a jaguar did over a lost mate. Mike suspected Ann really missed nothing. She was a trained therapist. She was taught to observe nuances of body language, tone of voice and subtle expressions. No, she knew he was powerfully drawn to her, but she wasn’t interested, that was all. And although that left him confused and frustrated, he realized it was for the best. He wasn’t exactly the kind of man who could give her what she needed, in light of his own past.