He gave a pained groan as he adjusted the bulge of his cock as it throbbed painfully inside his jeans. So long and thick. So hot. So damned full, his balls ached to bursting with his need to come.
Guess his right hand was going to be working overtime again tonight.
And all the time it did, Callie would be just feet away, making any release he gave himself as hollow as hell, when he would much rather come inside Callie.
Lijah gave another groan as he buried his face in both his hands. He had intended to punish Callie, and instead he was the one who was going to be left in a state of unsatisfied agony all night.
No doubt Callie would label that deserved retribution.
Bastard.
Bastard, bastard, bastard.
Callie had lost count of the amount of times she had called Lijah that during the past two hours as she lay awake in one of the two guest bedrooms at her aunt and uncle’s house. Lijah occupied the second one.
He was gone from this bedroom by the time Callie emerged from the bathroom, face scrubbed of all evidence of her humiliated tears.
While she had been gone, Lijah had found and lit a small night-light candle and placed it on the bedside table, allowing her to see her bag was also sitting on top of the bed. Obviously, he had been out to the car to collect it and no doubt his own bag too.
She presumed, as the door across the hallway was firmly closed, that he must have moved into that bedroom. She’d also heard the shower in the en-suite bathroom in there being used an hour or so ago.
He needn’t have bothered with that closed door on her account. Callie had no intentions of going anywhere near him again tonight. Ever again, if she could help it. Which, in the circumstances, she obviously couldn’t.
Bastard.
How was she supposed to sleep when she was so angry, she just wanted to hit something, someone?
Oh, just admit it, Callie, it isn’t just anger keeping you awake, you’re also frustrated as hell.
She had no idea what it was about Lijah Smith that attracted her so much there hadn’t been a single thought of denial in her head when he started kissing her. He was rude and bad-tempered. He never smiled—well, just that once earlier, and it had been enough to cause her heart to palpitate.
He also had that stubble back on his jaw by the time they arrived in Washington. Callie liked the cleft in his chin revealed by his shave earlier, but she liked the stubble more.
The same stubble that had added to her arousal earlier as it rasped pleasurably against the flesh between her thighs—
This really wasn’t helping!
She was never going to sleep tonight when she couldn’t stop thinking about bloody Lijah Smith.
Was that even his name?
Lijah had to be short for Elijah, although he had vehemently insisted it was just Lijah when asked. And Smith? Really?
She knew her father applied the policy “don’t ask, don’t tell” in regard to his men in a deeper way than it was intended. He had no interest in a man or woman’s sexual inclinations, but he also respected their privacy too. If he had ever known Lijah Smith by any other name, then he would never reveal that to another living soul.
There was also Lijah’s educated British accent, and the warehouse that looked run-down from the outside but also had a state-of-the-art security system to protect Lijah’s collection of priceless paintings and prints.
The more Callie thought about it, the more she became convinced Lijah Smith wasn’t who he appeared to be.
What was he hiding?
It could be anything. He could be a criminal hiding from his past. Or maybe avoiding an ex-wife and possibly children. After all, Lijah was aged in his mid-thirties—
No, she didn’t believe that was it. He simply wasn’t a man who would ever run away from his responsibilities. Would ever run away from anything.
So he had to be hiding something rather than from someone.
And all this conjecture about Lijah really wasn’t in the least conducive to helping her go to sleep!
Hot tea and toast might help. Lijah had stopped at an all-night store on the way here and picked up some milk, bread, and butter for breakfast in the morning, which he had no doubt brought in from the car along with their bags. As far as Callie’s body clock was concerned, it was morning.
She checked to make sure the bedroom door opposite was still closed before moving quietly out into the hallway and heading for the stairs. The last thing she wanted to face tonight was another encounter with Lijah. It was going to take days, if not weeks, to recover—if she ever did—from her earlier humiliation.
She gave a soft gasp and came to an abrupt halt in the kitchen doorway at the sight of Lijah’s back turned toward her as he sat on a high stool at the breakfast bar, her father’s papers spread out in front of him. The room was once again lit by another one of those small night candles that wouldn’t be visible from outside the house.
Callie quickly turned to leave—
“Did you want something?”
Damn it, the man had the hearing of a hawk, had to have heard her surprised gasp, despite its softness. Unless he had eyes in the back of his head, which she wasn’t prepared to discount.
She turned stiffly back to face him, chin lifted high in challenge as she saw he had turned on the stool to face her. “I was going to make a cup of tea and some toast.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” he invited huskily.
He was stopping her. The last thing Callie wanted to do was move about the kitchen under Lijah’s watchful stare, wearing only the knee-length nightgown and robe that one of the Grayson Security employees had chosen and bought for her to wear in Washington.
Especially as Lijah was fully dressed, even if he was now wearing a navy-blue T-shirt and faded blue jeans. As evidence that she had been right about him taking a shower earlier?
His uncovered hair was still slightly damp from that shower.
The same silky dark hair Callie’s fingers had been entangled in earlier as she pressed Lijah’s face between her undulating thighs, pleading for more.
This man’s lips and tongue had been between her thighs, licking her, pleasuring her.
Humiliation didn’t even begin to cover how she felt right now—
“I’m sorry.”
She looked up sharply in time to see Lijah slowly rising to his feet. “What?”
Lijah could see how upset Callie still was by the pallor of her cheeks and the shadows in her eyes as she looked at him both defensively and warily.
And he deserved it. Just as he deserved every accusation Callie might feel like throwing at him. What he had done earlier was— An apology couldn’t even begin to atone for what he had done to Callie earlier.
Nevertheless, it was the least he owed her. “I’m sorry for… I shouldn’t have done what I did.”
“I thought apologizing was a weakness?” she came back scornfully.
“Not when it’s sincere.” Lijah ran an agitated hand through the dampness of his hair. Jacking off in the shower earlier had been, as he’d known it would be, a complete waste of time. And again when he crawled, exhausted, between the sheets on the bed. After which he not only felt hollow inside but sick too.
With himself.
Callie had suffered enough these past six months. The murder of her boyfriend, fear making it impossible for her to return to the job she had obviously loved. Most of all, living in constant fear of the return of the man who had murdered her boyfriend.
And what had Lijah done?
Decided to teach her a lesson in obeying him by kissing, licking, and sucking on her body until she begged him to let her come. At which point he had refused her.
He was a fucking idiot. A first-class, one-hundred-percent fucking idiot.
He had also forgotten the first rule of leadership: earn the respect of your men, and they’ll follow you anywhere. What were the chances of Callie obeying the orders of someone she now despised? Absolutely none. She was more lik
ely to do the opposite of what Lijah asked her to do.
“No.” Her voice was gruff. “You shouldn’t have done that to me.”
Lijah looked at her searchingly, looking for a chink, even a little one, in the defensive barriers she had placed about herself and her emotions. He didn’t find one. “Like me to reload the .44 Magnum for you?”
“Too quick, too easy,” she came back abruptly.
He gave a rueful grimace. “You really hate me right now, don’t you?”
“Oh yes,” she confirmed with feeling.
“If it’s any consolation, I pretty much hate myself at the moment too.”
“It isn’t.”
No, he hadn’t thought for a moment that it would be. “Sit down, and I’ll make you the tea and toast.”
She gave a derisive smile. “I don’t think so, thank you.”
Yep, whatever he suggested or asked, Callie was now going to do the opposite.
Lijah sighed deeply. “I made a mistake earlier, okay? I behaved like an idiot, and I deserve that you’re angry with me. But I’m trying to keep you alive, damn it.” His voice hardened at the thought of the danger Callie might be in just by being in Washington. “I should have left you in England and made arrangements for someone to protect you 24/7—”
“And who made you king of me and forgot to tell me?” she challenged incredulously. “You don’t have the right to ‘make arrangements’ for me, Lijah. As if I’m a child without a will of my own. I may not like being here, but if there’s a chance of finding my father, then no matter how reluctant I was at first, I need to be here.” She was so annoyed with him, the emotion made her nipples stand out like two ripe berries beneath the silky material of her robe.
Lijah swallowed down a groan as he felt his cock respond to that visual image by instantly engorging and lengthening. He was trying to apologize to Callie, and all his body could do was betray how much he still wanted her.
A betrayal Callie was totally aware of as her gaze swept down his body, lingering pointedly on that bulge in his jeans before slowly moving back up again, her gaze challenging as it met his. “It appears it wasn’t all playacting on your part earlier.”
“Who the— I never once said I didn’t want you too,” he bit out impatiently.
“No, you didn’t, did you?” She strolled into the kitchen, the silk of her robe a caress across those aroused nipples, hips swaying provocatively as she crossed the room on bare legs to where the bread and toaster were. She turned to look at him beneath lowered lashes. “But you still used my arousal against me.”
“If you think back I believe it was against me—”
“The next time, you’ll be the one doing the begging,” she warned.
The next time?
Jesus Christ, Lijah hadn’t thought he had anything left inside him after relieving himself twice in half an hour, but the top of his cock was now definitely leaking cum all over his boxers. He cleared his throat. “On my knees?”
Callie laughed softly—triumphantly?—under her breath. “Preferably, yes.”
He wanted to get down on his knees right now, bury his face between her thighs, and lap up—
“Not now, of course,” Callie dismissed—as if she had known exactly what he was thinking. “I’m only interested in drinking tea and eating toast at the moment. Want some?” She arched mocking brows.
She was tormenting him. Deliberately fucking tormenting him.
And he deserved it.
He so fucking deserved it.
“Thanks,” he accepted dryly.
“My pleasure,” she purred.
Lijah drew in a deep and controlled breath, eyes raised to the ceiling as he slowly counted to ten. Nope, not making the slightest bit of difference. His cock was still hard and throbbing, and his balls ached.
“One or two? Slices of toast,” she taunted at his questioning glance.
“One. Thank you.” He gave an irritated shake of his head as Callie began to hum a tune softly under her breath. “You’re enjoying yourself far too much at my expense.”
Surprisingly, Callie was enjoying herself, when she had been feeling more than a little sorry for herself when she came down the stairs earlier. There was definitely something to be said for payback, and that telling bulge in Lijah’s jeans gave her the perfect way in which to take it.
That heavy weight seemed to have lifted off her chest in the last few minutes. She might have felt humiliated earlier, and ached with physical frustration, but it felt good to know Lijah had suffered too. That he was still suffering.
She turned to give him a knowing smile. “One or two sugars in your tea, or are you sweet enough already?”
“One,” he growled.
Callie chuckled softly under her breath. She really did feel so much better just seeing that telling bulge in Lijah’s jeans and his obvious discomfort.
“Do you ever sleep?” she prompted once the tea and toast were made and Lijah had cleared a space on the breakfast bar for them to eat by pushing her father’s papers to one end.
“When I don’t have a constant hard-on, yes,” he bit out between gritted teeth.
A blush warmed her cheeks. “Did you find anything in Daddy’s papers?”
Lijah glanced at those papers. “Peter seems to have narrowed it down to three names in the Washington area, yes.”
Callie instantly tensed, fingers tightening about her mug of tea. “Which are?”
“The actor Sean O’Donnell, Senator Jacob Stockton, and millionaire businessman Brian Taylor.”
She stared at him blankly for several moments as the full import of those names broke through the barrier she had placed about the memories of that night six months ago. As one memory in particular pierced through with startling clarity.
“What the— Callie!” Lijah moved quickly round the breakfast bar. “Whoa.” He caught her as she swayed on the barstool. “Callie?” He helped her to straighten up.
She gave a shake of her head as if to clear it. “I could be wrong but— Michael started to say something that night before those men came back from the basement.”
“What did he say?” Lijah deliberately kept his voice level and calm so as not to alarm her.
She gave a shake of her head. “I’ve tried so hard to forget that night, but those three names…” She looked up at Lijah. “Michael told me to keep calm, to just do what the man said, and I would be safe. Then he said— I thought he said ‘get that bastard to stop,’ but I realize now it could also have been—”
“Have been what, Callie?” he prompted sharply.
“Shh.” She tensed, turning toward the back door. “Did you hear that?” she hissed in a whisper, eyes wide.
“Hear what? Look—” Lijah broke off as he heard what Callie must have heard. The noise was barely audible, but there was definitely something or someone moving around at the back of the house.
“A cat, do you think?” Callie looked at him hopefully as she continued to keep her voice to a whisper.
If it was, then Lijah hoped it still had at least one of its nine lives left as he slipped his hand under a pile of the papers and pulled out the .44 Magnum.
“You had it with you all the time.” Callie stared accusingly as she saw the gun in Lijah’s hand.
“And it’s loaded,” he confirmed grimly, the gun feeling so easy in his hand, it was like a part of his body. “Here, take this.” He reached down for the smaller gun he kept in his boot.
There was the sound of something falling with a crash outside. One of the huge pots of flowers on the patio? Probably. And Lijah very much doubted a cat was strong enough to knock one of those over.
Not a cat, then. Which could only mean that someone was out there. Someone who knew that he and Callie were inside? If so, they weren’t being very subtle in their approach.
Maybe they didn’t need to be? If there were more than a couple of them, then they might just hope to overwhelm Lijah with numbers before he had the chance to take them all out.<
br />
“Move out into the cupboard under the stairs,” he instructed Callie softly. “And whatever happens, don’t show yourself until I come and get you.” He moved stealthily across the kitchen to press back against the wall beside the door, gun raised in readiness.
Her eyes were huge pits of fear in the pallor of her face as she stood slowly to do as he instructed. So maybe he hadn’t blown it completely earlier with his caveman behavior? “What about you?”
“Never mind me— Get down!” Lijah warned her harshly as the back door suddenly swung open, his gun raised as a shadow loomed darkly in the doorway before staggering into the kitchen.
“Daddy!” Callie screamed as her father pitched forward, his legs collapsing beneath him as he fell and then rolled onto his back on the kitchen floor, an ominous dark stain visible on the front of his shirt.
Chapter 8
Callie dropped the gun to rush across the kitchen and fall onto her knees beside her father. “Daddy! Oh God, Daddy!” She sobbed as she desperately grabbed hold of one of his hands.
“Callie?” He gave a pained groan as he stared up at her in disbelief, his face ashen beneath the several days of stubble that darkened his jaw. “Is that really you?”
“She’s here with me, Peter.” Lijah picked up and replaced the gun in his boot before moving down onto his knees on the other side of the older man, taking in and assessing Peter’s condition at a glance.
Wound to the chest. Left side. Several days old, going by the darkness of the bloodstain on the other man’s shirt.
So not good.
Peter looked at him blankly for several seconds, as if he wasn’t sure who Lijah was or what he was doing here. Then his brow cleared. “Clever, Callie,” he breathed softly, smiling through his pain. “You went to Dair Grayson, just like I told you to.”
“Just like you told me to.” She gripped his hand tightly in both of hers now. A hand that was stained with the same dried blood visible on the front of his shirt. “Daddy,” she choked. “What happened to you?” Her tears fell hotly as she raised his hand and cradled it against her cheek.
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