by Anya Summers
His fingers moved with competent grace and then he handed it back to her. His name was on the screen with a number.
“That’s my number. Call me if you change your mind tonight. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch if it will give you peace of mind.”
No one had looked out for her this way, in well, forever. And not because it was his job. Well, okay, as a detective it was kind of his job, but he was going well above and beyond the normal call of duty.
She blinked back the moisture filling her eyes, cleared her throat and said, “Thank you.”
“Anytime. But if you hear anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me or come get me. Even if you just think you saw something or heard it. You have my number, use it. And if you don’t get me on the first try, call again. Understood?”
She nodded, embarrassed over her meltdown and that he’d borne witness to it. But he wasn’t condescending about it or had made her feel childish for her reaction. He’d treated her with compassion and understanding. Both were exceedingly rare in this world.
“Eleven tomorrow… if you’re not doing anything, I can work on that arm and shoulder for you.”
“You don’t have to pay me back.”
She held up a hand. “You fed me tonight and made sure there was no boogieman lurking in my closet. It’s the least I can do. Unless you have other plans.”
She was shocked at how much she hoped that he didn’t have plans. She wanted to see him when she wasn’t riding a tidal wave of panic.
“I’ll see you at eleven then. Lock the door behind me.”
“Way ahead of you there,” she said and walked him to the door. “Good night, Jack. Thanks… for everything.” Then she leaned up and brushed her lips against his cheek before stepping back, out of arm’s reach.
Jack stared at her like he was debating whether he wanted to press her for more. Little did he know that if he did, she was willing. She just couldn’t bring herself to be the one to initiate more. It had to be his choice. “Call me if you need anything.”
She nodded. “Umhmm.”
Then Jack left, ambling outside. He looked over his shoulder at her as she shut the door, like he was checking to make sure she did as he commanded. Proving he was every inch a Dom and a cop.
Rayna shut and locked the door. The silence in her place was deafening now that he was no longer in it. Maybe she should have invited him to stay the night—on the couch. But that would be leaning far too much. She couldn’t allow herself to lean that way or she would get sloppy. It was how Dominic had found her six years ago. She’d gotten sloppy, thinking she could have a normal life again under a new name.
The sadistic bastard had proved that, while he was alive, she would always be watching her back and running.
Knowing it would be a long time before she got to sleep, she fixed herself a cup of chamomile tea and with her phone in hand, headed up to her bedroom. Once there, she flipped the lock on the door, grabbed the chair from her vanity, and wedged the back underneath the door handle.
It might not help but it gave her the illusion of security. Rayna set her tea cup on the nightstand and checked the firearm she kept in her nightstand. It wasn’t failsafe to have it in here. She would have to open the drawer and reach inside, flip the safety and point it at an intruder—which, when seconds counted, could end up being far too many. But she refused to sleep with the thing under her pillow. She did, however, check the clip to ensure it was locked and loaded before setting it back down in the drawer and shutting it. A girl could never be too careful. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.
Chapter 7
Jack strode the short distance back to his front door. He scanned the street before he headed inside, checking for the outlines of cars parked close by with their lights off. He didn’t like that there had been someone outside the club and they had approached Rayna. Had it been Travino? Had he found her already?
Fuck.
It didn’t help that he was aroused. He rubbed a hand across his belly, thinking about Rayna. She stirred him, and in more than purely the physical sense. She unearthed his protective instincts that demanded he stand as her guardian against the corrupt, evil forces of this world. He’d wanted to press the issue, get her to let him sleep on the couch, but she’d seemed so achingly fragile. It was such a contradiction to her normal brash, take no prisoners, defy the gods attitude that he hadn’t pressed. If they knew one another better, he would have ignored her protestations, but they were tenuous friends and he needed her to trust him.
Perhaps he should have, though.
It would have made him feel better. Hell, it would make him feel better if Rayna knew Travino was after her again. She deserved to be aware of the stakes, that her life was in danger once more. That tonight might have been so much worse if she hadn’t gotten out of there fast enough.
Not spying another soul around at three in the morning, he headed inside and brewed a pot of coffee. He’d watch her for a bit. Watch the woods and the street outside her place for a few hours or so before he turned in.
Jack trudged up the stairs and entered the smaller of the two bedrooms. Inside was a bank of monitors with split screens displaying different video feeds. The monitors were spread out over a long folding table that acted like a desk. There was a computer keypad in the center of the table that allowed him to control all the cameras and their feeds. Everything was being backed up onto the computer tower.
He took a seat at the desk chair and surveyed Rayna as she puttered around her kitchen.
He’d messed up tonight. He had made a quick trip to the john and in that time, she had left the club for the evening. Then he’d returned to his seat, ready to cash out on the one beer that he had only sipped at for appearances. Only it had taken him a few minutes before he realized he had not spied Rayna at all. That close to closing, he’d asked Matt, who informed him that she had left five minutes ago.
Jack had tossed a twenty on the bar and raced outside. Whoever had been watching her had vanished by the time he strode through the parking lot.
He’d used his lights and sped the distance to the townhomes, taking back roads that were faster. But not by much. He parked in the driveway, shut his truck off and exited his vehicle a minute before Rayna pulled up into the driveway beside his. Jack had finally breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t messed up too badly, only to find out there had been someone watching the club—and her.
He sent David an email to find out if he had been the one outside the club. If it wasn’t him, it could either have been an everyday average perp, or worse, Travino. Tomorrow night, he would stake out the parking lot while she worked. He wouldn’t let the bastard touch her.
He messaged Spencer, telling him that they needed to check the footage of the parking lot that night. He wanted more cameras installed in back. If he asked, Spencer would do it.
All this meant that until he had an answer, he was on stakeout, watching her place. For all he knew, whoever had been out there had followed her home.
She puttered around her kitchen some more. The video feed from both the front and back of the townhome showed nothing. Not even wildlife. Then she headed upstairs. In her bedroom, she shut the door and pushed a chair against the handle—a mildly effective deterrent if the chair was positioned correctly. Problem was, most often people did not put it at the right angle. Then she trod over and set her mug down. She sat on the bed, opened the nightstand drawer and checked her firearm. She knew how to handle a firearm. That gave him a measure of satisfaction.
She wasn’t helpless. And judging from the way she handled the gun, she would protect herself if need be. After placing the gun back in the drawer, she started stripping.
She was efficient, tugging the black Cuffs & Spurs uniform tank top over her head. Beneath it, she wore a bright purple lace bra that accentuated her stunning cleavage. She stood, her hands undoing the button and zipper on her shorts. Her belly was smooth, and she had a tattoo along her right flank. It
went from the just beneath the side of her breast to the curve of her hip. It was a scrawling flower vine, extremely feminine, and he wanted to trace it—with his tongue.
He didn’t avert his gaze. He should have. It was the right thing to do, the honorable thing. But Christ, she was fucking gorgeous. When she took off her bra and her breasts fell free, he nearly sawed his tongue off. They were perfect: round, each the size of a large orange, with dark, dusky areolas.
He was rock hard. Instantly.
She padded over to her dresser and pulled out an ivory nightgown, then slid the material over her head. It fell to mid-thigh and had a low back. She strode out of sight into her bathroom. He checked the other camera feeds. A pair of raccoons had entered the backyard, but nothing more. It was quiet as the grave.
Rayna returned to the screen. She settled into bed and switched the light off. She tossed and turned. Jack sympathized with her plight. He had a hard time falling asleep some nights as well. Getting shot would do that to you.
He watched her toss and turn for a good thirty minutes.
He never should have left her. He never should have…
What the hell is she doing?
Oh, fuck me.
Jack stared at the screen, slack-jawed and aroused. She was masturbating. The covers slipped down. Not all the way, but he could tell from the gyrations of her hips that she was fingering herself. Her other hand cupped one of her tits, tugging and twisting the nipple.
He ran a hand over his face as he watched her. He knew he was being a damn voyeur, but he didn’t fucking care. It was the sexiest damn thing he had witnessed in a long time, more so than the scenes at the club that night. It made him want to march the short distance back over to her place, use his key to get inside, and join her.
His dick strained to be free, and he finally gave in. After freeing his shaft from his jeans, he stroked himself in time to her movements, fisting his dick, increasing the pressure on his shaft. He wondered what her cunt would feel like wrapped around his cock, squeezing him, feeling her wetness coat his shaft.
Would she enjoy being bound while being fucked? He wanted to find out. Wanted to discover what made her whimper and what made her scream. He wished that the covers would slip down a few more inches so he could see her pretty cunt.
Rayna was stunning in her passion. She writhed and canted her hips, increasing the tempo. He did likewise. His breaths issued as harsh grunts. He came, shooting his wad just as Rayna arched her back, her mouth dropping open as she climaxed.
Ah, Christ! Jack leaned back in his chair, staring at her, watching her tug the covers back up and burrow beneath them. He was glad he was sitting down—the sheer force of his orgasm would have buckled his knees. His spunk covered his shirt. He whipped the garment off over his head and used it to mop himself up, wincing at the sharp throbbing pain in his bicep at the sudden movement.
New plan. Just because he was guarding her, didn’t mean he couldn’t be attracted to her. Because he was and, in truth, he had wanted her for some time. But she had been like a distant ice queen and virtually untouchable. And now, after one day around her, he knew she was so much more than that. He could do both: guard her, be her shield against a mob boss that wanted to end her very existence, and satisfy his unrepentant craving for her.
He wanted to be the one to put that look on her face, make her come screaming his name. He tossed the stained shirt on the floor and readjusted his jeans. Rayna settled under the covers and was asleep in minutes.
Jack watched her as she slept, and scanned the video feed as it monitored her place for any irregularities. He was her shield, her protector in the dark, and he would die before he let Travino get her.
Chapter 8
After her scare the night before, Rayna had slept poorly. Who wouldn’t after something like that? She had nightmares, all damn night long. Having that creep watch her outside the club had re-ignited her old wounds and the terrors she had survived. She dreamt about her father, his trial, and the way he’d looked at her across the courtroom with pure unadulterated malice. She had dreamt about the moment they’d carted him away in handcuffs to serve his consecutive life sentences, how he’d bellowed out his hatred for her and publicly disowned her.
It was a memory that still made her heart splinter into pieces.
But her dreams were always warped, with the expression on his face morphing from exaggerated to one so sinister and distorted she woke up screaming, covered in sweat. And then there were the dreams about her ex-fiancé, Dominic Travino. It had been an arranged engagement by her father. She had never loved Dominic. She had never even liked him. It was a part she had been forced to play while her heart was still bleeding over Nicolas and his death at her father’s hands.
There were some hurts, some wounds, that ventured far too deep. Ones you understood would be something you carried with you for the rest of your life. And these were hers.
When the trial had finished, thanks to the informant work she had done for the Federal Bureau of Investigations, she had been granted safe haven in the witness protection program run by the United States Marshalls. What with her testimony and the fact that Dominic had escaped capture before they had been able to nab him, they had no other choice but to hide her away in order to keep her alive. Dominic had sent threats to the Bureau, promising that he would find her and leave pieces of her for them to find. Dominic didn’t make light threats. He followed through on them.
And he had found her. She almost hadn’t survived when that happened, to the point where she looked in the mirror and oftentimes didn’t recognize herself. The Marshalls had moved her again, and then again when he caught her scent a second time. Rayna hoped that this time was different.
Deep down, she didn’t believe it though. He always found her. It was only a matter of time before she would be forced to run again. But it was the lie she told herself so that she could sleep at night, otherwise she would go stark raving mad and spend the rest of her days in a padded cell.
She always felt like she was being hunted. That she was never fully relaxed anywhere and permanently had to have her guard up. It had become typical for her to attempt to be as inconspicuous as possible and not cause any waves where she lived. This meant no personal entanglements, and isolation as a rule. Granted, in Jackson she had already broken her own rules through the friendships she had allowed to develop.
Dominic Travino, the stuff of her nightmares, would find her again. It was only a matter of time. And she sincerely doubted that she would survive his brutality a second time.
Which all meant her night had been anything but restful.
This morning, Rayna was mainlining coffee like the world was going to run out of it. She answered the door with trepidation filling her. When it came to bad ideas, giving Jack a massage topped her list. But he had helped her out last night, and fed her, so she would suck it up.
Then she opened her front door.
Lord have mercy!
The man made her want to toss out her no involvements or emotional entanglements clause. Dressed in a gray tank top and black basketball shorts that fell almost to his knees, he packed a sucker punch of sexy alpha maleness. The tank top left his arms bare; his well-defined, uber corded, muscled arms. She’d never thought arms could be sexy, but his were. Plus, his shirt emphasized the broadness of his shoulders and decried the inherent strength in him. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
His top was loose-fitting, his shorts were slung low on his waist and outlined enough of his package to make her brain misfire. His legs were sturdy, toned with muscle all the way down to his big feet.
She wanted to fan herself. The man gave her hot flashes just looking at him. Her fingers itched to touch all that hunk of man meat, and knowing she would get a chance to touch him in short order had her girly bits in a tizzy. He was imposing. Jack was an alpha in his damn prime, and ignited every one of her erogenous zones as if it were the Fourth of July.
He gave her a similar ass
essment, his hazel gaze missed nothing, not her hair pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head, or her purple leggings and an ivory yoga tank top with a pink lotus flower blooming across the bust.
“Morning? Did I wake you up?” He tilted his head as he studied her.
She sighed. The fact that he’d asked meant she looked as bad as she felt after last night. “No. You didn’t. I didn’t sleep well, after everything last night.”
“Rayna, if this isn’t a good time, we don’t have to do this.”
The fact that he was giving her an out if she wanted it raised him up a few notches in her esteem. It was selfless on his part and showed more empathy that she would have expected from him. She appreciated that he was willing to put her needs before his and it firmed her resolve to see this through. “No. It’s fine. Come on in. I already have the table set up for you.”
He raised a dark brow and gave her a skeptical look. “If you’re sure.”
She pasted a smile on her face. “Yep. I am.”
Rayna stepped back to give him space to enter. He brushed past her and his male scent, the spicy sandalwood aroma, hit her. She wanted to bury her nose in his chest. Her blood simmered. Her fascination with him was getting out of hand. She ignored the voice inside her head warning her away from him, telling her she should cancel the massage before this situation progressed too far.
Did she listen to that voice? Nope. Not at all. Because deep down, she yearned to feel his powerful form beneath her fingertips. She wanted to touch him and see if it burned, even in a purely non-sexual way.
Rayna shut and locked her door once he was inside. “I have everything set up in the living room.”
She padded past him. In her living room, she had pushed her coffee table out of the way and erected her massage table. She had kept the lights in the living room off and turned on her two Himalayan salt lamps. Their fiery marigold glow made the room seem warm and inviting, soothing, even. But with him here in her space, it was also rather seductive and might give him the impression that she was creating a mood. She had her essential oil diffuser going, filling the room with orange and lemon scents.