Let her go, asshole.
But his fingers didn’t want to obey him. Her hair against his skin felt like the brush of magic and the way her body was leaning into his was making him dizzy. Fuck, this was such a bad move. It had been too long for him and she felt . . . incredible. So insanely good.
She looked too out of it to push herself away from him, which meant he was going to have to do it. And he would. Any minute now . . .
Her gaze had drifted down to his mouth and he could see the pulse at her throat. It was fast and getting faster by the second. He wanted to put his hand on it like he had back in the nightclub, feel it beneath his fingers, taste it with his tongue. It would taste like sugar, he just knew it.
Let. Her. Go.
No.
Didn’t you hear me giving orders, Marine?
Holy fuck. What the hell was she doing to him?
Gritting his teeth, Jack forced himself to open his hand and release her hair. Then he forced himself to step back, to get some space between them so he could figure out where the fuck his control had gone.
Callie’s cheeks had gone a deep rose and she lifted a hand to her mouth, shock written all over her face. Then abruptly her expression cleared and her jaw hardened. She lifted her chin, and he could see a small green spark of anger light in her eyes, though whether it was directed at him or at herself, he had no idea.
“The other thing I wanted to say is that I don’t like having my home invaded and I’d like some privacy,” she went on as if she hadn’t risen up on her toes and kissed him. Except her voice betrayed her, all husky and soft and rough, sending a pulse of satisfaction through him that he knew he had no right to feel. “And since there are new locks on all the doors and the windows, I’m sure you won’t mind going out for a few hours and leaving me in p-peace.”
His instinct was to refuse, because sure, the house might be secure, but nothing was foolproof. Then again, Christ knew he needed some space himself and getting away from her for a couple of hours suddenly didn’t sound like such a bad idea.
“Fine,” he said. “Two hours max. That’s all I’ll allow, understand?”
Surprise flashed across her face, as if she hadn’t expected him to agree, but then that vanished. “Two hours. Okay.”
He moved over to where his kit bag was sitting beside the couch, sitting down to put his boots on. “You won’t open the door to anyone. You won’t even answer if anyone pushes the buzzer. And you have my number if anything goes wrong.” He bent to tie up the laces. “And keep away from the windows. You understand why, right?”
She folded her arms across her chest in a protective gesture. “What? Just in case anyone shoots me through the glass?”
There was sarcasm edging her tone, but he didn’t say anything, only looked at her. She shifted her attention away and he found his gaze dropping down to the soft blue T-shirt she wore pulled tight across her breasts, outlining the hard points of her nipples.
Fucking hell.
Desire twisted inside him, low and vicious, his jeans feeling suddenly three sizes too small.
This was madness and he had to get the fuck out of here before he lost it.
Finishing up with his boots, he reached for his leather jacket, which was sitting on top of his kit bag, and put it on. “You have two hours,” he reminded her. “Then I’ll be back.”
She nodded, her attention on the floor, her hair falling forward over her shoulders, veiling her face with gold.
He wanted to run his hands through it, feel it on his skin. Feel it catch against the calluses there and pull. Would she like it if he did that? Would it make her eyes glow blue? Would she fight him? Show him that steel?
Move.
“We’ll discuss that kiss then,” he added roughly as he went to the door, because regardless of his own reaction, he knew why she’d kissed him. And he’d be fucked if he was going to let her get away with using those kinds of tactics against him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice what you were trying to do. And next time, remember this: Using sex to get me to do what you want is a really, really stupid idea.”
She kept her gaze on the floor and didn’t move, but he knew she’d heard him, because her shoulders were stiff and tense.
Good. Let her think about that for the next couple of hours.
Pulling open the door, Jack stepped outside without another word.
It was cold as fuck out, but he ignored the snow falling around him, making sure the door had locked the way it should have behind him. Then he grabbed his keys from his pocket and went to find his rental car.
He spent the next couple of hours at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, not so much to look at the art, but to take a look at the museum’s security.
He’d gotten hold of Callie’s schedule and tomorrow she had a number of appointments that involved her actually leaving her house. Her father had okayed them, which meant Jack was going to need to go with her.
Tomorrow included a lunch and yet another evening function following it. The evening function was to be held at the museum and Jack had always been intending to go and take a look at the place beforehand, speak to the security staff there.
It didn’t take him all that long and afterward he checked out the restaurant where the lunch was going to be held, plus the surrounding area just to be on the safe side.
As he was getting back in his car in preparation to get back to Callie’s his phone went off and when he glanced down at the display, he saw it was the senator calling him.
Shit. What could that be about?
He leaned back in his seat and hit the accept button. “What can I do for you, Senator?”
“Just checking in with the security upgrade at Callie’s house.” The guy sounded brisk and to the point. “Everything go as planned?”
“Yeah, no problems.”
“Good. Also, regarding those cameras you pulled out. We haven’t managed to track down who’s responsible yet and I don’t like it. Since I’m not sure if doubling her security detail is the way to go, I want you to do something else for me. I’m thinking we need to put the cameras back.”
A cold shock went down Jack’s spine, though he couldn’t have said why. “I’m sorry?” he asked, just to be sure. “You want me to put the cameras back?”
“New ones,” the senator replied. “As high spec as you can get. One in the living room, the bedroom, and the kitchen should be enough. Where the windows are.”
It wasn’t a surprising request. Hell, from a security point of view it even made sense, because having a real-time feed of Callie’s living spaces would make checking on her security even easier. Yet . . . something about it made that damn bad feeling of his twitch like a bastard.
“She won’t be too happy with that.” He stared out at the snow falling all around the car. “She was upset when I discovered—”
“My daughter’s feelings on the subject don’t interest me, King.” The senator’s voice had taken on a cold edge. “In fact, they needn’t impact at all, especially since you’re not going to tell her that you’re reinstalling them.”
Wait. What?
Jack let out a silent breath. “You don’t want her to know they’re there?”
“I believe that’s what I said.”
“Why?” The word came out before he could stop it. “The cameras are for security. I’m sure she won’t—”
“I’m not interested in your thoughts on the subject either.” The senator was icy. “Do as you’re told and install the cameras. Then let me know when the feeds are up and running.”
Jack opened his mouth to argue, because clearly, he was a fucking idiot who didn’t give a shit about his job, but there was nothing to argue with but silence as the senator cut the call.
Slowly Jack lowered the phone from his ear and looked down at it, the cold in his gut refusing to go away. Asking Jack to reinstall those cameras was one thing, but asking him not to tell Callie? That was . . . fucking weird.
Why wouldn’t her fat
her want Callie to know they were there? The idea was an uncomfortable one and Jack couldn’t help thinking back to when he’d told Callie initially about the cameras. How shocked she’d been. How pale she’d gone. And then there was her whole territorial behavior when it came to her house. She was fiercely protective of it, that was obvious, leaving him in no doubt that his presence was unwanted and unwelcome.
Except of course the moment when he’d realized that he hadn’t closed the bathroom door properly, and he’d felt the definite pressure of her gaze on him.
Knowing when he was being watched was something he’d picked up in the military and it had come in useful on more than one occasion after he’d returned to civilian life. And he’d felt her presence from the moment she’d paused and looked through the door. It had been a strange moment too, because it was the first time since he’d come out of the hospital that a woman who wasn’t part of the medical hierarchy had looked at his naked body.
He’d liked it, couldn’t deny that. But of course, she probably couldn’t see the whole of him from where she’d stood, so he’d turned to show her his side and the dragon he’d had tattooed up it that guarded his scars. It had been a test of sorts, he had to admit that to himself.
He wasn’t ashamed of those scars and he was curious to see her reaction.
Her breathing had caught, he’d heard it since his hearing was acute. And she hadn’t walked away . . .
Why the fuck are you thinking about this now?
Jack blinked at the snow. Good fucking point. He had other, more important things to worry about than Callie’s reaction to his scars, especially when nothing—nothing—was going to happen between them.
His hand dropped to his hip and he rubbed absently at it, the ache that went bone deep beginning to set in again. Fucking winter. Fucking Boston.
What the hell was he going to do about those cameras? Everything in him told him they were a bad idea and he’d always listened to his gut. That instinct had gotten him out of more than one dangerous situation on numerous occasions, so not listening to it now would be stupid.
After a moment he cycled through his contacts for the 11th Hour’s number, then paused. Shit. No, he had to be careful about this.
Sticking his phone back in his pocket, he got out of the car and took a quick walk up the street to the store he’d passed by on the way back from the museum. He went in and found what he was looking for, paying cash for it, then he went out on the sidewalk and took the cheap phone out of its packaging.
It was charged and ready, so after discarding the packaging into the nearest trash can, he entered the 11th Hour’s number.
“Who the fuck is this?” Kellan demanded on the fifth ring.
“It’s Jack. I’m on a burner.”
There was a moment’s hesitation. “Shit. That sounds serious.”
Jack began walking back to his car, ignoring the snow that was falling all around him and settling on his shoulders. “I’m not sure yet. Call it a precaution.”
“Uh-huh. So what’s the problem?”
“I need your opinion. I found a whole bunch of cameras on a security sweep on the senator’s daughter’s house. No one knew they were there, so I took them out. The Hawthorne security team are having difficulty tracking down who’s responsible, and now the senator wants me to reinstall more cameras. And he doesn’t want his daughter to know.”
“Okay,” Kellan’s voice sounded unconcerned. “And how is that a problem? Maybe he doesn’t want to have any fucking arguments.”
“Don’t you find that suspicious?” Jack scowled against the falling snow. “That he doesn’t want his daughter to know he has cameras in her house?”
“Is she difficult? I mean, it’s a security issue, right? Fuck, if it was my daughter, I’d have cameras everywhere I could put ’em.”
Shit, this wasn’t helping. He could see Kellan’s point and on the surface it all sounded perfectly legit. A man wanted to keep his daughter safe and was doing everything he could to ensure that. And if Jack hadn’t met Callie, maybe he’d have agreed. Her life was worth more than her right to privacy.
But he had met her, and even though he didn’t know her all that well, he’d seen the fear in her eyes. Something had happened to put it there, he knew it in his bones. Something she didn’t want to tell him.
Okay, so he could tell Kellan about his suspicions, but he had a feeling the guy wouldn’t want to know unless Jack could offer him more than just a bad feeling. Especially given this concerned the daughter of a powerful politician.
No, it would be best to wait until he could pin something down, get some kind of proof rather than a whole lot of assumptions based on the scared look of a socialite.
“Fine,” he said curtly. “I’ll keep you posted.” Then he disconnected the call.
Putting the burner phone back in his pocket, he continued toward the car, turning his next move over in his head.
He needed proof. He needed to talk to Callie, see what he could get out of her. The senator wanted those cameras installed ASAP though, which meant he was going to have to put the guy off until he had something more substantial than suspicion.
It was going to take some tricky maneuvering, especially since the senator wasn’t a guy who took no for an answer. But still, one thing he was sure about: He wasn’t putting cameras in Callie’s house until he was sure of her father’s motives.
Isn’t her safety more important than her feelings about it?
Well, of course it was. Then again, he couldn’t protect her if she didn’t trust him and if she found out that the cameras were back without her knowledge, what little trust they had would be gone.
Yeah, but you know she’s never going to trust you. And she’s right not to.
A cold feeling that had nothing to do with the snow falling outside coiled right down low inside him, the icy lick of memory. Of a dark room and a man bending over the bed next to him. The sound of small feet kicking against the mattress. Kicking and kicking before falling still. So very still . . .
Jack snarled silently as he got into the car, ignoring the memory. Ignoring the sudden vicious pain that stabbed at his hip.
Fuck, the sooner he finished the job and got out of Boston the better.
* * *
Callie resisted the urge to smooth the azure silk of her gown and tried to keep her hands resting quietly in her lap. Her palms were damp and the last thing she wanted was to get sweat marks on the fabric.
Jack sat beside her, silent yet radiating lethal menace, the way he’d been doing all day.
They were in the car on the way to one of her father’s fundraisers at the Boston MFA and she was dreading it.
The lunch she’d had to attend earlier that day had been ghastly, but at least she hadn’t had her father in attendance. Tonight though, she’d have no such luck. He would be there and so would her mother, and then when she joined them, she’d have to go through the farce of pretending they were a close and loving family, playing the part of supportive daughter.
She was good at playing that part—she’d been doing it for years—but it always took work and left her feeling drained afterward. It was heavy, that armor, and sometimes it felt like it had become part of her. Fused to the person she really was deep inside, weighing her down, crushing her.
It had only been those nights when she was able to sneak away to dance that she felt like herself, that she felt free. And now she couldn’t even do that.
You feel like yourself when you’re fighting with Jack.
That thought made a small shock pulse through her, made her fingers curl around the clutch she held in her lap.
She didn’t want to think about the kiss she’d given him the day before. Didn’t want to think about how his mouth had felt on hers or how hard his chest had felt as she’d pressed her palms against it. She didn’t want to think about the scent of him, freshly showered and smelling of soap, with something hot and spicy underneath it. Something that made her want to turn h
er face into his neck and breathe him in.
She didn’t want to think of his fingers in her hair and how he’d pulled her head back with a kind of firm gentleness that had made her knees weak, or of the way he’d looked down at her, the deep forest green of his eyes glittering. Staring at her as if he’d seen right into the heart of her and knew every secret in her soul.
And that she wanted him to know.
Her feelings, already tangled and confused and raw, had knotted even tighter in that moment and she’d tried to cover her mistake—because kissing him had, indeed, been a mistake. And luckily, he’d pulled back and let her go, agreeing to leave the house and let her have a couple of blissful hours where she was completely and utterly alone for the first time in days.
Of course, the moment he’d come home, she’d braced herself for some kind of conversation about that kiss, but he hadn’t mentioned the topic, seemingly preoccupied. Even today, following her around as she went about her charity duties, he hadn’t mentioned it. Almost as if he was pretending it hadn’t happened just like she was.
It should have been a relief to her, because God knew she didn’t want to talk about it, but it wasn’t relief that she felt. It was almost . . . frustration, which made no sense at all.
Then again, everything to do with Jack seemed to make no sense—her own actions least of all—and she was tired of thinking about it.
She glanced at him like she couldn’t help herself, like her attention was a compass needle and he was true north, and then wished she hadn’t.
He was suited up tonight, as befitting the occasion, and had a Bluetooth earpiece in one ear so he could stay in contact with the rest of the Hawthorne security team. And even though the dark suit should have made him look civilized, it really didn’t. Instead it seemed to draw attention to those scars on his face and the sharp green glitter in his eyes, to the width of his shoulders and the broad expanse of his chest. Making him seem sleek and dangerous and predatory, like a jungle panther on the prowl.
You want him.
Callie blinked and tore her gaze away, conscious that her pulse had accelerated and her mouth was tingling. That kiss she didn’t want to think about was still in her head and she couldn’t get rid of the memory. His mouth on hers, hot and firm, and the feel of his chest beneath her hands. The heat of his body and the casual strength in his fingers as he’d tugged her head back.
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