Thrive (Guardian Protection)

by Aly Martinez

  Johnson leaned around me and dropped his voice to a low rumble. “Would you look at that. She’s funny, sexy, and smart.” When he turned his dark gaze on me, I couldn’t exactly see Jeremy, but the air became suffocating and I thought there was a good chance that that dancing vein was about to rupture.

  My first thought again: Uh-oh!

  And then I felt Jeremy’s hand snake around me from behind and land on my hip.

  My first thought after that was: Oh my fucking god, he is totally jealous!

  “Not going to say it again,” Jeremy snarled, shifting me against his chest.

  I bit my lip to keep the smile from splitting my face.

  Johnson did not miss Jeremy’s hand or my smile. Shaking his head, he backed away. “Relax, my man. I’m just fucking with you. Leo has strictly forbidden me from making any godchildren with Mira.”

  “What?” I laughed…and kind of accused at the same time.

  Jeremy muttered, “Fucking schoolgirls.”

  Johnson shot me a wink and a one-sided smile, and before I could ask him about making godchildren, he disappeared up the stairs.

  I braced for another flare-up of my leprosy, but Jeremy kept his front flush with my back and his hand anchored at my hip.

  My breath caught in my throat when his head dipped, the short stubble on his jaw grazing my temple as he stated, “You’ve been busy today.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I closed my eyes. Then I stammered, “W-what do you mean?”

  He swayed me closer, my ass hitting his hips, and it was all I could do not to moan.

  “Making Johnson fall in love with you and cleaning my basement,” he rasped.

  My skin came alive with tingles, his heat at my back igniting a fire inside me. Keeping my eyes closed, I arched my back, pressing into him, and murmured, “He’s harmless.”

  His breath teased my neck as his hand slid around to my stomach, where he used it to rock me deeper into his curve. “Who, Sexy Guy?” he asked, his lips so close that I could feel every syllable. “That’s what you call him, right?”

  I gasped as his hand glided up, his thumb stopping so close to the bottom of my breast it caused an ache between my legs.

  “He’s just Johnson,” I whispered.

  His other hand landed on my hip, and his tall body curled forward until I was forced to curl with him. “You sure about that?”

  I turned my head toward him and his nose brushed my cheek. “Yes,” I breathed.

  “He won’t be coming back,” he announced as though I should care.

  “Okay.”

  I heard him lick his lips at my ear, and as chills shattered across my skin, nerve endings I’d long since forgotten about roared to life. One caress of his tongue at my neck or sweep of his thumb at my breast and I would have fallen apart.

  It had been too long.

  Too long since any kind of desire had found me.

  Too long since I’d longed for a man’s touch.

  Too long without him.

  “It’s not a problem if you don’t see him again, right?” he pushed.

  The ache between my legs intensified, devastating my senses. Reaching over my shoulder, I slid my hand into the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “Jeremy,” I moaned.

  “Asked you a question, Mir. Answer it.”

  I swallowed hard, a sensual smile curling my lips. “No, baby. It’s not a problem if I don’t see him again.”

  “Good,” he snapped.

  And then, all at once, he was gone.

  My eyes flew open as I glanced around the room, unsure of what the hell had just happened.

  “You didn’t have to clean, but I do appreciate it,” he said from at least ten feet away, cool and casual like I hadn’t just almost orgasmed in his arms.

  Slowly, I swiveled around to face him, my mouth hanging open, sexual tension and confusion muddling my brain. “It was…no problem.”

  Stoic, he gave me a quick head-to-toe, not even a twinkle of heat lingering in his eyes. “How’s your foot?”

  “My foot?” I asked.

  He pointed to the floor. “Your cut from this morning.”

  I blinked and then repeated, “My foot?”

  He frowned. “Never mind. Forget I asked. Look, I got your things. I found your purse, no problem, but I couldn’t find some of the shoes you asked for. The rest should be there though. I was thinking we could order in for dinner. You good with that?”

  “Uh, yeah. Fine… That’s… Jesus.” I shook my head, trying to get rid of the fog, all the while wondering if I’d imagined that entire interaction.

  Nope. My fevered skin and peaked nipples indicated that it had been one hundred percent real. Even if I was the only one who seemed remotely affected.

  He started up the stairs. “I’ll grab your stuff out of the car.”

  When I was sure he was out of earshot, I whispered, “What just happened?” Touching the spot his whiskers had scrubbed my face, I repeated, “What the fucking hell just happened?”

  Not surprisingly, no one answered.

  Well, that is if you don’t count Johnson’s voice playing in my head. “Orrrr you wanted to make sure Mira knew she wasn’t my type so she didn’t get the idea of trying to experience it for herself.”

  A sly smile lifted my lips as Jeremy’s voice in my head answered the question.

  “It’s not a problem if you don’t see him again, right?”

  Hope burst like a dam inside me.

  Oh, yes. Jeremy Lark was jealous.

  I could soooooo work with that.

  “We gonna eat sometime this century?” I yelled up the stairs.

  “I’m coming!” she called back.

  I assumed that meant she was on her way down, but my mind drifted back to the way her breathing had shuddered when I’d guided that sweet ass of hers into the bend of my hips. Jesus, the way she fit against me was nothing short of perfection. And then, when her hand had snaked up to my neck, my mouth mere inches away from hers… I was fucked. Again.

  It had taken a massive show of self-restraint not to take her to the couch and literally fuck us both.

  I reminded myself that it was just supposed to be talking, laughing, and friendship.

  Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

  I’d thought I could handle it.

  In the span of twelve hours, it had become abundantly clear that I could not.

  Over onion-and-cheese scrambled eggs, she’d given me back Mira.

  And, in turn, I’d given her back Jeremy.

  With Mira, gravity seemed lighter. Smiles came faster. Every breath was easier than the last.

  And the hardest part of experiencing all of that was that I hadn’t realized before that morning with her that gravity had been weighing me down. Or that smiles were formed through conscious effort. Or that my lungs hadn’t fully expanded in seventeen years.

  I should have kept up the asshole gig. At least then she wasn’t showing me the sweet.

  But, then again, Bitchy Mira had never fazed me much.

  A world of hurt was rolling in on me in waves. And, because it was her, my heart was all but volunteering for me to drown.

  Going out to her house and picking up her things hadn’t helped, either. My resolve was rapidly crumbling, and my anger had once again bubbled to the surface. I wanted answers. Who she was? What had she been doing for all those years? But, mainly, why had it taken fourteen years and his going to prison before she’d left Kurt?

  I’d been greeted at her house by two women who Mira had told me were Sherri and Tammy. She’d mentioned that they were strippers, though after one glance, I’d have emptied a mutual fund to pay them to keep their clothes on. They were nice enough. Chatting with me about Mira and asking a million questions about Whitney. They were the same questions Mira had asked me with tears in her eyes before I’d left. I gave them the same answers I’d given her. None. I’d called Leo and Caleb, but there was still nothing on Jonah, Whitney, or how Steve Browel and the
attempted kidnapping was linked to any of it.

  As soon as Sherri and Tammy wandered back to their bedrooms, I got to work searching Mira’s room. It was wrong on basically every level, but I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to know what I was getting myself into. Or, as I kept swearing to myself, not getting myself into.

  Top to bottom, leaving no surface untouched, I combed her room. I prayed that I’d find the hidden dregs of her life. Instead, I got slashed to the bone by the knife of reality.

  That. Fucking. Woman. She hadn’t changed at all.

  Her nightstand was overflowing with a mixture of old pay stubs and notebooks bursting at the seams with photos of lavish bars it looked like she’d printed off the internet. In the back of the folder was a handwritten ledger of what appeared to be money she’d been saving, and based on those pitiful pay stubs, it was the majority of what she brought home.

  In a box marked pictures, I steeled myself for an onslaught of Kurt Benton and their life together. Of course she would have held on to that shit. Probably crying herself to sleep, wishing she could have him back, no matter how fucked up it had been.

  But, much to my elation, all I found was Mira.

  Mira with a tiny puppy curled into her arms. Mira with a gorgeous brunette, who I knew was Whitney Sloan, tucked into her side. Mira alone, standing on the beach, her arms thrown out to her sides, her eyes aimed at the camera.

  Mira smiling. Mira laughing. Mira slaying my resolve from the other side of a fucking photograph.

  Before I left, I did a quick search through her car. The damn thing was only slightly nicer than the piece-of-shit house, but it was clean and smelled like her. In the center console, I found a volunteer badge from the Humane Society. Because, seriously, it wasn’t fucking bad enough that I knew she was living life tight, saving up all of her money to finally open the bar she’d been dreaming of since her teen years, and that she filled her walls with pictures of her friends and her favorite pet. No…I just had to fucking know that Mira York spent what little free time she had after work at the animal shelter tending to homeless dogs.

  Fuck. Me.

  And then I’d gotten back and seen her with Johnson, talking about his cock like she was his goddamn urologist. I never should have called that prick, but with all the other guys at work or off on assignments, he’d been the only man I trusted to keep her safe. I hadn’t been thinking straight when I’d pulled her into my arms and essentially pissed a circle around her. Or maybe I had been thinking, because in that second, there had been nothing in the world that could have stopped me from claiming her.

  But that was the thing. Mira had never been mine.

  I needed to remind myself of that.

  Silently cursing, I made my way back to the kitchen and got busy organizing dinner. For a broke girl from Alabama, she’d always ordered a small feast when we’d gotten Chinese. Sweet and sour chicken, salt and pepper shrimp, crab ragoon, spring roll (not to be confused with an eggroll), and egg drop soup. I only remembered because I’d fucking loved all of it and it had taken me years to be able to stomach any of it again.

  My phone rang on the counter, my girls’ gorgeous faces glowing on the screen. I instantly picked it up. “Well, hello, sweeties,” I cooed, aiming the camera at my face.

  “Daddy!” they squealed in unison.

  I missed my babies. It was supposed to be my weekend with them, but after bringing Mira home, I’d had to call Melissa and switch. She’d assumed it was because of the half-ass bullet through my shoulder, and I had not corrected her. My ability to argue with a woman had been depleted thanks to the one upstairs, taking her sweet time to get ready. No way I was getting into shit with Mel over another woman. She had a boyfriend, so she probably wouldn’t have lost her mind like she would have a few months earlier, but it was not a risk I was willing to take. Especially considering that she knew all about Mira.

  “What are you crazies doing tonight?” I asked my babies.

  Sophie’s face nearly vibrated as she exclaimed, “Brent is taking us to da toy store! He said we can pick out anything we want.”

  Amelia’s face popped on to the screen, shoving her sister out of the way. “Anything!”

  I turned my head to the side so the girls couldn’t see me roll my eyes. Of course he was. He’d been laying down a shit-ton of cash, trying to buy his way in with the girls since Mel had introduced them to him almost a month ago. We’d talked about it first. I’d met him. He seemed like a decent guy. Not exactly the definition of masculinity I wanted watching over my girls, but he paid for Wednesday night dinner with a black American Express card that told me he could at least afford a top-notch alarm system if and when he ever moved Mel in with him. I supposed spoiling my girls wasn’t the worst flaw a stepfather could have.

  I mocked excitement. “Anything?”

  “Yes!” They giggled.

  I shook my head and barked a laugh at their excitement. “He taking you to dinner too?”

  They nodded eagerly.

  I moved the phone closer to my face and whispered, “Order the lobster.”

  They looked at each other. “What’s that?”

  Smirking, I continued to whisper, “Only the most delicious—”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Melissa interrupted. “Tell Daddy you love him,’ she said, taking the phone from the twins.

  “Love you!” they called unison.

  “Love you too!” I called back.

  Melissa’s deep-green eyes appeared on the screen, a scowl covering her face. “Lobster, Jeremy. Really?”

  I laughed. “What? It’s good for them to experiment with new foods.”

  The background was a blur as she moved through the house, her red hair brushing the top of her shoulders. “I’ll be sure to remind you of that next time you’re footing the bill.”

  I grinned. “No way. I’m still working on carrot sticks and broccoli while I’ve got ’em. I think we should let our good pal Brent handle the surf and turf.”

  She let out a tiny laugh and then narrowed her eyes on the screen. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “It’s good.” I nabbed my beer off the counter and tipped it to my lips.

  “Oh my god. Are you supposed to be drinking? You know mixing painkillers and—”

  “Mel, it’s a scratch. I’m not on any painkillers. Leave it alone. I promise I’m okay.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, and you promised me before we got married when I begged you to come work for my dad that you’d never get shot.”

  I shrugged. “Still haven’t broken that promise.”

  She scoffed. “Whatever.” Suddenly, her eyes narrowed and her face twisted. Mel’s being a bitch wasn’t something new, but it still shocked the shit out of me when she said, “I’ll let you go. Tell the trollop of the week that it’s safe to come out now. The mean old wife is gone.”

  “Trollop?” I repeated in confusion, but she’d already hit the end button.

  “Shit,” Mira whispered from behind me.

  I spun and found her standing at the base of the stairs, embarrassment pinking her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I promise. I just didn’t want to interrupt.”

  I opened my mouth to let her off the hook and apologize for Melissa, but the words died on my tongue the minute I raked my gaze down her body.

  Ho. Lee. Shit.

  My body locked up tight, and I immediately regretted going to her apartment to get her stuff. I could deal with Mira in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. I could even deal with her prancing around in my clothes while hers were being washed.

  I could not deal with this though. Hell, a room full of celibate monks couldn’t deal with this.

  Her straight hair was now hanging in thick, chunky curls, and her makeup was subtle, more of a highlight to her beauty rather than a mask. She was wearing a pair of dark washed jeans that sat low on her hips, which were capped off by a pair of black patent leather heels that made her already long legs so
mehow longer. And the farther up her body I got, the worse—and better—the Mira York package became. Her bright-pink top was made of some type of silky material that looked fucking incredible in contrast to her dark hair and her tan skin, but what really pushed me over the edge was the way it dipped into a deep V in the front and exposed a generous—and entirely dangerous—line of cleavage. On any other woman, it would have been sexy. On Mira? It was mouthwatering.

  I gave her my back and tilted my beer high for a long draw that ended entirely too quickly.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, sauntering into the kitchen.

  No, it fucking wasn’t.

  “Yeah,” I replied, snatching the fridge open. I went for another beer, wishing that it were a pint of tequila instead. “You want a beer?” I asked roughly.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her lean her spectacular ass against the counter and cross her legs at the ankle.

  “That’d be great, Jeremy.” Smooth. Soft. Seductive.

  Shoot me!

  I bit the inside of my cheek and bent to retrieve a bottle of beer off the bottom shelf. After twisting off the top, I passed it her way. “Why’d you get all dressed up? I told you we’re staying in.”

  “So?” she replied, tipping the beer to her lips but keeping her gaze leveled on me.

  Fuck. That was sexy too.

  “So…we’re staying in?” I said.

  She offered the beer back to me. “And?”

  Without thinking, I swiped it from her hand and took another long, deep draw, desperate for the alcohol to numb the voice in my head that was screaming for me to take her in my arms—and then plant myself between her legs.

  Tears filled her eyes even as she smiled impossibly wide.

  I passed the beer back. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered, shaking her head.

  She took another sip and passed it back.

  We stared at each other for several seconds.

  She blinked, her long, black lashes torturing me.

  I blinked, trying to get a read on her.

  This went on for a while.

  Suddenly, she became unstuck from the counter and moved to the food. “Jesus, are you feeding the whole street?” Her hair curtained her face off, blocking my view as she asked, “Is that egg drop soup?”