In His Protective Custody

by Marie Ferrarella

  Alyx looped her arms around his neck and whispered softly, “I’m ready if you are.”

  He shouldn’t be.

  He never had been before. Until now, the act of lovemaking had always been a once-only process, followed by a restless peacefulness. That was a complete contradiction in terms, he knew, but so was most of his life. He was a nonconformist who conformed to rules because he wanted to be a cop rather than a criminal. Because of who and what he was, those were the only two options in his life.

  He chose being a cop because it brought freedom with it.

  But with this strange, innocent but worldly woman who was all things at once, he found himself ready to make love again in what amounted to a heartbeat.

  “Maybe we should notify the AMA,” he whispered, lightly touching her lips with his own after he uttered each word.

  Her body already vibrated in anticipation and her heart had spontaneously launched into double-time, as both hungrily awaited more.

  “About?” she breathed.

  He kissed her eyelids, her brow, the hollow of her cheeks. “About the transformation you brought about in me.”

  “Not yet,” she said with effort—it was difficult to talk when she felt as if her heart was lodged in her throat. “We have to test and re-test the theory a hundred times or so before we can really say that our findings are justified.”

  His smile, she noticed, included his eyes for the first time since she’d met him. Why did that prompt rays of sunshine to fill her being?

  “I’m game if you are,” he told her.

  Her chest rubbed against his as she drew in a breath. Her body tingled in response. “More than game,” she assured him, her voice low, then repeated the words with feeling in case he hadn’t heard her the first time. “More than game.”

  It was the last thing Alyx said for a long time to come.

  The desire to flee, which always followed once the act was over, didn’t even register. Another new experience for him.

  Their lovemaking had taken them from her living room to her bedroom, each location giving way to more heated couplings between them. After they were both completely and utterly exhausted, Zane fell asleep holding her in his arms.

  Consequently, he spent the night in her bed, something else that, as a rule, he never did. He didn’t sleep—literally sleep—with anyone. He slept alone. He always had, valuing his independence and his solitude after the act of lovemaking was over.

  But this time, he wasn’t eager to leave. Not only not eager, but actually loathed to leave. He could have shrugged it off and told himself that he had only promised to protect her. But that would have been a lie and he never lied, especially not to himself.

  His promise to hang around and watch over her could have easily been fulfilled by his remaining on the sofa in the living room. That, after all, was what he’d initially told her he intended to do.

  But he’d remained in her bed. Remained there because he’d wanted to. He’d wanted to watch her sleep, to feel her breath against his skin as she gently, rhythmically breathed in and out beside him. He’d wanted to just drink in everything about this witch who’d cast a spell over him.

  He was the first one to admit that life was short and unstable. Tomorrow might bring about an emotional earthquake that would change absolutely everything. So he wanted to enjoy, to savor, this tiny island of happiness he’d been washed onto before he was once again swept out to sea.

  While his feelings scared the hell out of him, he needed to get dressed and go back on patrol. All of life’s harsh realities were back in play.

  She dreamed she’d gone to paradise. To a place where life was perfect and always would be.

  But even as she dreamed it, Alyx was aware of her dreaming. Because, amid all the optimism, she was still a realist and knew that nothing was ever perfect—at least not for long. The best that she could possibly hope for was that she might feel this same passion and happiness in the future.

  But even in her dream, she understood that life was not a straight line. It fluctuated without rhyme or reason. The thought disturbed her enough to rouse her from the depths of sleep and leave her on the beach with dawn breaking.

  With extreme reluctance, her moment passed, Alyx opened her eyes. His face was the first thing she saw. She smiled in greeting until her brain kicked in. Zane looked at her.

  “Oh God, don’t look at me,” she cried. Grabbing the sheet, she pulled it up over her head. Hiding.

  Laughing, Zane tugged at the sheet, thinking to bring it down again. He was surprised that it took more force than he’d expected.

  “Why? Why can’t I look at you?” he asked, managing to tug it down.

  Alyx pulled it back up again. “Because I look terrible.”

  “Well then ‘terrible’ has a brand new definition,” he informed her, a ribbon of affection lacing itself through his voice.

  With a mighty tug, he pulled the sheet out of her hands, throwing it aside. Before she could protest, he leaned into her and pressed a kiss against her throat, then one each to her breasts. His breath caressed her skin, heating it.

  “Oh, don’t start,” she pleaded. “We’ll be late. I’ll be late,” she emphasized, hoping to get him to stop. Because she had absolutely no defenses against him. Certainly common sense played no part here either. Not when her own body rebelled against her already.

  Zane drew his head back just enough to be able to raise his eyes beguilingly to hers. He was the embodiment of temptation.

  “You really want me to stop?” he asked, his warm breath making her belly tighten hard with renewed anticipation.

  Alyx’s skin quivered in response and she sunk into the promise of what was to come. Just like that, she surrendered.

  “Hell, no. Don’t you dare stop,” she ordered him, sliding back down flat against the bed and into Zane’s kiss.

  Chapter 13

  A lmost a month later, Zane told himself that he could walk away at any time.

  Which is why he didn’t.

  Because the option was open to him, leaving him free to enjoy her and the sweet, optimistic innocence she generated wherever she went. The moment it seemed as if there was no turning back for him, he would.

  He had to.

  It was as simple as that.

  He didn’t believe in happy endings, and life was filled with enough grief without opening himself to more. He had only to remember his parents to reinforce his beliefs. Once upon a time, he’d thought they were happy, too.

  For the time being, he’d continue on this path. After all, he had to keep Alyx safe and make sure that the man he believed beat his wife to death wouldn’t do the same to Alyx. Although, he had to admit, the possibility of that happening seemed less and less likely. Harry McBride, for all intents and purposes, appeared to have disappeared off the face of the earth five seconds after he’d emptied out the joint bank account he and his late wife had shared. The one that held the fruits of her labors because, from everything that he and the detective working the case had discerned, the last time McBride was employed was before he and Abby were married. And that was eighteen months ago.

  More than four weeks had passed since McBride had killed his wife. Allegedly killed his wife, Zane amended. And he had been Alyx’s unofficial bodyguard for almost as long.

  And her lover for the same amount of time.

  Just passing through. You’re just passing through, he silently reminded himself.

  Exasperation chipped away at his mood as, glaring at his reflection in the mirror, he attempted once again to successfully tie the navy blue tie that hung about his neck like a deconstructed noose. He hadn’t had one of those on since he couldn’t remember when. First Communion? He wasn’t sure. He might have worn a clip-on back then.

  Maybe he should have bought one this time, he thought grudgingly. He was going with Alyx to her cousin’s wedding—an event he didn’t remember agreeing to attend—and those kinds of celebrations, he assumed, called for wearing un
comfortable things like jackets, crisp shirts and ties.

  Finished—again—he looked at his handiwork. One end was twice as long as the other.

  Who the hell had invented this useless appendage anyway? Swallowing a curse, Zane yanked the lopsided tie apart for what felt like the fifteenth time. This time, instead of beginning the process from scratch, he shoved the annoying tie into his jacket pocket.

  Maybe Alyx would know how to tie a tie properly, he thought irritably.

  He glanced at his watch. If he didn’t get going he would be late picking her up. She hated being late. They had that in common.

  Zane hurried out of his apartment.

  Twenty minutes later as he drove into the bowels of her apartment building’s parking structure, he realized that they had a great deal in common. And just enough differences to make things interesting—for the time being, he sternly reminded himself.

  Leaving his car in guest parking, Zane hurried over to the elevator and took it up to the fifth floor. Even though he was dressed—except for the tie—and ready to go, part of him debated coming up with an excuse to bail. He could always tell her that they had tapped him for extra duty. It wasn’t that unusual an occurrence.

  He’d never been to a wedding before and now didn’t seem like a good time to start. Especially if it made her think that he was amenable to marriage—because he wasn’t. That institution would never be part of his life. If others wanted to take a chance, that was their choice. As far as he was concerned, he took enough of a risk putting on his uniform every morning.

  Getting out on Alyx’s floor, Zane made his way to her apartment, framing and refining the excuse he had decided to give her. He could say that the sergeant had called at the last minute, just as he was leaving. That would explain why he wore a sports jacket and dress slacks. He grew more and more pleased with his plan.

  After all, he thought, pressing her doorbell, the whole point of his being around Alyx was to make sure she was safe. If he happened to enjoy himself, all the better. But if he didn’t—and he knew damn well that he wouldn’t at a wedding—well then he could just—

  The door opened and at that exact moment, he completely lost the ability to think at all, never mind clearly.

  And she was to blame.

  Alyx wore a soft, bluish-gray gown that was slit almost all the way up her leg and clung to every curve along the journey. It—and she—were, quite frankly, the stuff that dreams were made of.

  Erotic male dreams.

  He’d seen her nude, had caressed her body and made love to her, but somehow, seeing her in the form-hugging gown, he was struck speechless. He had to remind himself to breathe—then try to remember exactly how that was done.

  When he finally found his tongue, he told her, “I’m not sure if it’s legal to take you out in that. I might be breaking some kind of anti-riot law. Maybe several of them,” he speculated.

  His eyes washed over her as he committed every inch of her form to memory.

  “You know, for a man who claims to be very plainspoken, you do know how to turn a phrase,” Alyx told him with a laugh. Its timbre warmed the very bottom of his dark soul. “And just for the record,” she added, smoothing down the edge of the collar he’d accidentally left up, “you clean up very nicely, too.” She nodded toward the inside of the apartment. “Come in. I just have to go get my purse.”

  At a loss for words, Zane nodded and he followed her inside. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Which was when he remembered.

  “Oh. How are you with ties?” he asked, holding aloft the one that had given him so much grief less than a half hour ago.

  Alyx looked at it and shook her head. “Never had anyone to practice on,” she told him honestly. She had a feeling, from the way he’d growled out the words, that he hated ties. After taking it from him, she tossed it carelessly aside onto the sofa. “Besides, I think you look very good just the way you are.”

  Well, that was a relief. But he didn’t want to embarrass her by being the only man who showed up without a tie. “You sure I don’t need to wear a tie?”

  Smiling, she shook her head. “Nope. You can go any way you want to.” She picked up her clutch purse and tucked it under her arm. She then threaded her other arm through his. “After all, you’re doing me a favor, coming with me.”

  So much for begging off, he thought. But now that he had seen her, he really didn’t want to. Not if it meant that she would attend the wedding looking like that. He might wind up having to guard her from more than a supposed serial killer.

  Just as they left her apartment, she paused to brush her lips against his cheek. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

  Zane shrugged away her words, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath. Responding to thanks was something he had never been very good at. Now was no exception.

  “So, this is being the man who is protecting you?” Josef Pulaski asked. He made no secret of looking the man standing beside his niece up and down. After a beat, satisfied, he put out his large, hamlike hand, waiting for Alyx’s escort to take it.

  The wedding ceremony had been beautiful and had left the family patriarch both happy and sad at the same time. Marja was the last of his daughters, and although none of the girls had actually lived at the house in Queens for a while now, marriage brought the separation home to him and made it official. The “nest” was now really empty.

  During the church ceremony, his wife handed him the extra handkerchief she’d brought with her. “It is lucky then that Paulina has decided we are family after all and sent Aleksandra to us. The other girls, they will be coming too,” she said with the certainty of a mother.

  Josef had tried to grumble and make noises like a man who felt as if he was being put upon, but he fooled no one. He was happy about this new turn of events. All four of his nieces were coming to New York. To his wife and him, at least initially.

  Uncle Josef, a retired NYPD sergeant, liked nothing better than being a father figure. Liked being needed and, although he did have a good relationship with all of his sons-in-law, being the protector of a female member of the family made him feel useful the way running his own security firm did not even begin to approximate.

  And now, he thought, looking at Zane Calloway, there was another one to inspect. Another young buck who had come from nowhere to nose around his herd. A decent young buck. He had already had Leokadia’s husband do a little digging into this Zane’s background and, from everything Byron had found out, Zane Calloway was a very decent, honorable young man—even if he wasn’t Polish.

  Zane had the distinct impression that he was being x-rayed. The short, squat bull of a man who had an iron grip on his hand eyed him as if he could see clear down to his bones. Maybe he could.

  Alyx came to his rescue. “Uncle Josef, no questions. You promised.”

  “Questions are part of talking. I am allowed to be talking, yes?” He looked expectantly to Zane for him to agree.

  Zane saw no advantage to opposing the man. “Yeah, sure.” A beat passed. Zane cleared his throat. “Um, Mr. Pulaski?”

  Josef raised one very expressive, shaggy, dark eyebrow in a silent query. “Yes?”

  Zane indicated the undissolved union between them. “Can I have my hand back?”

  Josef laughed, loosening his grip and allowing Zane to withdraw his hand. “Sorry. I was busy deciding if you are being a good man.”

  From out of nowhere, Magda descended on her husband and had come in time to catch the last sentence he’d uttered. “Josef!”

  Josef turned around, raising his wide shoulders in an innocent shrug. “What? I should not be being honest?” he asked his wife.

  “Did I pass?” Zane asked the older man, amused despite himself.

  Josef nodded his head. “You are passing,” the former police sergeant assured him. He gestured toward one of the tables where the bride’s family was to be seated. “Now, eat or my wife will be being very unhappy. She is the one who cooked this fea
st,” he told Zane, turning the word “cooked” into two syllables with the emphasis on the second. “And when you are finished eating, you are to be dancing with my niece,” Josef instructed. There was no room for argument.

  Zane lowered his head and told Alyx, “I don’t dance,” the moment her uncle moved away.

  The orchestra her uncle had hired was tuning up. “That’s okay,” she assured him. “When something a little slower than a polka comes up, you can just stand there, hold me and sway. Nobody’ll know the difference,” she assured him.

  Zane wasn’t aware of the fact that he was smiling. “I can do that.”

  “Sway?”

  “That, too. But I was thinking of holding you.” That was a definite plus, he thought, both soothing and arousing.

  Alyx smiled up into his eyes and he got that all-too-familiar feeling in his gut. The kind of feeling someone got at the apex of a hill just before the roller coaster plunged thirty feet down.

  “I was, too,” she told him. To her surprise, the orchestra played a slow, sexy song, something about young lovers everywhere. “Looks like you get to sway before you eat.” With that, she took his hand and led him off to the dance floor.

  Zane went reluctantly. “You sure about this?” he asked her uncertainly once she had staked out a section for the two of them.

  Placing one of his hands against the small of her back and lacing the other through her own, Alyx turned her face up to his and told him, “Nothing to it,” before she leaned her head against his chest and began to sway in time to the music.

  He could feel her hips fitting against his own.

  She was wrong.

  There was definitely something to it, Zane thought. Actually, quite a lot to it. Having her pressed against him like this, with her family and a room full of strangers around, prohibiting him from acting on a squadron of feelings, exasperated and exhilarated him at the same time.