by Em Petrova
“Don’t get out of the car. Let me move you.”
Exhaustion settled over her, but she felt the heavy aftereffects of performing yet another rescue. As much stamina as the characters she played displayed, Sloane was sorry to admit she didn’t have the same. Usually she slept for many hours afterward, and felt drugged for up to a week.
North circled the car, and she noted how engrossed he was in his job of protecting her. The sharp attention, the swing of his head and the way his shoulders tensed would all turn her on in much different circumstances.
He opened her door and assisted her to her feet. She didn’t fully register her surroundings until her feet swished through grass. North hurried her into a small house with white trim and pots of flowers flanking the door. He enclosed them inside and positioned his spine against the door. She heard the lock click.
He gave her a stern look. “Now you’re going to take my recommendations, Sloane. All right?”
She snorted. “That sounds like more of a command.”
He pointed to a sofa. “Lie down there. I’m going to fix you something to eat.”
Too tired to put up a fight, she drifted to the sofa and curled up on her side. North revolved past her scope of vision as he did a sweep of the house and then vanished into what must be the kitchen. She heard pots clanking.
She didn’t realize her eyes had slipped closed until he brushed her arm. She pushed herself into a sitting position, legs tucked beneath her.
“It’s only canned chicken soup, but it’s all I could fix quickly.”
She looked away from the tray he held with a bowl of steaming soup, a plate holding a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tea and focused on North’s face. “Thank you.” Her voice came out rusty from disuse.
He settled the tray on her lap, and she felt her stomach come to life, panging with hunger at the scent of the homey food. While she dunked the teabag in her hot water and added some sugar, North sat in a chair and watched her.
“You’re not eating?” she asked.
“I’ll grab something in a bit.”
“You don’t have to take care of me like this.”
“It’s my job.”
She arched a brow. “I thought your job is to keep me from being attacked.”
“And other things. I’m trained in mental health too.”
“And you cook too.” She bit into the sandwich and moaned at the gooey cheese filling her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, and he watched her polish off the sandwich with relish.
“I can make you another,” he said.
She shook her head. “The soup will fill me up. Thank you for the sandwich. I don’t think I’ve had one since my grandma died.”
He contemplated her for a moment, looking as if he wanted to ask a question. He didn’t speak as she finished her soup. He took the tray away and set it on a table, and she curled her fingers around her mug of tea.
North’s stare told her that this time she saw she wouldn’t slip out of answering his questions. She readied herself.
“How long have you been rescuing girls, Sloane?”
She met his direct stare. “About a year.”
He shook his head. “You realize how damn dangerous this is, right?”
Burying her nose in her mug, she said, “Yes.”
“Still you do it. Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Hell,” he grated out.
She grew mesmerized by the flicker of the tendon in the crease of his jaw.
“How many girls have you saved?”
“Six. Seven with Lauren.”
His brows hiked upward. “That many?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus. That’s seven what…husbands? child abusers?...who could have harmed you?”
She swallowed. Should she tell him about John Flint? There was no use in holding back now.
“The man who runs this ring has been the most difficult for me to stay a step ahead of.”
North rubbed a hand over his face. “Tell me. All of it.”
She did, starting at the beginning with how she had tracked down John Flint and saw money change hands between him and a coarse-looking man. She followed the man to the lane leading to his home, and then hours later saw him leave. When he returned, he had a young girl with him.
“So it’s a child marriage business.”
“Yes.”
His jaw clenched again, showing off the sharp angles. Low in her belly, her body took notice.
“How did you know what was going on? Why did you go looking for this in the first place?” he asked.
She stared at him.
“Sloane, I can’t help you if I don’t know everything.”
The long hours on the road, the fear of being caught during Lauren’s rescue and her own plight with the oil drillers finally broke her down. She dipped her head, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
In a flash, North shot off the chair and dropped down beside her. He didn’t touch her, but just his presence helped the words spill forth.
“I was looking for my sister,” she said quietly.
“Oh fuck. Your sister was sold into marriage too?”
She nodded, and a choked sniffle escaped her. He took the tea from her hands, set it aside and gathered her against his chest as she crumbled to pieces.
The solid feel of his chest pillowing her cheek and his strong arms gave her a sensation of safety. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she was helpless to stop them as she blurted the story of her sister being sold and how she never found her.
“I can’t stop looking, North. I have to find her. Somehow, some way.”
He ran his hand down her spine, tugging her closer. She gripped on to his shirt and drew in a deep, shaky breath. His masculine scent filled her nose, bringing her even more comfort.
“You’re so damn brave, do you know that? I don’t know many who would take off in search of a sister let alone save other girls from the same fate.” His lips moved against her hair. The sensation sent chills skittering over her arms.
He slid his hand down over her arm and discovered the bumps. Then he reached over the arm of the sofa and drew down a throw blanket. He wrapped it around her and then pulled her back into the wreath of his arms. “I’ll help you find your sister, Sloane. But you have to promise me that you won’t take this matter into your own hands anymore. You have to trust me to move the right people in to end it.”
The thought of never having to go out on another hunt for a teenage girl raised a sob of relief in her chest.
“Christ, woman.” He yanked her across his lap and enfolded her tight against him.
She held on to her control until the worst of her emotions passed, but she remained limp in North’s hold, too comfortable and exhausted to consider moving. He brushed her hair from her cheek, and using his knuckles beneath her chin, raised her head to look at him.
“I’ll find your sister. I promise you.”
“Thank you.” Her voice wobbled.
Holding her stare, he stroked her hair, over and over, his thumb brushing her cheek with each pass and drawing something new to the surface of her being. She rested a hand on his broad chest. The muscles there felt taut, steel brought to life. Wanting to explore, she eased her hand down his chest until she nearly reached his abs, and then up again.
He curled his hand around her nape and brought her head down on his chest. As he tucked her beneath his jaw, she felt his body harden. His thighs were iron under hers, and his arms banded around her in a way she’d never been held before.
Her breaths came faster, and she felt his chest heave with his own breath. She rarely gave herself up to such feelings of attraction or arousal—in her business, much of it she found to be false. Men liked her because of her fame. Actors she worked with fell in love with the roles she played and knew nothing of her real personality.
As far as men went… Well, it wasn’t the first time she became aware that North hit all the high points for her. Bei
ng in his arms now left her with both a feeling of being protected but also—strangely—cherished.
His hand stopped moving on her spine, and she issued a soft noise.
“Hell,” he ground out so quietly she only heard it as a rumble in his chest.
Gently, he shifted her off his lap and onto the sofa. He tucked the blanket around her, but she had a feeling he avoided looking at her.
“Try to sleep a little while, okay? Are you comfortable here or do you want to move to the bedroom?”
The idea of being behind a closed door without him nearby roused a knife of panic in her chest. “I’m good here.”
His gaze traveled over her body and hair. Finally, he met her eyes. A spark of electricity zapped between them—or at least she felt it on her end.
His throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m just going to fix myself something to eat and then I need to talk to my people. I need more information if I’m going to protect a woman who has two groups of people after her.”
She tightened her lips in the closest she could come to a smile. Her body began to sink into the cushions, fatigue overtaking her.
When he gave her a quirk of his lips in return, she held on to the sight and replayed it in her mind several times after he walked away. She closed her eyes to the memory of being in North’s arms.
Several moments later, she opened them. The man hummed as he cooked. She smelled the butter frying and heard a low tune emanating from the kitchen. The refrigerator opened and closed.
Then she heard his low rumble of speech as he spoke to somebody in tones too quiet for her to make out the words.
He appeared in the doorway and looked at her. Her body warmed at his heavy stare. Then he moved away again.
At last, he returned to sit across from her. “You didn’t sleep,” he said.
“No.” She sat up and curled into the corner of the sofa again.
“I’m going to tell you something, but only because I prefer to keep my wards apprised of the situation they’re in.”
Nerves hit her, and she balled her hands under the blanket still draped over her lap. “Okay.”
“When we left your apartment, somebody snapped a photo of us leaving.”
Her mind shot to the black wig and man’s jacket. “They saw through the disguise.”
He nodded.
“Now they know what you look like!” Her voice rose a notch.
“It’s all right, Sloane. They might be looking for a man who looks like me, but I can be anything I want. I only wanted you to be updated on what’s happening around you. I don’t like surprises for my wards. But don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re safe here for the night, maybe two. I’ll keep watch on the situation. Right now, I think you should take one of the beds.”
* * * * *
North always found it difficult to sleep when on a mission. The idea of being unconscious—and therefore vulnerable—didn’t set well with him. Besides, he was never good at sleeping in unfamiliar places. Some of his fellow brothers in the Church could lean against a wall, close their eyes and wake refreshed, but not him.
Many probably possessed the ability to sleep on command because they served in the wars. North didn’t enlist for armed forces. Instead, he chose a computer science major in college, and he hadn’t even completed his degree.
Early on, he stepped in on the ground floor of a tech company that saw merit in his mind, and when they struck a government deal, he was quickly recruited. After a year serving the FBI and tracking intel and criminals, he met Oz. It didn’t take him two heartbeats before he realized he wanted to be part of The Guard, and the rest was history.
He stared at the dark ceiling and threw out his senses on that continuous sweep of the house he made in his mind. Refrigerator hum. Buzz of an outdoor light. Creak of the bed in the other room as his ward turned over.
She wasn’t sleeping well either, if the squeaks coming from her room were any indication. Her flip-flopping had him on alert all night, wondering what he could do to make her more comfortable. What he—
His cracked bedroom door opened even farther. He shot a look at it, prepared to reach for his weapon on the nightstand, but he saw Sloane enter.
On light feet, she crossed the room and climbed into bed beside him.
Shock tore through his gut. What the hell. He didn’t deal with missions as often as the other guys did, but he never heard one of them talk about a ward climbing into bed with them. Of course, the interaction between the wards and guards was off-limits, and they’d keep their mouths shut if such a thing did happen.
He kept his breathing still and even as Sloane eased under the covers. When she scooted even closer, the scorch of her body heat reminded him he slept only in boxers. She gave a quiet coo. Great—now his dick was growing hard too—and finally, the woman rested her head on his shoulder.
Christ, how did he even pretend to sleep through such a thing? Especially when the beautiful woman melted against him?
“I know you’re awake,” she whispered.
“Yes.” His mouth felt as dry as a Middle Eastern desert.
“Is it okay if I lie here? I can’t sleep.”
“It’s fine.” Her words flexed his heart, and he slipped his arm beneath her, drawing her into a more comfortable position. How the hell would he survive being this close to a soft, needy woman? He ground his teeth.
“Want to talk about it?” His body woke up fully to the curves pressed to him.
She settled her hand on his chest, curling her fingers into his hair as if she’d done it a thousand times. He dragged in a breath, but the oxygen seemed to have exited the room.
“I was thinking about my sister,” she said softly.
“Go on.” Any conversation would distract him. Hell, if she told him about her dead grandma, he’d welcome the story right now.
“Scarlett’s four years younger than me. Growing up in the summers, we were rarely inside. We liked to go down to the creek and wade on hot days, which was every day. Usually, it ended in a splash fight.”
He swallowed hard against the image of a wet Sloane right now, plastered to his almost naked body.
“We always had chores to do around the house, especially after Momma left, but they never seemed too bad when we split the work. We made it fun to hang clothes on the line or scrub floors.”
“It sounds as if you have a strong bond with her.”
She nodded against his shoulder, soft hair stroking over his skin—and senses. Her fingers toyed over the hair on his chest, and fuck if she wasn’t making him harder. He reached up and covered her hand with his own, stilling it. She issued a soft sigh and remained still and silent for a moment.
“North…”
“Yes?”
“I’m afraid.”
Christ.
He turned to face her. Through the darkness, he still made out her features easily. Damn if he could keep his hand from moving either. He cupped her face and stared into her eyes. “I’ll protect you.”
Not ravish you. Fuck.
“Tell me your worst fear.”
She let her gaze skitter downward, granting him a view of her long lashes that weren’t one bit fake, and he thought he even detected a few freckles spattered over her nose.
“I’m afraid I’ll never see Scarlett again. And that if I can’t save these other girls from the same fate, I’m letting down so many families who feel the same way I do.”
“We’ll find her, Sloane.” Still holding her hand, he smoothed his thumb over hers.
“I’m afraid that people won’t want to cast me in any roles after this. If one movie can send the world into a tailspin…”
“And you would lose your livelihood.”
“Yes, but I’m only worried that I won’t have the funds to continue helping those girls.”
Hell, this woman was so amazing. Did she even have a clue of how extraordinary she was?
She gave a shiver, and he drew her closer, pressing his lips to her for
ehead. The act threw him, making him both hard and hot at the same time, his balls throbbing and his chest burning with something unnamed at the same time.
She stiffened at the caress. Aware she didn’t want that kind of comfort, he leaned away and rolled onto his back.
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to help them. My agency can help too. We can find some government programs or—” He stopped abruptly as Sloane leaned up on one arm. Hovering over him, her hair a dark waterfall tumbling down to his chest, she couldn’t be more goddamn alluring.
“North. I like being in your arms. This might sound weird, but you’re the closest thing I have to a friend.”
Could he do as she asked and offer comfort by holding her alone? It would be a long night, but for her peace of mind, he could manage.
He opened his arms, and she slipped into them. They remained that way, locked in each other’s embrace, for long, heart-pounding minutes. Each small shift she made, every breath she took, he felt himself react. If she moved to the left, he moved with her. If she sighed, he drew in a deep breath as if his body provided her the most room, the most comfort, possible.
When she slid her hand down his chest, he followed it without thinking. Big mistake—she stopped on his abs, just above the waistband of his boxers.
“North…”
His throat clicked when he swallowed. “Yes?”
“Is that your first name or your last? Or maybe it isn’t your real name at all.”
“Bodhi,” he grated out. “My first name is Bodhi.”
“Bodhi North. I like it.”
“Thanks. Is your real name Sloane Sailor?” He already knew it was—he’d done enough research on her that he knew it all—or so he’d believed before she told him about saving young women from a marriage mart.
“Yes, I should have changed it. I don’t want any ties to my father.”
He had to speak up. “I found almost nothing about your family background.”
“You researched me? Of course you had to. My fans only care about my makeup routine or what ab exercises I do. They don’t care about family unless my dad’s a big producer or rock-star.”
He saw that well enough—tabloids never discussed stars’ siblings or parents, and something like a father selling a daughter off to be married got buried.