Free YULETIDE PROTECTOR by Julie Miller Page B

suppose in real life the bag would fight back.”
    She laughed at the lame joke. “Next time a punching bag attacks me, I’ll feel better prepared. Thanks.” She picked up her towel from the corner of the mat, giving him a view of a sweetly rounded backside that warmed a lot more than his ego.
    But when she straightened, the pensive vulnerability shadowed her eyes again, reminding him that his hormones had no business noticing anything about the fragile beauty. Bailey Austin was a job. A witness to be protected. A means to an end. Period.
    “There are very few people who expect me to be able to do anything meaningful on my own, detective. That’s one reason I agreed to testify. I led a charmed, sheltered life before the attack. And afterward...” She dabbed at the perspiration on her forehead and neck. “I feel like a useless bit of fluff most days. My family treats me with kid gloves. My ex tries to fix everything for me. I make my friends uncomfortable, and they never share any of their problems with me because they think I can’t handle anything negative or difficult anymore. If I lose my temper, people put up with it—if I cry, they try to appease me. If I panic over a reporter stealing a picture of me...” Her gaze dropped to the middle of his chest as her voice trailed away.
    “Then the cops come calling.”
    “Something like that. I want to stand on my own two feet. I want to make a difference. I want...” She looped the towel around her neck and reached for him. Spencer’s breath caught as her fingers settled at the front of his shirt. “Your tie’s crooked.” As rare as it was to catch him off guard, her firm touch surprised him. Spencer held himself still while she straightened the knot of his tie and smoothed his collar. “See? This is what I’m good for. A useless bit of fluff.”
    He surprised himself by catching her hands when she would have pulled away. At her startled gasp, he splayed her fingers against his chest and held them there, waiting for her questioning gaze to meet his.
    “What you’re doing is incredibly brave. A lot of people won’t understand what facing your attacker can cost you. You may not even fully understand the repercussions of standing up against Elliott.” He understood the emotional turmoil of all she was dealing with far better than she could imagine. “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is a lot like grief. It manifests itself in different ways for different people. Some get angry. Some fall into a depression. It robs some people of their self-confidence and ability to make a decision while others grit their teeth and plow through life as though...” Ah, hell. Like a blind-side sucker punch, anger and despair roiled up inside him. “...as though nothing ever happened.”
    Bailey frowned at the tightness creeping into his voice. “You?”
    Ellen Vartran’s chocolate-brown eyes suddenly filled his vision, and his fingers burned with the memory of her blood seeping between them. He’d forgotten the job for a few hours and followed his heart. He’d been outgunned and outmanned, but still, the mistake had been his. And Ellen had paid the price.
    “Detective Montgomery? Spencer?”
    The brand of ten gentle fingertips dug into the skin beneath his shirt, chasing the horrific memory from his thoughts.
    He willfully squeezed the heart-wrenching guilt from his mind and met Bailey’s compassionate gaze. “I’ve dealt with PTSD, too.”
    “What happened?”
    The tenderness he hadn’t asked for broke a chunk off the emotional armor that kept him sane. Ah, hell. Lusting after Bailey Austin was one thing. But feeling something for her? Drinking in her caring like some kind of antidote for the guilt he carried inside him? Before anymore of his strength crumbled into dust, Spencer pulled her hands from his chest and moved away to pick up his jacket. “I’m a cop. I see a lot of stuff.”
    “I thought you meant something personal...” Way too personal. She’d zeroed