Fight Dirty Read Free

the guards led him away. “Real soon.”
    Once the door clanged shut behind him, Morgan slumped, head down onto the table, arms wrapped around her chest tight, forcing herself to stop shaking.
    Should’ve just killed the bastard , she thought as her teeth clenched in a death grip.

CHAPTER 2
    J enna Galloway buttoned her black blazer and turned to look in the mirror. She frowned, fingers raised to brush the hair above her ear, debating whether to pull her hair back or leave it down. Left down looked too casual, made her seem young, inexperienced. Pulled back, she looked like a librarian, her red hair contrasting starkly with her pale skin.
    Couldn’t even blame it on poor lighting. Her loft occupied the entire top floor of her Regent Square building, the windows and skylights inviting the morning sun in from every angle to dance across the exposed brick and heart pine floors.
    Andre Stone appeared behind her, wrapping his strong arms around her body and pulling her to his chest. Six two, solidly muscled, skin darker than midnight—except for the pale, twisted scars that marred his perfection. In Afghanistan h e’d received burns on over 60 percent of his body along with other injuries. That was two years ago, but every day he pushed himself through a punishing set of stretches and exercises, fighting against the scar tissue determined to twist his flesh into useless knots.
    He was in constant pain, Jenna knew. Yet somehow the pain had become part of him, a challenge that propelled him to rise above rather than allow defeat. Andr e’s pain and scars made him appear more of a hero than any uniform ever would.
    When it came to dressing for their new careers as security consultants, Andre had it easy; h e’d look appropriately intimidating in anything. Today he wore a simple long-sleeved black polo over his compression garment—the specialized shirt designed to keep his burn scars from becoming hypertrophied—and khaki cargo pants. He appeared every inch the battle-tested former marine that he was.
    “Leave it down. And not the black,” he said, sliding Jenn a’s blazer from her shoulders and tossing it onto the bed. “Makes you look pasty.”
    “More than a corpse at a viewing,” she agreed. Red hair and pale skin always made dressing for success a challenge. Sexy she could do. Kick-ass federal agent she could do. But CEO of a fledgling security firm?
    “I think the corpse would look less sallow.” Andre unbuttoned Jenn a’s white oxford shirt. “The white doesn’t help, either.” He caressed the bare flesh of her belly with one hand, the other teasing her through her bra.
    A surge of pleasure rocked her. “You trying to help me impress our new clients or get laid?”
    He grinned. “Any reason I can’t do both?”
    “Yeah. That clock on the wall. Robert Greene and his wife will be here in twenty minutes.”
    “Plenty of time.” He nuzzled her neck. She inhaled his unique mix of musk and testosterone, then turned to kiss him properly, allowing him to enfold her in his embrace.
    Damn it. She was happy. Jenna didn’t do happy—or even worse, contented. She didn’t trust happy. And contented scared the crap out of her.
    Before Andre, the most sh e’d allowed herself was the release of a one-night stand, maybe two. Not this. Three months o f . . . blis s . . .
    She hid her frown by trailing her lips down his throat, wondering when she was going to blunder into the next minefield. Her life was littered with them, secrets like IEDs scattered past, present, and future. When would one surface and destroy everything?
    When would Andre figure out that she wasn’t the person he thought she was? That she was a fraud, anything but the capable, confident, competent woman she pretended to be.
    Who would get hurt the most? Her or Andre? Sh e’d never had to worry about someone else before. Jenna had enough on her hands just taking care of herself.
    She took a deep breath from her belly, squelching the panic