MICAH (A California Dreamy Novel Book 3)

by Rian Kelley

  “You look sick,” she pointed out. “And you have a death grip on the groceries.”

  He looked down and saw that he had the plastic wrapped around his hand and his knuckles were white.

  “I’m starving.” He pushed away from the door and stepped into the room. He dropped a kiss on her worried lips then moved to the counter. “It’s almost noon.”

  “You want to eat?”

  “Yeah.” And then she stood up, still wearing the shirt she had picked up off the bedroom floor that morning. His shirt. It did incredible things for her and made him downright possessive. She’d buttoned it but there was still plenty of cleavage showing. The tails came down to mid-thigh and he wondered if she was still naked underneath. “But that can wait.” He dropped the groceries on the counter and moved toward her. He pulled her into his embrace and smoothed his hands over her hamstrings, up under the shirt, and over her bare cheeks. His breath left his throat with husky appreciation. His hands shaped her ass and his fingers dipped into that warm crevice, and further.

  “You’re wet.”

  “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  “Lusty thoughts.”

  “Of course.”

  She smiled with sexual appeal. “I want a quickie, Micah,” she said, and then she was at work on the snap and zipper of his jeans.

  He watched her. She’d grown comfortable with his body, with them together, and her motions were smooth and confident. She pushed his jeans and briefs past his hips and took him in hand. She had an uncompromising grip and a way with her thumb that made his vision hazy.

  As sweet as that was, it wasn’t what she’d asked for.

  He lifted her so that her thighs cradled his hips and backed her up against the wall. “There’s no time for that if it’s a quickie you want.”

  “I do.”

  He shifted her, using a hand to guide himself into her wet channel. He took her swiftly and her body bowed, her head falling back and her lips parting on a gasp.

  “You okay?”

  “Better than that. Way better,” she said, want ringing in her voice. “Now get moving.”

  And he complied. He braced himself with a hand on the wall, held her firmly with the other, and spread her thighs further with his hips, so that she had to take all of him. And damn what a ride it was. His thrusts were deep and she kept pace with him. He watched the tension pull her body taut and just when she was about to break, reached a hand between them and took her clit in his fingers. She came shouting his name and he appreciated that so damn much he rode her until every ounce of pleasure was had.

  Emme had trouble focusing on the DVD. Her body sang with Micah’s possession, even an hour later. Her sweet spots were sensitive and every time she moved her clothing was a deep caress. She groaned, readjusted her position, and listened to Micah in the kitchen. He was cooking their lunch, baked chicken and real pasta this time, not the wheat that tasted like cardboard to her, and he hummed a tune.

  He was happy. Well, of course he was. They’d just scaled the stars.

  But it was the aftermath warmth that stayed with her just as much. Micah didn’t hide his feelings from her. The sex was great, but he held her, stroked her, plied her with kisses, and looked long into her eyes, as if trying to find her secrets. There was no mistaking the affection. This was more than sex. She loved talking to him, even the simple act of turning her head and finding him relaxed on her sofa was a big deal to her. She’d learned a lot more about him in the past four days. In high school, he was on the diving team and dated a girl named Wendy who left him for a big college on the east coast. His first job was changing oil at a quick lube. He’d joined the army because he believed in protecting what one held dear and he was shot helping a young girl find home. She’d asked him more questions about that but he had put her off. She’d traced the scar on his thigh, in the shape of a starburst and still red at the edges, and he’d told her he had no regrets.

  She hoped he felt the same way about them. About her. He hadn’t wanted to give into the attraction. He hadn’t wanted a relationship, but Emme was sure they were establishing exactly that. And she wanted it. She wanted the whole package—sex and commitment and she shuddered when she entertained thoughts of a premature ending.

  Even now she pushed that possibility into the very back of her mind. She refocused and realized she was still in proud warrior while the yogi had moved onto downward facing dog—her favorite position. She loved what it did for her lower back, felt the strength build in her legs and the blood bring rejuvenation into her lagging brain cells—just as the yogi promised.

  “Woman, have you no mercy?”

  Emme looked at him upside down and from between her legs. His frown was ferocious and she laughed. She folded up from the position.

  “You know I’m feeling a lot stronger already.”

  “At almost three weeks in,” he agreed. “Give it another two and you’ll see obvious changes in your muscle tone.”

  “I hope so.” She rubbed her biceps which were sore from the push-ups he’d had her doing every other day for the past week. No definition yet. Not even a whisper of it.

  “Lunch is ready,” he said. “You want to put that on pause?” He nodded towards the TV where the yogi and his followers were moving through sun salutation.

  “Sure. I wasn’t really focused anyway.”

  He smiled, slow and with knowing. “I noticed.”

  “You’re a distraction,” she said.

  “You managed to get a lot of writing done.”

  “Yeah, but that sucks me in. Exercise, I have to convince myself to do it.”

  She followed him into the kitchen. He had moved her laptop and note pad to the side and laid out plates and cutlery, a platter with angel hair topped with sliced chicken breast, and a heaping bowl of broccoli, cauliflower and baby carrots. Rosemary carried in the wafting steam.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep, appreciative breath. “Hmm. Smells good.”

  He pulled out her chair and she sat, then he took a couple bottles of water from the fridge and placed one in front of her.

  “You’re spoiling me,” she said. “I’m not used to being waited on.”

  “You made dinner last night,” he pointed out.

  “That was easy.” She’d put a roast in the oven and mixed a salad of greens, tomatoes, shaved carrot and zucchini, Bermuda onion. She was becoming quite good in the kitchen.

  He had just taken a seat when his cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and stood.

  “It’s Crista,” he said. “Work-related, I’m sure.”

  She listened to him answer the phone as he paced toward the back door. And then she watched him through the window as he stood on the deck, his profile in view.

  She loved the strong lines of his body and knew him well enough now that his gestures spoke loudly. He’d probably asked about his nephews, because he tipped his head back and laughed. When he anchored his hand on his hip and stared across the back yard, she knew he was in problem-solving mode and his mind was running through possible solutions as his sister laid out the updates. At one point, tension pulled his mouth into a firm line and he rolled his shoulders to loosen them. She picked at her food and waited for him to finish up and come back to the table.

  Micah felt his neck stiffen and his hand around the cell phone contracted. Damn, he had come to suspect that Bruno was at the root of Emme’s problem. Now he had no doubts about it. Crista had spent the past few days tracking the man and discovered some concerning behavior. Top on the list was the man’s clandestine meeting with the competition, which took place at a casino on tribal land east of San Diego. Out of the way, certainly. And a necessity. Crista had observed an exchange of some sort. Bruno had delivered what looked like a flash drive, handing it over only after the three men had stood in a tight circle, staring at a smart pad for confirmation of some kind. Micah believed it was an exchange of money for intelligence and Crista told him when she’d later checked in on Emme�
�s financials, a deposit of one million dollars had shown up in an off shore account bearing her name. She was at work tracing the money, which was no easy feat. Offshore banks utilized a seamless security system. But Crista was good. The best.

  “I have faith in you,” he told her.

  “Still, no promises.”

  “Trace the deposit back to Bruno and I promise the first thing I do when I get back to San Diego is hire help.”

  “Big words,” she said but her tone held hesitation and he knew she was on the precipice of an admission. He waited her out. “Well, actually Micah, I think I have the man for the job. I’m trying him out right now, in fact.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I put him on Bruno while I try to crack some cyber codes.”

  He digested that. “Where did you find him?”

  “I didn’t,” she said. “You arranged to meet with him before you were shot.” She spoke his name and Micah recognized it. Former military, sometimes mercenary, specializing in kidnapping cases. The man had topped Micah’s list of possibilities.

  “Let me know how that works out.”

  “Will do. You’re not mad I moved on this without you?”

  “No. But let’s make the final decision together.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Micah hung up and slid the cell back into his pocket. What was Bruno up to? Setting up Emme to what end? Force her to stay with Cyclical? Or something more sinister?

  He let himself back into the house and found Emme turned in her chair, waiting for him.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  “It was important,” she said. “I could tell.”

  “How?”

  She pulled a ferocious frown and Micah laughed.

  “I do not look like that.”

  “Yes you do, when you’re worried. So what’s up? I mean, if you want to share.”

  He thought about that. He wanted to tell her—all that he could—but after he took out names and occupations, the details left were minimal. “A deceiving client,” he decided on.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Someone who hired you lied?”

  “It happens,” he assured her and sat down beside her.

  “But why hire you then?”

  “To get information. And people never think they’re going to get caught.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Set the trap in his direction.”

  “Because he’s doing something illegal?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  He shrugged and turned back to his food. This would be a good opportunity to bring up Wendy again and his nocturnal callings, only this time tell her more about what he did and why.

  “Does danger scare you, Emme?”

  “When it arrives on my door step.”

  “Good. It should.” He put his fork down and regarded her a moment. Her expression slowly changed from pleasant and open to guarded. “My job sometimes puts me in a place I’d rather not be.”

  “Like when you got shot?”

  “No. I wanted to be there. I needed to be there. The girl who shot me, she’s sixteen years old and was lured into a very bad place.”

  “But you saved her?”

  “I helped.”

  “Even though you don’t save damsels in distress anymore?”

  “I don’t save in the romantic sense,” he explained. “I save women and children who have been abused, stolen, forced into the sex trade.”

  He waited and watched her face pale. The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered.

  “Sex trade? You mean human trafficking?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that was Wendy?’

  He nodded.

  “But she’s just sixteen.”

  “Some are younger,” he told her. Best to reveal the whole truth up front.

  Her body assumed an unnatural stillness and maybe she was holding her breath. He covered her hands with one of his own and gave them a gentle squeeze.

  “This has something to do with Felicity,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “The intelligence she stole from me identified an adolescent girl, vulnerable, reduced to the trophy in a divorce that was tearing apart a fortune five hundred company. The girl needed a friend and Felicity pretended to be that.”

  “To lure her into the sex trade?”

  He nodded. “But it didn’t happen. I caught on in time, but just barely, and the girl was saved.”

  “But not Felicity.”

  “It was a good trade,” he said and noted the chill in his tone.

  “But that’s not your job? Stopping human trafficking?”

  “I wish I could stop it and I do what I can which isn’t enough.”

  “For some girls it is.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, wishing it could be a whole lot more. “But no, it’s not my job. I just need to do it.”

  Emme nodded. “Of course you do.”

  “Felicity brought me into that world. And after what I’d seen, I couldn’t turn my back on them.”

  He watched Emme’s eyes soften, her lips curve into a heartbreaking smile. She scooted into his lap and laid her head on his chest. “No, you couldn’t. And I love that about you,” she said.

  He felt the tension ease from his shoulders. “In comparison, my job is a lot safer.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emme heard the knock on the door but refused to believe it was happening. Micah was sprawled beside her, an arm hooked around her waist, the other thrown up over his head and resting on his pillow. He was out. They had spent most of the night deeply into each other and after delivering on a series of amazing orgasms, the man deserved his rest.

  Emme smiled, remembering the heated hours and the way he’d reacted to her touch. He was still the master of control, but it’d definitely been slipping. And she’d had plans for this morning, after letting him sleep a little longer.

  The knock again. Harder. And a muffled voice calling through the wood. Whoever it was, they weren’t going away. She groaned inwardly and began to slip out of Micah’s hold. He stirred, mumbled a little in his sleep, and Emme stilled. She hoped to shoo away whoever was on her doorstep and return to Micah, their warm bed, her lusty intentions. She had no doubts he would be a willing partner—he was already sporting wood. And while she knew most men woke up that way, she hoped it was a little more than that. Like maybe he was dreaming about her and all the delicious things that had transpired the night before, and that the future could hold for them.

  She cleared the bed, pulled her robe off a hook in the closet, and headed downstairs. She didn’t make it far before she recognized the voice on the other side of the door.

  Ethan. Her brother was here. In the Sierras. On her doorstep. She had a man upstairs. And she was barely dressed. Did a robe even count as clothing? She pushed a hand through her hair, drew a deep breath, hoping she didn’t smell like sex, tightened the sash on her robe, and dug deep for a good reason to send her brother packing.

  And then she heard Shae’s voice, too. Raised above the clatter of the door as the woman knocked.

  Emme moved forward before she could run scared back up the stairs.

  Conflicted, she opened the door. Family was great. She loved them. Needed them. But not right this minute.

  “Shae?”

  “Emme.” Shae grabbed her up in a hug. “Did we wake you up?”

  The sun was blinding in the autumn sky but she was the new improved Emme. Bold and daring, and so she admitted, “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” She looked past Shae to her brother. “Hi Ethan.”

  “Sis,” he said, a broad smile on his face. And she liked that. She loved Shae for putting it there. Her brother was happy, lighter, since meeting and falling in love with Shae.

  “You’re here,” Emme said, because she was at a loss for words.

  “We told you we would be coming,” Shae said.

  “And we tried calling,”
her brother said. “The call dropped every time.”

  She nodded. “No good reception here.”

  “So are you going to invite us in?” he asked, a frown forming on his face.

  “Oh, yes, of course. Sorry.” She backed into the house and they followed. And then they stood in the small foyer staring at each other. Emme stuffed her hands into the pockets of her robe so she couldn’t twist them as her discomfort increased. How to be bold without being rude? She was sure there was a way to do it and she really wanted her family to start thinking of her like that—strong, able, even daring. But the best she could come up with was, “Coffee?”

  “We’d love some,” Shae agreed.

  She walked past Emme toward the back of the house and Emme followed. She felt Ethan pause behind her. He knew something was up and he was trying to puzzle it out. Emme knew his moods, his body language, and began strategizing herself. If she could come up with an excuse to dash back upstairs, she could alert Micah. But what would she say to him? ‘Be quiet. Don’t make a sound. Hide.’ No, she just couldn’t do that. She’d been in the Sierras more than five weeks at this point, but it felt longer, she felt stronger. She wasn’t taking a single step backwards.

  So what? She pressed her brain to come up with an answer. Visit with Shae and her brother, hoping Micah slept through it? A quick cup of coffee and then suggest some points of interest in the area they had to see before leaving? Too bad she knew of none. So far, her great adventures had been played out in her writing, between the sheets and on the jog trail.

  Brazen through it? Don’t worry about how much noise they made or how long they stayed? Enjoy their company and when Micah came downstairs, half-dressed and full of expectation, act like all was good as far as she was concerned?

  Her heart pushed her into the last scenario, even while the old Emme called from the trenches, screamed her warnings, taunted her about fall out—which would be fraught with tension but would also shatter preconceived notions.

  She was an adult, she reminded herself.

  But five weeks? Her brother would be shocked. Maybe Shae, too.

  When she stepped into the kitchen Shae was filling the coffee decanter at the sink. Emme walked to the cabinet and pulled out the bag of coffee, then forged for cream and Splenda.