by Kris Norris
She moaned into his mouth, lifting her leg higher—giving him better access. He curled his hand under her thigh, holding her there as he tilted his pelvis then surged forward, plunging deep inside her in one long steady stroke. A muffled cry sounded against his lips before she arched into him, increasing his penetration. He flexed his fingers against her skin, wanting to dig them into her flesh but afraid he’d leave bruises. And he’d be damned before he did that.
Instead, he forced open his hand, pressing his palm against her mound as he tightened his grip in her hair, holding her still as he started a firm rhythm. Every stroke shimmied her body within his arms, the wet echo of his thrusts sounding around them.
Time bled into the rapid beat of their hearts and the slick glide of her flesh against his. He focused on keeping his breathing even, resisting the urge to pound into her, until his unrelenting need burned hot beneath his skin.
He repositioned his hand, veeing his fingers around his dick where they were joined. “Fuck, Bridg. So tight. I don’t know how you take me inside you.”
Glazed eyes glanced over her shoulder at him, rolling slightly when he slammed into her. “So good. Please—don’t stop.”
“No way I’m stopping until you’ve gone over, again. I’ve got all day. All night, too, if necessary. I can hold off as long as I need until you come for me.”
She shook her head, crying out when he pressed the heel of his hand against her clit. “Already came. A few times. I’m not sure… Yes!”
She dug her fingers into his hip as she tilted her groin, allowing him to move more freely. Her head bowed toward her chest, the inklings of her release contracting along his shaft. He fought the urge to finish, not wanting their time to end. She wasn’t the only one who needed—more.
Searing heat flashed along his nerves, pooling in his sac when she inhaled then shattered in his arms. She was breathtaking. Skin flushed a deep red. Her peaked nipples pointing straight out and reminding him he still hadn’t tasted them the way he should have.
Later.
And there would be a later. And another after that. Endless laters, if he had a say. If she didn’t bolt like she had after her other sexual encounters. If he meant more to her than a trustworthy friend to scratch a few itches she had neglected for years.
If she cared.
He cared. More than he should. More than was wise. Just…more.
Bridgette’s breath hitched, and she clamped down around him. Hard.
He came. Jerking against her body, emptying inside her in long, crushing spurts. His muscles stiffened, holding him rigidly against her until the burning sensation raging beneath his skin diminished, allowing him to rest his forehead against her shoulder.
The scent of sex filled the air, the heady aroma swelling his chest. A part of him wanted to bang on it like a damn gorilla—a visual display of ownership. He’d marked her. Now, she belonged to him.
Right up until she smacked him upside the head for even thinking that way. Bridgette Hayward wasn’t the kind of woman who wanted to “belong” to anyone. She wanted—no, needed—a partner. A man who wasn’t afraid of her intelligence or tenacity. A man willing to let her fight her own battles—backing her up when the situation called for it.
He could be that man. Usually. Definitely when her life wasn’t in danger. When there weren’t daily threats recorded on her cell or waiting on her doorstep. But, when there were…
He sighed. He could only temper his protective instincts so much. Not because she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. But, because in some instances, his training overrode hers. He hadn’t spent twelve years slogging through mud and dirt, dragging his ass across enemy lines without developing a skillset designed to address the kind of trouble shadowing her. It didn’t mean more than the obvious. He’d been trained to kill. Had killed in the line of duty. And he’d kill, again, if it meant she’d live.
If that made him more of the asshole bodyguard than the charming cook, so be it. Her safety outweighed her pride. Even if it meant he’d lose her.
God, he hoped he wouldn’t. Not that he really had her. At least, not yet. But his time would be better spent charming her. Showing her he was a man of his word. One worthy of being more than just her bodyguard.
Bridgette released a shaky breath, burrowing against him as she sagged in his arms. He dropped a kiss on her neck, smiling at the resulting shiver.
“Are you okay, Bridg?”
She hummed, snuggling even closer.
He chuckled. “Come on. Another quick shower then you can sleep in my arms while I order us some dinner.”
Her nose scrunched up. “Sleep, first. Shower and food later.”
“You won’t get a proper sleep with your thighs all sticky. I promise, we’ll come straight back.”
She pried open one eyelid, glancing back at him. “You’ll do all the work, again?”
“Of course. Consider it part of my duties.”
“I sure hope this isn’t a regular duty with other clients.”
“Just you, darling. I swear.” He nuzzled her shoulder, kissing his way up to her earlobe. “So, was that a yes to the shower?”
“Yes, as long as you’ll hold me after.”
“Deal.”
He eased free, cursing the way his stomach dropped from the loss of contact. Things were getting far more complicated than he’d ever imagined, and he hadn’t even figured out who was after her, yet.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bridgette sat in the passenger side of her Jeep, staring at the entrance to the Blue Moose tavern. It looked friendly, the front area brightly lit with white Christmas lights glittering from the eaves. Even the strings on the trees scattered across the lawn were still twinkling, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the owners kept the lights up year-round, or if they just hadn’t gotten around to turning them off, yet. Not that she was complaining. The white color made the icy snow sparkle while chasing away most of the shadows—the kind she’d hidden in that night in the garage.
Guilt scratched at the edge of her conscience. She still hadn’t told Sam about the incident, and a part of her worried that she was putting him at greater risk simply through omission of the truth. That knowing some black-clad freak had hunted her through her office building then into the garage would change his perception of the case. Alter whatever criteria he was using to list the possible suspects.
At first, she’d kept it hidden as a matter of principle. She hadn’t wanted Sam’s protection, hadn’t thought it was necessary—especially when nothing had happened since she’d left Seattle. Even seeing the new set of photos hadn’t unnerved her too much. No note attached. No creepy message. It seemed to reinforce her belief that it had been an isolated incident. An opportunistic event.
Then, they’d had to move because of the possible security leak. That’s when she’d started wondering. Started questioning her choices. But, every time she’d tried to tell him, her throat had closed around the words. She just wasn’t sure if she was afraid of how he’d react or how she would. Other than her friend, Jack, she hadn’t told anyone about being followed. Sure, the police had a file—one she was certain Sam had already commandeered, not that she wanted to know how he’d gotten it. But she hadn’t mentioned the armed assailant in her report to the cops. Not when she couldn’t be sure Stevens didn’t have connections that wore badges. And she hadn’t known any of the officers long enough to vouch that they couldn’t be bought.
Everyone had a price. Almost everyone. Men like Jack and Sam usually paid with their lives to remain honorable.
But, after spending the afternoon in Sam’s arms, feeling safe for the first time in years, she’d started questioning her reasons. Sam had proven he could be trusted. Had already gone to extreme lengths to ensure her safety. Yet, a part of her just couldn’t take that final step. Whether it was years of being self-reliant or a deep-seated belief that in the end, everyone would eventually betray her, wasn’t clear. All she knew was that she was walking
a razor’s edge with no way to get off.
She groaned inwardly. Who was she kidding? She hadn’t told him because she knew he’d be angry—not that she’d blame him. He had every right to be angry. Keeping the incident a secret was foolish. Borderline suicidal, especially when she knew it was important. She fully expected him to lose his shit. Which was exactly why the words wouldn’t dislodge from her throat. While she didn’t actually believe he’d ever hurt her—strike out in anger like Brock had—the traumatized part of her just couldn’t take that risk. Couldn’t stop the images from materializing inside her head whenever she thought about confessing. And cowardly or not, she’d chosen to play it safe.
Sam nudged her shoulder, gaining her attention. His lips were pursed into a slight frown, the skin over his nose bunched. “You okay?”
She looked over at him—blue eyes intent on her—and she knew she could spend the rest of her life staring at him and never tire of what she saw. That it was only a matter of time before her brain caught up with her heart, and she let those three little words slip—ones she’d sworn she’d never say, again.
Though, if she were being honest, she’d never truly loved Brock. She thought she had at the time, but she’d discovered it had been the thought of him she’d been enamored with. The idea of having someone to spend her future with. Thank god, she hadn’t made any kind of plans with him. Had discovered what kind of monster he was before they’d started making a permanent life together. Things could have turned out far worse.
She sighed. Maybe she was the problem. Maybe she was incapable of loving someone else. Sam had alluded to the fact the other day, and while she’d brushed it off, she couldn’t deny he had a point. In retrospect, she hadn’t really loved anyone, other than him. But they’d been eighteen—love struck. A time where every emotion was felt to the extreme. And now…
It had been so long since she’d let herself feel anything, she couldn’t trust her feelings. Trust her heart, despite the way it pounded in her chest at the thought of Sam leaving. The empty feeling that gnawed at her stomach as she counted down the days until the trial began, and their affair ended.
Sam’s frown deepened. “Bridg?”
She mustered a smile, hoping it was somewhat convincing. “Sorry. Guess I drifted into thought.”
“Do I want to know what you were thinking?”
“Probably not.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ll keep you safe. You know that, right? Even here.”
Her chest tightened. Shit, now, he thought she doubted his abilities. “I wasn’t worried—”
“I’d say we could just bail, but I really need to talk to Hank, and I think you need to get out before you go stir-crazy. Maybe have a quick snack. You didn’t eat much of that salad you ordered. But we won’t stay long.”
She sighed then placed her hand over his. “If you must know, I was thinking about all the filthy things I’d like to do to you. After all, it still hasn’t been my turn, yet.”
The tension bled from his muscles as a wicked smile curved his lips. Sex was a great distraction, and one that obviously worked on him. “In that case, we’ll make this even quicker. And, if you’re a good girl, I might just let you have your turn.”
“If I’m a good girl, you won’t enjoy my turn half as much.”
He laughed, the rich sound wrapping around her. God, he was irresistible when he laughed like that. The sound coming from somewhere deep inside as his lips curved into a smile and the fine lines around his eyes crinkled.
He leaned forward, stopping a breath away. “You do me in with nothing more than a smile or a touch. Anything else will far exceed expectations.”
“Don’t set the bar too low, baby. I like a good challenge.”
Those perfectly full lips lifted. “Then, consider it set to the level of your last orgasm. I’m fairly certain you came close to passing out.”
She reached forward, cupping his length through his pants. “I’ll take that deal.”
She kissed him, slanting her lips over his then licking her way inside. Sam responded, sliding his hand back behind her head—holding her tight as he ravished her mouth. Kissing the corners a few times then delving back inside. She lost track of time, of the light snow slowly falling from the inky sky, until Sam finally pulled back.
He thumbed the edge of her mouth. “Think you can hold that thought for an hour or so?”
“Sure. Besides, I can always excuse myself and take care of business on my own in the washroom, if needed.”
The muscle in Sam’s temple jumped, and she resisted the laugh that clawed at her chest. She hadn’t met a man, yet, who didn’t seem fascinated by the thought of a woman touching herself. And Sam Montgomery was obviously no exception.
He hissed out a breath through clenched teeth. “You did that on purpose.”
“Consider it foreplay. After all, I have a benchmark to meet, now.”
He shook his head in mock indignation, reaching for the handle. “Ready to go inside?”
She nodded, the heady rush from kissing him draining instantly. She didn’t know what it was about going inside that bothered her. Though, it was more likely the people she was meeting than the actual establishment. Hank Patterson and some of his men from Brotherhood Protectors. The same guy who had dug into her past. Who might know far more about her than she liked.
The lawyer side of her hated that. Having someone know more about her than she did about them. It was her job to dig up every piece of information she could. To know the people she was dealing with down to the size of briefs they wore. Going in blind…
She groaned inwardly, again. God, how long had she been isolating herself that she’d forgotten how to be social? Hank and his men weren’t defendants she was trying to prosecute. They were Sam’s coworkers. His friends. She needed to respect that.
Her door opened, once again, bringing her back from her thoughts. Sam smiled as he held out his hand to her. She took it, ignoring the jolt of heat that passed between them as he maneuvered her against his side, holding her close. Though it was genuinely romantic, she knew Sam had ulterior motives, like being her first line of defense.
She swallowed against the punch of fear and guilt to her stomach. She couldn’t think about Sam getting hurt. Having his blood on her hands because he’d taken a bullet meant for her. It messed with her brain—the one part of her she relied on to function when her heart seemed to have a mind of its own.
She sighed. Fear or not, she needed to tell him. Everything. As soon as this meeting was over, she’d come clean about the armed asshole, and anything else she might have left out. Risk his reaction because Sam deserved her honesty. Hell, he deserved a lot more.
Her chest tightened as she followed his lead, moving with him whenever he adjusted their position—no doubt blocking her body with his. It wasn’t until they’d walked through the tavern doors that he seemed to relax a bit. Though, Sam relaxed equated to anyone else on high alert. He just made it appear more natural. Fool people into thinking he wasn’t prepared to launch an attack, which he was. She could tell by the firm press of his muscles and the way he constantly scoured the room.
A large man near the back of the tavern stood, motioning for them to join him. She suspected it was Hank Patterson, boss and creator of Brotherhood Protectors. Her stomach roiled, despite her previous pep talk to relax. But knowing most of the discussion would encompass her life unnerved her.
Sam leaned in closer. “Easy, Bridg. We’re all friends here.”
She nodded, though she suspected Sam saw through it. His friends, maybe. She didn’t have friends, or at least, very few.
The large man gave her a smile. “Thought you two were going to ditch us. The name’s Hank Patterson. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Counselor.”
Bridgette chuckled. “Bridgette is fine.”
Hank pointed to the guy next to him. “In that case, Bridgette Hayward, this is Alex Davila, but everyone just calls him Taz, and the guy next to him is J
oseph Kuntz, or Kujo for short.”
The man he’d called Kujo sighed. “You can call me Joe if the nickname bothers you.”
She smiled politely. “Kujo’s fine.”
Hank motioned for them to sit as he eyed the other men. “Let’s remember the lady’s an assistant US Attorney and act appropriately.”
She waved her hand. “Not tonight, gentlemen. So, please, don’t treat me with kid gloves.” She pointed to an empty chair next to Sam. “Are you expecting someone else?”
Hank grinned. “That’s a surprise for Midnight.”
She frowned. “Midnight?”
Hank’s gaze swung to Sam. “You didn’t tell her?”
Bridgette glanced at Sam, arching a brow. “Your nickname’s Midnight?”
Sam shrugged. “All of the guys get called something. And, yeah, mine’s Midnight.” He smoothed his hand over her shoulder as he smiled. “But I’ve been Sam to you since I was twelve.”
A wave of heat followed the light caress, making it suddenly hard to breathe. One touch, and the rest of the world disappeared. Vaporized for all she knew. There was just Sam and heat.
She managed to regain a bit of her composure, winking slyly at him. “I can adapt, Midnight.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “How do you manage to make it sound…juvenile?”
“It’s a gift.” She slid onto the wooden chair, still looking at Sam. “So, why Midnight?” She inhaled. “Oh, wait, I think I know. Barrow, Alaska, right?”
Hank laughed. “Seems she’s got you figured out, Midnight. Nickname and all.”
Sam glared at the man. “That’s right. Laugh it up, Montana.”
Bridgette smiled, relaxing at the easy banter that continued around the table. Maybe the men weren’t quite as intimidating as she’d imagined they’d be. Though, just staring at them sent a shiver down her spine. Heavily muscled with the same intense body language Sam had, they looked as if they were ready to brawl at a moment’s notice. Or maybe start one just to practice their fighting skills. Either way, she couldn’t imagine anyone willingly going up against them. Which might be why Hank’s company had grown so quickly. Though she hadn’t dug up too much information when she’d researched Brotherhood Protectors, she’d learned enough to know that the number of employees had skyrocketed in an incredibly short period of time.