Under His Protection

by Karen Erickson

  The harsh intake of his breath sounding in her ear told her yes, he could.

  “Do you want to watch me touch myself?” she whispered, her heart in her throat. She couldn’t believe she said it. If he turned her down, she’d cry.

  Oh, she felt wicked. What had gotten into her? She never behaved like this, was never tempted to put herself on such blatant display for a man.

  “Jesus, Blake.” His agonized groan sent a thrill spiraling through her body.

  “You want me, don’t you?” She slid her free hand up and down the side of her hip, the silk of her gown soft and sleek against her palm.

  She wished it was Mason’s big hands touching her. Tugging the nightgown off with that focused intensity that aroused her so much, his fingers searching her skin, cupping her breasts, sliding between her legs.

  The fresh surge of moisture flooding her sex was unmistakable.

  “This isn’t right.”

  “Too late for right or wrong, Mason. It’s already happening.” She paused and peered out the window. “Where are you? I can’t see you.”

  “In bed.”

  Those two words sent a thrill chasing down her spine. She propped a hand against the window frame, studying the single lit window directly across from her. What did he wear when he went to bed? Actual pajamas?

  Nah. Underwear and a T-shirt? Hmm, no T-shirt, she’d guess. Maybe he wore nothing at all.

  That particular image made her mouth go dry.

  “You should be asleep,” he continued. “Tucked in and with the lights off. Go to bed, Blake.”

  “I really like it when you say my name,” she confessed. She did. He didn’t say it often enough.

  “Get some sleep.” He paused, she heard his sharp inhale, as if he searched for some sort of control. Oh, that shouldn’t excite her, but it did. “I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

  “Actually I’m not tired at all.” Licking her lips, she lowered her voice seductively. “Do you want to watch me? You can look but not touch. I don’t mind.”

  Fine, she did mind. She’d prefer if he touched her. Run those big, capable hands all over body, but she’d settle for this. For now.

  “I don’t think...”

  “That’s your problem,” she interrupted. “You’re too busy thinking.” And for once in her life, she wasn’t thinking at all. Maybe a mistake, but she didn’t care. “Let your mind go, Mason, and watch.”

  He didn’t say a word and she slid her free hand back up, over her stomach, her ribs, cupping her left breast. The bit of lace at the bodice rasped against her sensitive skin and she shivered.

  She shrugged the shoulder strap off and slipped her hand beneath the sagging fabric of the nightgown, brushing her fingers against her distended nipple. Gooseflesh dotted her skin and her knees wobbled at the thought of him watching her.

  God, what would it be like to have Mason actually touch her?

  “I’m imagining it’s your hands on me,” she confessed, lightly pinching her nipple. The little gasp of pleasure that escaped her was unmistakable.

  “Blake, my God, you need to stop.” He sounded like a dying man. But that was all right, since she was dying too.

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  “You have to. This is getting way out of control.” He hung up on her, the unmistakable click sounding loud and clear. Too loud and clear.

  She threw the phone down onto her bed, watching as it bounced. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and she shook her head, refusing to let them fall.

  Damn it, she wanted to be sexy and seductive. Instead, she’d just made a complete fool of herself. What must he think of her? That she was foolish and wasting her time? Wasting his time too?

  He could’ve hung up from the get go if he really hadn’t wanted to see her, talk to her. At least that’s what she told herself.

  Minor comfort in what was going to be a long night.

  Mason reached over and turned off the lamp. Lying flat on his back, he stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing, his cock aching.

  Watching Blake touch herself had nearly been his undoing. Not as if he’d really seen anything, though Christ, how he wished.

  Closing his eyes, he scrubbed a hand over his face. Let his palm rest against his mouth. He hadn’t been tempted like this…ever.

  These last few years he’d lived and breathed the Secret Service, had come up the ranks in a relatively quick time. And like a damn fool, he was tempted to do the wrong thing. As if he had no control whatsoever.

  It took everything within him not to stalk over to Blake’s cabin and pull her into his arms. Kiss her until they were both breathless. Strip her of that silky, sexy nightgown and lick every inch of her gorgeous body.

  Shit. He let his hand drop and rest over his erect cock. A hand job would bring him no real satisfaction, though he planned on it anyway. He had to. His cock was so stiff, he needed some sort of relief, no matter how temporary it might be.

  What she offered, he couldn’t take. No matter how much he wanted to. This was his job. She was his job. Allowing Blake to distract him was getting him nowhere. His behavior put her at risk. He had a duty to fulfill above all else.

  Protecting the vice president’s daughter.

  Chapter Four

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Blake slung her purse over her shoulder and counted to three before she turned and faced Mason. She schooled her expression, completely neutral as she watched him approach. “I’m walking into town.”

  A single dark brow lifted. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

  She shrugged. How she wished she could blink three times and make last night’s mortifying events disappear. The aborted strip tease had been a catastrophe from start to finish. The only positive part being that she knew, even for a fleeting moment, she’d affected him.

  Not enough to push him into action though.

  “It’s not that far to town. And it’s a gorgeous morning.”

  It was. And for once, she just wanted to be normal. Do something simple. Like take a walk and bask in the sun. It shone warm and bright, though the air was brisk, accompanied by a slight breeze. A perfect mid-October morning and her protector, as usual, was trying to put a damper on it.

  Not that she could blame him. Her pretending everything was all right and nothing bad happened last evening was just another coping mechanism. Blake didn’t need a psychologist. She self-analyzed on a daily basis.

  If she thought about it too hard, she was a complete and utter mess.

  Was it really so wrong, these feeling she had for him? Maybe it was. She made him out as some sort of hero but really, he was just a man. With faults and bad habits, needs and wants, just like anyone else.

  She needed that daily reminder almost as much as she needed a cup of coffee to wake up.

  “You really need to tell me when you’re going somewhere.” His mouth was grim, his eyes dark. She’d irritated him—what else was new?—and he wasn’t afraid to let her know it. “That’s why I’m here, you know.

  “I’m sorry.” She tried her best to sound contrite, tried even harder not to stare at him but he made it so damn hard.

  Like looking absolutely delicious in a pair of worn jeans that clung to his muscular thighs, a flannel shirt hanging loose and open over his white T-shirt and a pair of very expensive-looking hiking boots on his feet. He was the ultimate gorgeous and very slick mountain man.

  “I’m coming with you.” It wasn’t a question. And she knew she would get nowhere arguing with him. Besides, she really didn’t want to.

  Why she thought it was a good idea to try and sneak out for a cup of coffee in the early morning hours, she didn’t know. Having Mason at her side made her feel safer anyway.

  They started down the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath their feet. Blake shoved her hands into the pockets of her thick black cardigan, kept her head bent. She didn’t know what to say. Last night’s events hung heavy between them. Should s
he mention it? Apologize for her stupid behavior?

  In the harsh light of day, it didn’t feel right bringing it up.

  So she kept quiet, utilizing one of his tricks and letting the silence stretch. It didn’t seem to bother him whatsoever. He’d slipped his sunglasses on, the epitome of casual cool.

  As they turned onto the road toward town, she noticed the slight tilt of his head, how he scanned their surroundings beneath the shield of his glasses. He was checking everything, constantly on the lookout for her safety and she liked that. It gave her a perverse little sexual thrill.

  This man was her protector. He would give his life in order to save hers without a second thought. He would just do it and damn the consequences.

  It was a most sobering realization.

  “Anything planned today?” he suddenly asked.

  She glanced at him but he stared straight ahead. So she did too. “Not really.”

  Mason said nothing, as usual.

  “I want to go to the coffee shop just up the road. They serve homemade pastries that are to die for.”

  He gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.

  “If you’re lucky, I might buy you one.” She didn’t get to observe Mason eating too often but she’d like to see a sticky pastry covered in powdered sugar pass his lips just once. She bet he’d like it too.

  “Thanks. I already ate.”

  Of course, he had.

  “Trust me, these can’t be missed. They’re so good.” She wasn’t going to let him leave that little coffee shop without at least having a taste.

  Mason didn’t argue. He just kept pace with her as they approached Whitney Harbor. Her family’s property sat on the most western edge of the small town, and it was an easy walk into the quaint downtown district, a half mile at most. She liked being so close to the cute shops and tiny restaurants, yet she also felt isolated enough since her neighbors were so spread out.

  She plain loved it here. If she had her way, she’d never leave. No one expected anything from her on Whitney Island. Heck, they barely paid her any attention.

  It was perfect.

  “Do they know who you are?” His question came out of nowhere and she wondered yet again if he could read her mind.

  “Who, the locals? I guess so, but they don’t really care. They never acknowledge me outside of a friendly hello.”

  He nodded, looked pleased with her answer. “I’ll wait for you outside the coffee shop.”

  Blake halted in her tracks while he kept walking until he realized she wasn’t beside him. Stopping, he turned and faced her, a frown marring his sensual mouth. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why won’t you come inside with me?”

  “I’ll stand out here. You don’t want to be seen with me.”

  She rested her hands on her hips. “Why would you say that?”

  He shrugged and even with his eyes covered by the damn sunglasses, she could tell he was uncomfortable. What exactly was he getting at?

  “You wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” Mason finally said.

  “The wrong idea?” she asked shrilly. God, she sounded like a nag.

  “Don’t give out any information that can put you or your family in danger. Don’t tell anyone I’m Secret Service. Besides, if we’re seen together, people are going to think we’re...”

  “Together,” she finished for him, her entire body suddenly growing warm. That wouldn’t be a bad thing, at least in her book.

  “And we’re not.” His voice was firm in that macho, don’t-argue-with-me way he had.

  Icy coldness wiped the warmth away, just like that. “So you won’t come in with me.”

  “I’ll stand outside,” he said again.

  “Fine. You probably shouldn’t even walk next to me, then.” She picked up her stride, her legs taking her farther and farther away from Mason with her every step. Yet again, she felt the telltale prick of tears at the corner of her eyes and she murmured a curse in frustration.

  Stupid, stubborn man. Goading her like he did, like he was so damn good at.

  Blake practically ran to the row of shops that loomed ahead of her, sprinting up the short steps to the coffee shop. She threw open the door with a loud bang, the bells attached to the top of the door jangled like Santa Claus announcing his arrival. Everyone within the cafe stopped to stare.

  Swallowing hard, she offered a little wave. Not quite the way she wanted to announce her return to town.

  Able to walk right up to the counter since there was no line, Blake quickly placed her order. She allowed herself to indulge in a flaky, frosting-covered morning roll and a skinny latte. Though secretly, she wanted to order the latte full-tilt with whipped cream on top.

  Ah, to hell with it. She quickly changed her latte order to regular, requested extra whipped cream and handed the barista a ten dollar bill with glee. If she got fat, who cared? No one paid any attention to her anyway, certainly not Mason.

  Irritation grated on her and she gave a quick shake of her head. Why did it always come back to him? Why, why, why?

  Because you want him, that’s why.

  She ignored the evil little voice in her head. Its sole purpose was to make her feel bad, and it accomplished that task most excellently.

  Gathering her breakfast, Blake sat at a small round table close to the window. She cut into her pastry with a fork and popped a bite into her mouth, nearly moaning aloud at the warm, cinnamon sweetness melting onto her tongue. Normalcy felt good. It was a relief, being away from prying eyes, the flashing cameras, the endless stream of political analysts wanting to spout their opinions at her.

  Being on Whitney Island, she could almost pretend none of it was real.

  Well, her shadow threw a wrench in those plans.

  She kept one eye on the window, spotted Mason standing outside at a respectable distance. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his jaw hard as granite as he leaned against a lamppost. A slight breeze ruffled his brown hair and he reminded her of a warrior, standing guard outside the damsel-in-danger’s castle.

  How she hated being the helpless princess locked in the tower.

  “Man trouble?”

  Blake glanced up to find a woman about her age sitting alone at a table across from hers. A cup of coffee sat in front of her and she held a book in her hands.

  “Um, not really.” Blake paused. Was she that transparent? “Why do you ask?”

  The woman flicked her head toward the window, right in Mason’s direction. “He’s staring at you.”

  “He’s got sunglasses on.” Blake didn’t even look in his direction.

  “Trust me. He’s looking right at you. Is he your boyfriend? An ex giving you trouble, maybe?”

  The sharp bark of laughter that escaped from Blake drew the attention from the other patrons yet again. She covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers. “Oh, no. Not even close.”

  “He’s attractive, though he looks a little—stubborn.” The woman shrugged. “But most men are, right?”

  “Oh, my God, yes.” Wasn’t that the truth?

  “Are you new around here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”

  “My family owns a house on the island, but we don’t live here full-time.” She purposely didn’t mention what family she came from. The natives knew and didn’t make a fuss about it. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself.

  “It’s something I’m now considering, though. We’ve been coming here since I was a child and I love it,” Blake continued before she took a sip of her latte, getting a mouthful of homemade whipped cream in the process.

  It was delicious. Well worth the extra calories.

  “Ah, okay. I’ve only been here a couple of months, that’s why you’re not familiar. Us full-timers get to know everyone who lives or visits frequently here pretty quickly since there are so few of us.” The woman set her book down and smiled. “My name’s Suzanne.”

  “Blake.” She smiled in return and waved a
t the empty chair across from her. “Why don’t you join me?”

  Suzanne gathered her belongings and settled into the chair, pushing her long dark brown braid off her shoulder. She was pretty, downright exotic with tilted, almond-shaped brown eyes and olive skin. Blake’s complete opposite, looks-wise.

  “So what brought you here?” Blake asked. Hardly anyone chose to actually live on Whitney Island. They were either from a long line of natives or came to vacation here and eventually fell in love with the place.

  It was one of the best kept secrets of Northern California. And the locals liked it that way.

  “Um, well, I was looking for a change.” Suzanne shifted in her chair, her gaze dropping to the tabletop. “I was sick of my life, sick of men, sick of everything going wrong so I came here. I’d come here once before, a long time ago when I was a little kid. I’ve never forgotten the island.”

  “Most people can’t, once they visit.” Blake sighed wistfully. “I adore it here. It’s almost…magical.”

  Suzanne’s gaze lifted and Blake swore she saw a flash of—what? Fear? How strange. “I love it here too. I’m living in a little shack that’s drafty and freezing cold, and the job I have doesn’t pay a whole lot, but I’m happy. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

  “That’s all that matters then.” Blake had no idea what it was like to suffer, money-wise. Being cold and having no money? Something she’d never experienced. But feeling lonely, unloved and unwanted?

  Oh yes, something she experienced on a near-daily basis.

  “I had a, uh…boyfriend like that.” Suzanne nodded in Mason’s direction once again. “Intimidating, always bossing me around. I let him get the best of me for far too long, but now I’m here. All by myself and loving it.”

  “You sound incredibly healthy.” Making Blake feel incredibly screwed up.

  Suzanne shrugged and sipped the last bit from her coffee cup. “Oh, I still have plenty of issues. No one is perfect.”

  “Yes, least of all me.” Blake laughed.

  “You look pretty perfect to me.” Suzanne studied her with a sharp eye. Blake got the distinct feeling this woman didn’t miss much. “Your clothes are expensive and you’re wearing diamond studs in your ears that are at least a carat each. You’re pretty. You seem sweet, and you have a handsome man chasing after you.”