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Christina jerked open the door and bit back a scream at the sight of a very large man with his fist raised to knock. He was at once familiar and foreign, and her heart pumped so fast she felt light-headed. He lowered his fist to his side.

“R-Remy?”

She hadn’t seen him in six months, not since that hot night in her bedroom, but her heart and body knew Remy Marchand even if she would rather they didn’t.

He didn’t look anything like he had the last time she’d seen him. He’d been wearing his henley and jeans, leaving her house after a hot night of sex and promising to call her later—which he had done, she knew, because she had the unanswered messages to prove it.

Now he was menacing. Tall and broad as always, but this time he was dressed all in desert camouflage, a mean-looking rifle slung over his chest, and sporting a helmet with what looked like a camera on the top. There was a mic curving around his cheek, and he wore a vest that appeared to contain ammo. There was also a gun in a holster strapped around his thigh and what seemed to be kneepads on his knees.

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

His mouth—that gorgeous, sensual mouth that had taken her to such heights—curved down in a hard frown. “This is a fucking war zone, Christina. I’m rescuing your ass.”

She couldn’t help the hot flush of anger that rolled over her then. “I don’t need rescuing, thanks.”

He pushed into the room and shoved the door closed.

“Objective acquired,” he said into the mic. “Awaiting instructions. … Copy.”

When he looked up at her again, his expression was dark. “Afraid you do, sweetheart. The airport’s closed for business. The rebels have cut off the route. Soon they’ll have the airport in their possession—and that’s bad for us.”

Her heart was thrumming from so many things, but the one thing that seemed paramount was just how shocking—and confusing—it was to see him again. And not just see him, but see him as the badass warrior he really was. He’d been sweet and tender with her. Handsome, yes, but not dangerous.

This man was not sweet. He was a lethal combination of training and testosterone. More dangerous than anything she’d ever encountered.

She lifted her chin. “I’m on my way to see Sheikh Fahd. He has a helicopter. He’ll take me with him when he goes—”

“Wrong.”

He made her trip over her tongue for a second before she found it again. “He will. I’m going to see him now.”

She started for the door, but Remy stepped in front of her. His hand rested on the weapon slung across his chest, and he looked absolutely menacing as he stared her down.

“You can’t, Christina. He’s gone. Left about three hours ago, like a sensible sheikh. You’re on your own.”

His gaze was challenging. Superior. It made her want to punch him. And kiss him, God help her. “I have Paul.”

Remy’s gaze narrowed. “Who the fuck is Paul?”

His voice was like a whip between them, cracking hard against her senses. He was not a man to be toyed with, that was for sure.

“My bodyguard. He’s across the hall.”

“Across the fucking hall? Jesus.” He picked up the radio clipped to his vest and pressed a button. “Do we have a Paul on our list? … Well, we do now. Bodyguard. … Yeah, guess somebody overlooked him.” He glanced at her. “Paul who?”

“I…” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“He’s across the hall from Christina Girard. … Yeah, copy.” He let go of the radio and gave her a hard look. “Call him and tell him to get over here. Now. You’ll have to leave your suitcases.”

“What? Why?”

“This ain’t a fucking vacation, baby. It’s an extraction. Take what you can carry. If you can carry a suitcase for miles through the desert, then be my guest. But nobody’s carrying it for you. Not even Paul, so don’t think of asking.”

Christina drew herself up, hurt, furious, and confused. Seeing him was doing a number on her senses. Knowing he was pissed at her only made it worse. “What makes you think I’d expect him to do that? Did I ever give you the impression I was spoiled?”

He snorted. “The impression you gave me turned out to be a lie, so what do I know?”

His words pierced her. Maybe she could have handled the situation between them better, but she hadn’t and there was no sense stewing in regrets. “Remy, I—”

“Save it,” he bit out. “Call the bodyguard. The time for talking is over between us.”