Excerpt of The Guardian by Marliss Melton

With an audible gasp, Lena startled back, but to her credit, she didn't scream. The chink of coins as she clutched a pouch to her chest told him she was carrying money.

"Abdul," she exclaimed, recognizing him in the scant light that wrapped around the edges of the building. "What the hell do you want?"

Her hostile tone left no doubt that she blamed him for the wreckage at her rental.

"Why are you still in the area?" he demanded, acknowledging his guilt as he bore down on her.

She scuttled backward until her heels hit the wall, but instead of seeming afraid of him she glared at him fearlessly. "We need to talk," she stated resolutely.

Talking wasn't part of the plan. He'd come over here to reiterate his threats, confiscate her pendant, and leave. "I don't think so." He spoke in the same, cold voice he'd used for interrogating insurgents in the war. Too bad, insurgents had never smelled so damn delicious nor looked so damn hot. "You need to leave this place and not come back."

Her eyes flashed like road reflectors. "Who's going to make me, you?" she scoffed.

Her temerity amazed him, though he did elicit a flinch as he dug his fingers into her shoulders. "Yes," he said. Transferring one hand to the slim, silky column of her throat, he encircled it with just enough conviction to elicit a tremor of fear. Beneath his palm, her pendant glinted in the dark.

She held defiantly still. "What are you going to do? Kill me with your bare hands?" she taunted, calling his bluff.

Curling his fingers around the sturdy silver links of her necklace, he readied himself to rip the chain off. But her enticing scent and the luscious curve of her lips sparked an overwhelming desire to steal a kiss first. He drew her closer and lowered his head, intent on crushing his mouth over hers.

But before their lips even touched, the cold, blunt tip of what felt like a pistol gouged his abdomen. Next came the unmistakable click of a gun's safety.

Where in hell had that come from?

"Step away from me, Abdul, or I'll drop you dead right here," she grated sweetly.

All Jackson could do was to stare at her in astonishment.

"You think I won't?" She gave a soft throaty laugh that stirred both his incredulity and his libido. "I can claim you attacked me for the money, and that I shot you in self–defense. You're an ex–con on parole, and I'm a helpless, solitary female. There isn't a jury in the state of Maryland that wouldn't support my right to defend myself."

Helpless, my ass, he thought, though truth was he could knock that little gun right out of her hands and overcome her in an instant. The pistol might just go off in the process, however, drawing unwanted attention to Artie's and possibly even injuring one of them. Maybe they ought to have that little talk she'd just mentioned.

"Let's discuss this," he said, wondering what the hell could be so important that she would disregard both a death threat and an assault in a dark alley.

"What a fine idea. Take three steps back," she ordered on a harder note.

Reluctant to relinquish his hold on her necklace, Jackson nonetheless let go and backed away three paces. He hoped she wasn't filming his humiliation. For the time being, though, his attention was focused on the pistol in her competent–looking grasp. "Easy, woman," he cautioned, when she leveled it at his chest.

"Don't call me that. I am sure as hell not your woman."

Yeah, that was the part of all this that bothered him the most.