Protecting His Beautiful Lover (Southern Soldiers of Fortune Book 3)

by Leslie North

  The last thing Clint needed was this guy giving him investigation advice and trying to pivot attention off himself. So Clint kept the spotlight directly where it was. “Tell me about the manufacturing process here at your company, Mr. Bartlet. Exactly how expensive would it be for you to retrofit your operations here if this legislation gets passed?”

  “It would cut into our profits, that’s true,” Bartlet said, giving a small shrug. “As it would for all of our competitors.”

  “Hmm. And what about your donations to the conservative candidate for Congress last year?” Clint asked, hoping to knock Bartlet off-balance. “Seems odd that you’d back the guy who’s pledged to destroy the very bill that GGE is pushing so hard to get passed.”

  Bartlet met Clint’s gaze, his expression unreadable. The guy was good. No question about it. But Clint’s SEAL-trained instincts were going haywire inside and he put more stock in those than in any excuse coming out of Bartlet. The other man took a deep breath, then smiled. “Is that where we’re at now? My politics make me guilty? If you must know, I backed the conservative candidate because of his fiscal policies, not because of his stance on the bill. I’d planned to talk with him, get him to change his mind about the legislation when it came down to it. I’m not without influence in political circles too.”

  I bet. Clint bit back that response and inhaled deeply. Bartlet struck him as the kind of wily guy who’d be completely comfortable in a room full of politicians that most would see as a snake pit—Clint included.

  “Trust me, Mr. Buckman,” Bartlet said after a moment. “Talk to Berger.”

  Clint trusted this guy about as far as he could throw him. Which was farther than most people, but still. He dug his nails into the arms of the leather wing chair he was sitting in to keep from reaching across the desk to grab Bartlet by the throat and throttle him. He was getting lost in the weeds and needed to keep cool, no matter how much angry heat was raging inside him. Which was so not like him. Up until now, Clint had always been the cool one, the guy who pulled Levon and Noah back when they were going too far. But the minute he’d gotten involved with Tara, all his icy barriers seemed to have melted away. It wasn’t a good feeling. In fact, he felt damned prickly and uncomfortable about it. Still, he forced himself to continue questioning Bartlet, to try and get some info here that SSoF wouldn’t have access to otherwise.

  “You mentioned Ms. Crumb earlier. How would you describe her professionally?”

  “Frosty,” Bartlet said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “Focused, but frosty. That’s my take on Tara. I tried to get more friendly with her after she took over as interim director, in a board member capacity, of course. I like to get to know all the directors. Makes it easier to get things done with the organization if we’re all on the same page.”

  Clint snorted, biting back a nasty response. This douchebag was lucky Tara hadn’t filed a harassment complaint against him. “Go on.”

  Bartlet shrugged. “Really, that’s it. Tara gave me the cold shoulder. And not just me, either. She has a bit of a reputation, you know. That’s why I’m telling you, there’s more to the story of her firing John Berger than she’s letting on. He’s quite an ambitious young man, but in the environmental lobby, it can be hard to rise to the top, you know. Maybe he resents the lovely Ms. Crumb for getting the interim director position. Maybe he thinks he can make his own star rise if his organization gets the credit for the legislation passing—but of course, for that to happen, he’d need it to pass without Go Green Energy’s support. Something to look into, wouldn’t you agree? Makes sense to me.”

  The phone on the desk rang again, cutting off Clint’s next question.

  “I’m sorry,” Bartlet said, checking the caller ID. “This is my next conference call. I have to take this. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Buckman. You can show yourself out, right?”

  Yeah, he could. Clint got up and walked out of the office and headed back to his car. On the way, he pulled out his phone to call the guys.

  “Bartlet thinks we should look deeper into John Berger,” he said, then explained about Bartlet’s insinuations as he pushed out of the front entrance and back into the sunny parking lot.

  “On it,” Levon said through the phone line, his voice echoing a bit since the guys had the call on speaker. “Find out anything else?”

  Just that Bartlet is a slimy creep. Clint swallowed that response and said instead, “No.”

  “Right. Well, keep going,” Noah said. “You investigating this on the down-low seems to be helping. You’re getting in with people like Bartlet that the cops can’t get to take a meeting. We’ll look into John Berger further and let you know what we find.”

  “Thanks.” He ended the call and climbed back into his truck to head home. Funny how it didn’t bother him to call her house that now. A week or so earlier and that word would’ve had him running for the hills, but now…

  Well, now he was just overthinking things. Using the word home didn’t mean anything. He knew this thing with Tara was just a fling, just a way for them both to ease some stress during a crazy time. It didn’t mean anything. It sure as hell didn’t mean his feelings went any deeper than liking her. She was smart and funny and easy to talk to. He enjoyed being around her. That was all.

  And sure, the sex was good. Great, in fact. Maybe the best sex he’d ever had with anyone. They seemed in tune with each other in a way he’d never experienced before. That didn’t mean he needed to go and get all tangled up emotionally about it. On the contrary. He needed to keep his head clear so he could get the job done, same as always. Forget possessiveness. Forget the way his chest ached whenever he thought about when all this was over and they’d go back to their separate lives.

  That didn’t mean a damned thing. And the sooner he remembered that, the better.

  Twenty minutes later, he pulled into a parking spot at the curb near Tara’s place and got out. He went inside to find her and Ashley sitting at the kitchen table working on a puzzle together.

  “Hey,” Tara said, smiling over at him and making his pulse stumble like an old drunk. “How’d the meeting with Bartlet go?”

  “Good,” Clint said, closing the door behind him and tossing his keys on the side table, avoiding her gaze. “Fine. He told us to look into John Berger some more.”

  “Okay. I suppose that’s not a bad idea,” Tara said. “You want some lemonade? Ashley and I just made a fresh pitcher.”

  “No.” He frowned down at his phone as he scrolled through his emails. The last thing he needed now was to get wrapped up in what his daughter and Tara were doing and forget about his work. He’d been doing too much of that already lately. Not to mention, he wanted to put some space between Tara and the investigation. If the culprit was Bartlet or this other guy, John Berger, then it seemed like whoever was after her had personal motives that went beyond her position with GGE. Whether it was Berger’s resentment at Tara’s rise in the movement or Bartlet’s disturbing interest in Tara’s charms, Clint couldn’t say. But either way, he wanted it all way the hell away from her. “I’m going to do some research on my computer in the guest room.”

  Tara got up from the table and walked over to where he was standing, her expression concerned. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” He looked up at her, doing his best to ignore the flash of hurt in her eyes at his brusque tone and failing miserably. He wasn’t trying to be an ass, but damn. If he didn’t put a stop to his runaway emotions where she was concerned now, who knew where they would lead? Clint walked over and kissed the top of his daughter’s head in greeting, then sidestepped around Tara on his way down the hall. He hated hurting her, but he hated how vulnerable he felt even more. “I’ll be done in a little while. Then we can talk about dinner.”

  16

  Dinner was…odd.

  The food was fine. Grilled chicken and salad and bread. The usual stuff. They’d made the food together, even Ashley helping out by putting the bread in a basket for
them. Conversation was mainly Tara and Ashley talking about ideas for a new photo shoot for her Instagram account and Clint grunting or nodding his opinions.

  But still, under all the normality, something felt off for Tara. And it wasn’t just her insecurities talking, either. Nope. She stood at the sink, rinsing off the dishes and sticking them in the dishwasher while Clint got Ashley ready for bed. He seemed guarded. Well, more guarded. Plus, she hadn’t missed the fact that every time she tried to bring up his meeting with Jacob Bartlet, Clint changed the subject. She’d get the info out of him, though, one way or another. She could be plenty persuasive when she needed to be. One more reason she was so good at her job.

  “Anything I can help with?” Clint asked, returning to the kitchen a short while later, just as Tara was finishing up. He leaned his hips back against the counter a few feet away from her and had his damned phone out again. She was all for staying up-to-date on emails and social media, but this was getting ridiculous tonight.

  “Well, you can start by telling me what happened with Bartlet today,” she said, sliding the last dish into the dishwasher and closing the door before wiping her hands on a towel. “What did he say?”

  Clint took a deep breath and shrugged, still not meeting her gaze. “Nothing we didn’t already know. I sent a report to the guys. They’re looking into it. Did the window repair guys come today?”

  “Hmm.” Tara didn’t believe him for a second. Well, not the part about sending his report to the guys. That she bought. But not the rest of it. Jacob Bartlet had been on her radar as someone shifty since the first time she’d met him, and now here was Clint acting all squirrely. There was definitely more to that story. She finished wiping down the counters and the table, then hung the towel over the handle on the oven and stretched, yawning. “And yes. Ashley’s room is all fixed up and right as rain again.”

  “Good.”

  “You said he mentioned John Berger, right? How did that come up?”

  “Huh?” Clint scowled down at his phone, then finally glanced up at her. “I mean, yeah. He mentioned him. Said he might be unhappy that you got the interim director spot. The guys are looking into it. They checked the footage from the security cameras too, to see if they could tell who threw the smoke bomb, but they haven’t found anything conclusive yet. Whoever it was knew what they were doing. Tossed it just right so it didn’t set off the alarms, at an angle where the cameras couldn’t get a clear shot.”

  “Hmm.” Tara moved closer to him, determined to get the full truth out of him. She appreciated his attention to detail where her safety was concerned, but she wasn’t about to let him get away without telling her more about his interview earlier. “Was that all Bartlet said?”

  Clint blinked at her a moment, then set his phone aside on the charging pad on the counter before waggling his fingers at her. “Come here.”

  Tara hesitated. “Why?”

  “Because…” His slow sexy grin sent hot tingles of want through her despite her wishes. He straightened and took another step in her direction, bringing them about six inches apart. The heat of his body penetrated the thin pink shirt she was wearing and the scent of soap and woodsy cologne from his shower earlier surrounded her. Clint reached over and grabbed the hem of her T-shirt gently between his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t worry about my talk with Bartlet. Just be right here—with me. I missed you.”

  One tug and she stumbled into him, her chest colliding with his as his strong arms pulled her closer. Her breasts brushed his pecs and her nipples hardened. Tara stared up at him, her cheeks hot and her lips parted. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she got the sense that this was all a distraction, an excuse to divert her attention from his interview with Bartlet and the information she wanted, but damn if she could bring herself to care at the moment. Besides, she must be misunderstanding somehow. Why would Clint want to keep information from her? They were in this together, weren’t they? She placed a hand over his heart, feeling it thunder right along with her own, his pupils blown wide with need and his body hardening in all the right places. “You did?”

  Her words came out far more breathless than she intended, but then he slid his hand down her back to her butt, pressing her pelvis into his and rocking, letting her know in no uncertain terms that yeah. He wanted her all right. Molten heat gathered between her legs and she nearly gasped with pleasure.

  “I did,” he whispered, bending to nuzzle the spot where her neck met her earlobe, the one that drove her nuts and made her want to dig her nails into his shoulders and arch against him. He growled low as she did just that, raising one leg to wrap it around his waist. “I do.”

  Tara let her head fall back and Clint took full advantage, kissing his way down to the pulse point at the base of her neck while cupping one breast in his hand through her shirt, brushing the pad of his thumb over the taut peak, making her bite her lip to contain her helpless whimper. He did it a second time and she gave up the fight. She wanted the information, yes, but right now, she wanted him more. She slid her fingers through his hair, loving the way he shuddered against her as her nails gently scraped his skin, then pulled his mouth to hers for a long, deep kiss. Afterward, she gave him a wicked little smile. “I do too.”

  That invitation was all he needed. Before she knew it, her back hit the wall and his body pressed into her front, holding her in place as he quickly tugged her shirt over her head and dispensed with her bra before cupping her breasts again, this time bare skin to bare skin. There was no way she could stop the tiny sounds of ecstasy issuing from her throat now. He broke yet another hot, open-mouthed kiss and she did manage to regain her senses for a brief second. “What about Ashley?”

  “In bed,” he said, the back of his fingers leaving goose bumps in their wake as he trailed them down her abdomen to unbutton and unzip her jeans before tugging them off, along with her panties, leaving her completely naked while he was still fully clothed. “Sound asleep. Door closed.”

  He dropped to his knees in front of her and buried his face in her stomach, breathing in deep, like he couldn’t get enough of her. She felt the same way about him and it rocked her to her core. Then he kissed his way downward and Tara lost her train of thought completely as he made love to her with his lips and tongue and teeth, leaving her knees weak and her brain foggy with lust. Before she could climax, he stood and pulled off his own T-shirt, exposing all that gorgeous, muscled perfection to her gaze.

  “Please, Clint,” she said, pleading softly and reaching for him, but he pulled back. “I need you.”

  “I need you too, baby,” he said, his voice low and dark. Then he removed his own jeans and stood there hard and ready before her. She couldn’t look away as he smoothed on a condom over his length and she bit her lip. “And I’m going to have you. Right here, right now.”

  “Yes,” she hissed as he pulled her into his arms once more, needing him, needing this, more than she needed her next breath. It had never been like this with anyone else before and a tiny warning bell went off in her head. She shouldn’t get so involved, shouldn’t care so much, shouldn’t let him past her inner barriers. But it was too late—she feared he was already there. Then he hoisted her up in his arms and kissed her. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he drove into her, burying himself hilt-deep inside her body in one long, slow thrust, and Tara didn’t think about anything else except him and her and them together and how incredible this all felt. There seemed to be a desperation to their lovemaking tonight, at least on Clint’s part. He couldn’t seem to stop kissing her and touching her and licking her skin. Not that she was complaining. It was hot, no doubt about it. But there also seemed to be something missing, like he was shutting her out even as he was drawing her closer to the edge.

  Then he reached down between them to stroke her slick folds and her most sensitive flesh and any rational thoughts at all went right out of her head. She was close, so, so close. She needed this, needed him, needed release. “Yes. Please, Clint. Please…” />
  “Tell me what you want, baby,” he growled in her ear, changing his angle of penetration to hit that spot inside her just right. “Tell me.”

  “I want you to make me come,” she whispered back, panting with need. “Please, make me come.”

  “Always, baby. Always,” he said, driving her over the brink into a blinding orgasm, kissing her hard and swallowing her cries of pleasure as wave after exquisite wave of sensation rolled over her, her body milking his into his own release. Toes curling on the hardwood floor, Clint drove into her hard once, twice, before he stiffened in her arms, coming deep inside her, his face buried in her throat, his sweat-slicked skin sliding against hers as they rested against the wall and caught their breath.

  Slowly, they seemed to come back to themselves and he eased away slightly to brush the hair from her eyes. “Okay, baby?”

  Tara nodded, slowly unwrapping her legs from around him and sliding to the ground. While she gathered her clothes, Clint padded down the hall to the guest bath to clean up, then returned to pull on his own jeans and shirt.

  Trying for a joke to break the sudden silence that had fallen between them, she said, “Well, I guess that’s one way to change the subject.”

  Tiny splotches of crimson darkened Clint’s high cheekbones that had nothing to do with the physical exertion they’d both just experienced. He was back to not meeting her gaze too, Tara noted. He grabbed his phone from the charging pad and headed for the living room with barely a grunt of response.