The Protector

by Cristin Harber

  Her watery laughter was nearly drowned away by the shower, but her faint smile stayed. “You’re a warmonger with years of training.”

  “A cocky one at that.” A smile tugged on his cheeks, but he suddenly sobered. Maybe he was asking too much of her. Chance had never thought about romance or relationships. But at that moment, he realized that so much of what he knew was all wrong. Like the way people thought beautiful homes would make happy lives. They were in one of the most beautiful homes in the world. It wasn’t a happy one.

  Shower sex made a relationship as much as roses and candy defined romance. They were child’s play. Romance meant… he didn’t know. It meant giving himself and building trust. Right now, he was ready to give and give and give until they couldn’t move. But that wasn’t the kind of giving she needed. Jane needed the opportunity to believe in them.

  He pushed her wet hair off of her face and cupped her cheeks. Their lips connected. The world fell away until a building need made him hum for more. “Let me touch you.”

  She nodded. “Carte blanche.”

  His lips stayed on hers, and his hands slid over her back, letting the water sluice between them. The lull of the water washed away the strain. Chance guided her to a wood bench that lined the large shower. “I never knew what these things were for.”

  Jane held onto his hand as he sat down. “A comfy place to shave legs?”

  He pulled her into his lap, legs on one side, her back propped in the crook of his arm. “A comfy place for something.” His hand glided up the inside of her thigh. Jane kissed him. Their tongues languidly tangled as he stroked up her thigh and down again. Each time, he inched higher until Chance reached her sex. Jane parted her legs and squirmed.

  For now, this would be better than shower sex. The subtle way she writhed made him want to master her body. Water didn’t fall over them, but a warm swirling mist mixed with the steam and kept them warm.

  Chance grazed his fingers along her sensitive skin. The buds of her nipples tightened. “That feels good?”

  Her eyes slipped shut, and Jane nodded. He grazed her clitoris and delicately teased. Her hips swayed, and her back arched as her chest drew quicker breaths.

  “I like the way you move.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered, and Jane shifted to give him more access.

  He liked that move too. Chance took advantage of the way her legs spread, stroking her silkiness that was slick with arousal. He circled her entrance, mesmerized by the quiet mews that fell from her lips. He’d wanted trust, and with her eyes closed and body bared, she’d given him what he’d asked for.

  Chance slid his fingers into her pussy. Jane’s chest hitched. Her head tipped back. Her body clenched him as he withdrew, and her hips lifted for more. He pressed into her again. He crooked the angle of his fingers while keeping pressure against her clit, experimenting and studying the woman in his lap.

  “Oh,” she breathed harshly. Her hips swayed in rhythm with his hand. “That’s…”

  “Good,” he finished.

  She nodded. He plunged in and out of her, living for the burn in his muscles as his forearm flexed, finger-fucking Jane as she begged for more. Her hand clamped to his bicep. Her fingernails dug into his arm. Her other arm wrapped around his arm, he struggled to maintain what she desperately needed.

  “Come for me, Jane. Give it to me.”

  She thrashed her head against his chest. Her body thrashed. Jane rode his hand as much as he drove into her. Her muscles clenched.

  “Please,” Jane hoarsely whispered, grinding for release. “Chance, please.”

  He couldn’t take this anymore. His cock throbbed, threatening to come from just her wet, slippery ass grinding against his erection. He growled and gave her everything he had.

  “God.” Her moaning cry echoed in the shower as her body quaked in orgasm. Her canal rippled like a hurricane of pleasure.

  She twisted toward his stomach, legs and hands still wrapped around his arm until she shuddered. Trembles still pulsed around his fingers, and Chance withdrew his fingers. She gasped then pliantly nuzzled against his chest.

  He dropped his head against the wall. One arm held Jane. The other hung limp, wishing to God he had the strength to grip his cock and—her fingers wrapped around the heavy, throbbing length between them. “Jane—” Her fist slid the base of his shaft with a long, fluid motion. His eyes closed. His teeth clenched. Painfully erect and dangerously close to orgasm, he hissed at the flick of her wrist and strong grip. Jane spared no time with preambles, jerking his cock like they’d been lovers for years.

  Had this been any other woman, he would’ve forced the pleasure back as though he had to wait an imaginary time threshold for manly reactions to hand jobs. But he didn’t care. She made him feel too damn good.

  His body tightened, and his climax coiled deep in his nuts. The arm around her back squeezed. His exhausted hand threaded into her hair, and he flexed his hips. Chance groaned and came until his cum spurted, marking her stomach and thigh.

  Her slippery hands slowed. A full-body shiver overtook him. Even as they collapsed together, more satisfied than he knew possible, he wanted more.

  “Wow.” She pressed a kiss to his chest. “That was amazing.”

  No. He didn’t want more of Jane Singleton.

  He needed more.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Four days passed, and the Thanes still hadn’t come home. Jane stayed in contact with Aunt Courtney, who decided to extend her weekend getaway with Teddy into a weeklong visit to her second home in upstate New York. All of this meant that Jane and Chance continued to play house in their parallel universe where responsibilities and jobs didn’t exist.

  That meant a lot of time spent getting to know each other. In bed. Out of bed. In the shower again. And, they talked about everything and nothing. She liked how the quiet times didn’t feel awkward. She didn’t feel pressure to fill the day with witty banter or come-hither flirtations. In truth, their time together felt real.

  Except, it wasn’t. They were playing pretend. Any time his cell phone buzzed, her stomach dropped to the floor like a boulder thrown into a canyon, certain that Chance would be called to the other side of the planet.

  But ignoring the ticking time bomb of real life, Jane could almost pretend that this make-believe fairytale would live on indefinitely.

  A warm breeze rolled over the pool, sweeping flyaway strands into her face. Jane set down her newest reread and pushed the hairs away. The large umbrella next to the pool had shielded her from the bright afternoon sunlight, but now the sky held an orange hue. It was later than she realized, and she was feeling snackish. Jane checked the time on her phone. Not quite dinner time.

  Gigi had encouraged Jane to use a food delivery service while they were gone. Uber Eats and Postmates were part of her grand plan of evasion as though gossip reporters would never question that she and Dax were home if they needed meals brought to their door.

  But, delivery was getting old after a few days in a row. Such a first world problem, but be that as it may, Jane placed a bookmark in her paperback and went in search of her man.

  She walked into the massive kitchen to find Chance standing in front of the fancy-pants double oven, a mitt on his hand and a dishtowel over his broad shoulder.

  After days of delivery and no mention of cooking, the scene in front of her stopped Jane short. “Are you cooking?”

  He winked. “One of my many talents.”

  “Really?” She arched an eyebrow and sauntered to the set of super-complicated double ovens. “Do you know what you’re doing?” Word on the street was that using them was akin to programming the space shuttle. Only those with culinary degrees or experience with mass spectrometers could get the thing to turn on—that never struck Jane as a benefit, but to each their own. The thing likely cost more than the house she grew up in.

  “It’s a roast. Not rocket science.” He flicked the hand towel against her shoulder as she peered inside.


  “You’d be surprised.” Though, she was the one astounded to see a very lovely-looking roast surrounded by root vegetables. “I’m impressed,” she added, her mouth watering at the delicious aromas emanating from the oven. Turning around, she noticed the kitchen island had been set for two. How was Chance Evans a single man? He was too good to be true.

  She slipped onto the stool and watched as he moved around the kitchen like a professional chef. He poured her a glass of wine, and she took it. “You think of everything, don’t you?”

  He grinned, poured himself a glass, and raised it. “We’re only here for a short time, let’s make it a good time.” He laughed. “I read that in a fortune cookie once.”

  She grinned and sipped to hide her melancholy. He drank, seemingly oblivious to the depressing idea that their time together would end abruptly. The oven timer sounded, and he hopped back to his chef duties, pulling the roast out and working the kitchen like he’d lived in this house his whole life.

  He sipped his wine. “How are you supposed to know if this stuff is any good?”

  “Do you like it?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Guess so.”

  “Then it’s good.” Her heart squeezed when he grinned. Amusing him might just be her superpower. There was no other reason a guy like Chance, the Midas-like man with the golden touch—and looks and whoa, those bedroom moves—liked her romantically.

  With expert finesse, he moved the roast onto a cutting board.

  “Did you ever work in a kitchen?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “You didn’t do time at some prestigious culinary academy?”

  He snorted. “Not unless you count KP duty in the army.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Kitchen patrol,” he explained. “A lot of peeling potatoes and washing dishes.”

  “Ohhh.” She wrinkled her nose. “Fun—but you have to tell me how this became one of your many talents.”

  His lightheartedness sobered, and Chance concentrated on slicing and then plating the roast beef. “When I was a kid, it was just my mom and me, and my mom was sick. She had issues with food.” He moved the plates from the prep area to the kitchen island. “I got it in my head that if I made the right food, and she really liked it, she’d get better. So, I was constantly in the kitchen, making all sorts of stuff from a pretty young age.” Pain flickered in his eyes. “Turns out, you can’t show your love through cooking and fix someone’s struggles.”

  Jane pursed her lips together. “Chance… I’m so sorry.”

  With a flat shit-happens grin, he tilted his head toward her and met her gaze. That eye-locking connection turned a switch in her chest and maybe did something for him as well because he didn’t put up the false bravado to hide his pain. “You’d think I’d hate cooking,” he added quietly. “But, I don’t. I think she knew, and damn did my mom love me.” He glanced away for a long moment before he continued, “I cook for people I care about.”

  A knot tied in her throat, and hell, she felt like one wrong word, and she’d cry.

  Chance dropped a kiss onto the top of her head, pulled the hand towel from his shoulder, and tossed it to the counter. He cleared his throat and settled onto the chair next to her. “Ready to eat?”

  With a story like that and half a glass of wine polished off, she couldn’t do anything more than nod.

  He placed the linen napkin on his lap and began eating, a clear signal that he was done with the emotional chitchat and waited for her to do the same. The lights were low, the kitchen smelled buttery delicious, and despite her near tears, the surprisingly romantic ambiance of their dinner for two made her fall a little bit harder for him.

  He speared a piece of roast beef. “Hope you like it.”

  So tender she could cut the meet with a fork, Jane tasted it as he watched. Her eyes sank shut. Rich and flavorful and homemade. That made it even better than a Michelin-star chef-prepared meal. “Oh, my god, Chance…” She savored that first bite like she had their first kiss. For as much as she wanted both, she’d been unprepared for her intense response. “It just melts.”

  He laughed modestly and took his own bite, then nodded his approval. “Not bad.”

  “Ha,” she managed between mouthfuls.

  The conversation lingered over their dinner and refills of wine. He told her a few KP stories that made her grateful to have always had a dishwasher, and more than a few Army stories that made her wonder how he was still alive.

  As they finished their dinner and the last of the wine disappeared, Jane thanked him again for the delicious meal.

  Again, he demurred. “The kitchen isn’t what I’m used to, but I made do with what I had.”

  She laughed, and then added solemnly. “I understand. It must be hard to work with a brand-spanking new appliance.”

  His eyes scanned the kitchen. “Yeah?”

  “Oh. Yeah. The Thanes constantly remodel. New appliances right before our trip, and they’re redoing Teddy’s room for the hundredth time.”

  “Why?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I think it must be like clothes to them. Some people don’t like to be photographed in the same outfit over and over. They like to keep everything fresh for the public.”

  Lines etched across his forehead. “They let people tour their house?”

  “Oh, sorry. No.” She waved her hand in the general direction of the main sitting rooms where most of their interviews took place. “Gigi is obsessed with the production of their new miniseries documentary—you must’ve heard about that one.” How couldn’t he? Even if he didn’t follow pop culture closely, someone should’ve mentioned it to him to be aware of from a security point of view.

  “There were a lot of media appearances listed in my intel package. Past, current, and future. I was more interested in which security threats were bogus hype and which ones were real.”

  “Oh, you’re missing out on a lot of great stuff then,” Jane added with biting sarcasm. “How else will you know what shade of gray is the right shade of gray? Which five-figure double oven is best for roast beef?”

  He groaned. “I don’t think I want to know any of that.” He slid from his chair, placed their plates in the sink, and took her hand.

  Jane placed their napkins in the small laundry basket under the counter and put the silverware on top of the plates as Chance poured them more wine, handing hers back and slipping his arm around her shoulder. “I have an idea.”

  She didn’t drink much but knew the warm tingle that rolled down her spine couldn’t completely be blamed by the vino. He smelled sexy and delicious, a combination of his cooking and that familiar scent of red-blooded, hard-bodied man that she’d come to associate with him. Jane leaned into him and let Chance lead them from the kitchen into the main living room.

  The ceiling reached high above, over two stories tall, and the central focal point of the well-designed room was a massive stone fireplace in the center.

  “If I really lived here.” He faced them toward a wall, and with the lift of his glass, he pointed. “That’d have to go. I’d knock it down.” His wine glass gestured toward the hall that they’d just come from. “That one too. Maybe all of the walls over here.”

  “Why?”

  “So that the family room was a part of the kitchen.”

  Her stomach clenched, and she didn’t know what to say. “They call this the living room.” Gigi has been very specific that they didn’t have a family room.” There was the great room, the living room, several sitting rooms, a dining room, a media room, and on and on and on.

  Chance snorted his thought about that classification. “I don’t think much living has happened in this room. I’d bet my ass, not as a family.”

  How right he was…

  Chance turned them and walked across the grand open space. “And instead of that spindly little sofa thing?”

  “Something more comfortable,” she suggested.

  �
�Yeah, something that doesn’t look like it’d give a guy hemorrhoids if he wanted to kick back and watch a ball game.”

  Jane snickered. “No one wants those.”

  “I’d put in a big leather sectional instead.”

  She agreed. “One that’s big and comfy.”

  “Where the whole family could lie on and watch Sunday football games.”

  A blistering wave of awareness streaked straight to her womb. Her unsteady breath hitched, and Jane gulped from her wineglass.

  He ambled to the spindly little sofa—she’d never look at that thing again without hearing his description—and sat in the middle. With his long torso and muscular legs, he dwarfed the designer sofa as though he were a giant—a playful one. Chance wriggled on the cushion, giving it a little bounce. “Definitely a high risk for hemorrhoids over here.”

  She laughed. “Good to know.”

  He jumped up and walked over to a delicate statue precariously sitting on a narrow pedestal. Jane bit the inside of her cheek to refrain from warning him to be careful. It was ingrained in her as she constantly had to warn Teddy to “Watch out” and to “Be careful.”

  “This is probably a masterpiece, huh?” he asked.

  Her nerves settled the tiniest bit that he was aware the abstract design had major significance. “Yup.”

  He cocked his head, eyes narrowed. “How do you fill your house with breakable shit when you have kids?”

  “You don’t.” She shrugged. “Unless you’re the Thanes. Then you hire a nanny and staff to make sure things won’t break.”

  “How do you do that?” He kept his head at an angle as he studied the statue as though he were a rare art collector.

  “We stay away as much as possible.”

  With a small shake of his head, Chance drank from his glass, then asked, “Do you want kids?”

  What? Jane blinked hard as though her eyes had anything to do with her ears. She’d heard him correctly. But… what?

  He grinned and swept his wine glass in front of him. “A house this big needs a couple dozen kids.”