A Steamy Bodyguard Romance Anthology

by Joanne Rock

  What did it matter if Sean saw the photo now that people all across the country had the option to copy and save it to their hard drives? Clearly, she wasn’t going to be able to keep all her dirty little secrets as private as she would have liked. Her few moments of reckless stupidity had been captured in full color to haunt her for the rest of her days.

  And the tug of her attraction to Sean—something normal and healthy, even if she never acted on it—would be tainted by the ugliness of her old life.

  “Holy hell,” Sean whispered, his voice deep and ragged a few inches from her ear as he leaned closer to the computer screen to get a better view. “That’s you?”

  CHAPTER 5

  SEAN DIDN’T WAIT for her answer.

  He grabbed his beer off the desk so fast it spilled out the top of the long neck, trailing dark lager across the back of his hand as he made tracks away from the computer screen and away from the image now deep-fried into his mental sexual circuitry. He didn’t know whether he needed the cold beer more for his dry mouth or to combat the raging hard-on he’d fought successfully sitting next to Donata for two hours until that damn photo materialized on his monitor. Drink the brew? Or pour liberally over his lap?

  God. Damn.

  He settled on a long drink, knowing neither option would solve his problem. He’d never forget the image of Donata strapped to a board that might have been a weight bench or an incline sit-up support. Thick black strips of leather wound around her naked body to hold her in place so that the juncture of her thighs was covered—barely—although her breasts were visible between two other strips. Her hair, longer then, spilled over the board in a mass of messy curls and her eyes were rimmed in black like a rock star or an Egyptian queen. A tattoo of a rose in full flower had been inked inside one hipbone and her spread legs seemed to strain against the bonds. But she’d been staring at the camera with an exaggerated pout on her red-painted lips as if to assure the viewer her light S&M pose was only for show.

  And what a hell of a show it had been.

  He looked through the bottom of his suddenly empty beer bottle and wondered where it had gone.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” Donata’s voice didn’t penetrate his consciousness for a long moment after she spoke. “I guess we can’t hide my past any longer, but I appreciate you not pushing me to make the photos part of police records when the hard copies arrived a few days ago. I’ll add the information first thing tomorrow morning and—”

  She broke off suddenly, snapping Sean out of his drooling stupor enough to see her bury her face in her hands. He’d been so caught up trying to extinguish the heat the image inspired he forgot all about how she might feel.

  He’d never been accused of being Joe Sensitive, but even he had to admit his reaction had been purely a selfish one.

  “I can get that picture taken down.” He blurted the words, not quite remembering what she’d been saying but figuring any woman would want that kind of photo of herself out of circulation. “I know a guy who’s great with that kind of thing. He can redirect the link to a Christian Web site or the NYPD FAQ on reporting a crime or something to send surfers running.”

  Sean would call the guy tonight, in fact, because the idea of anyone else looking at Donata that way pissed him off on a deep level. He couldn’t help the irrational impulse that wanted him to be the only guy to see her naked.

  And not just because some photo turned him on. If he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit he’d been seriously attracted to her long before now. Right from that first day they’d met and he’d put her under arrest.

  Maybe that’s why her accusation had stung so much. With another woman he might have blown off the words as the usual BS some women flung at a cop in an effort to be set free. But in Donata’s case, he had been checking her out, even if he was damn sure he hadn’t communicated as much with his hands or with his words.

  “No.” She pushed away from the computer, distancing herself from the photo she’d minimized at the bottom of the screen. “As much as I appreciate that offer on a personal level, I can’t allow you to contaminate a case by tampering with potential evidence.”

  There were shadows under her eyes he hadn’t noticed earlier and he wondered how much extra time she’d been spending on this investigation.

  “What evidence?” He couldn’t tamp down the surge of annoyance at the hypercautious approach police were too often forced to take in deference to an overworked justice system that would toss a case out for the most peripheral of reasons. “You’re investigating an unsuspecting exploited teenager whose bedroom adventures are being mass-marketed for profit, not some dime-a-dozen Web site with titillating photos. Do you think for one minute your partner would hesitate to act if there were pictures of his daughter on this site?”

  “She’s a minor.” Donata twisted a loose knob on his top desk drawer, spinning the old nickel hardware in circles since it refused to tighten properly anymore.

  “So were you when these were taken.” He didn’t give a rat’s ass how emphatic she was about her case. The picture was coming down tonight as soon as he made a phone call.

  “Yes, but—” The chirp of her cell phone interrupted them, and she tugged the handset out of her purse. “Casale.”

  When her brow furrowed in concentration, Sean took the opportunity to give her some privacy and to make a call of his own in the bedroom. He’d have his techie friend copy down all the necessary server information and linking codes to Donata’s picture in case the Web site could lead them anywhere, but Sean refused to wait for the official police department blessing to act. Donata’s tenuous hold on credibility could be destroyed by then if he didn’t do something.

  He just hoped his friend could accomplish the job with his eyes closed, because Sean damn well wouldn’t allow even one more person to see the sizzling woman beneath Detective Casale’s clothes.

  * * *

  DONATA CLOSED HER PHONE after talking to Mick, knowing she ought to call it a night and go home but not sure where to find the energy. Seeing the photo of herself on the Net that anyone could access had shocked her at first, then drained her dry of any emotional connection to the picture.

  Since Sean had disappeared into a back room, she maximized the photo at the bottom of his computer screen to stare at this ghost of her former self again. She studied the woman swathed in leather straps and looking entirely too sure of herself. From a purely objective standpoint, she looked damn good. Not air-brushed perfect, but strong and sexy even in a pose of exaggerated submission.

  Running her finger over the line of her thigh on the screen, Donata remembered how much sexual play had gone into setting up the shot. She’d gently kicked Sergio away every time he came closer with another strap of leather, requiring him to kiss her and stroke her into playing along with his game. And she had played along. At the time, she’d felt very much in control of the situation, so certain of her love for her man and confident in his love for her.

  That confidence and happiness radiated from the photo, which perhaps was what made it all the more difficult to look at now. The photo made her feel naive all over again, a sensation she despised. Even worse was the sense of shame that went along with it.

  And yet…

  She had no reason to feel guilty. She wasn’t the first underage female to play with fire in the form of sex with an older man and she wouldn’t be the last. Her grandmother had married a much older man and had spoken of her daughter’s marriage to a high school friend with such scorn that Donata had opted to follow in her grandmother’s footsteps. Of course, Granny hadn’t gotten involved with a gangster, marrying a local plumber instead of hooking up with a man who never seemed to work but always had spending cash.

  “Everything okay?” Sean returned, his bare feet so quiet on the hardwood floors that she hadn’t heard him until he was close enough to see the computer screen.

  Shame creeping back into her consciousness, she tamped it down, downsizing her feelings along with the
image in a pitiful attempt at coping with the situation.

  “Yes. Mick just wanted to let me know Mrs. Chapman called the station to suggest maybe it was her daughter’s boyfriend who sold the webcam images of Sara.” Her heartbeat tripped in awkward time as she looked up at Sean, the thoughts she’d been having about her sexual past somehow churning up carnal hungers. “Mick’s going back out to Long Island tomorrow to question the boyfriend while I work the technological angle.”

  She sensed the heat in her face, felt the warmth pulsing under her skin and wished she’d slipped out of the apartment while Sean had been on the phone. She had no business thinking about him…that way.

  Yet the more she told herself that, the more her brain seemed to force-feed her sexual suggestions. She saw disjointed images of herself undressing Sean, of them entwined together on the sofa that lay not five feet away, of Sean’s hands wrapping lengths of leather around her too-hot body.

  Abruptly, she stood.

  “I’d better go.” She leaned over the desk to retrieve her purse but he stopped her with a light touch to one shoulder.

  “Wait.” His hand barely grazed the fabric of her angora sweater, a fuzzy red V-neck she’d fallen in love with because of the decadent softness.

  She hated knowing that he hesitated to touch her more than that because she’d threatened him with a sexual harassment suit eons ago, back in her former life when she’d been a certifiable idiot.

  “I can’t.” She couldn’t be around him when she felt so keyed up, so keenly aware that she’d lost her sexual self when Sergio betrayed her with a tart named Rosie and with his greed for money.

  Donata had lost more than her sexual confidence though, since she’d ultimately realized what attracted her to Serg—his confidence, his ability to protect her—had later been the very traits to bite her in the butt. He’d been domineering and possessive with her while keeping his own options wide open. Was it any wonder she doubted her own judgment when it came to men now?

  But then the light touch on her shoulder turned into a gentle stroke of her cheek and her knees nearly melted underneath her.

  “Please.” That one word held her in place, captive to whatever he might say.

  She nodded. Waited. Tried not to breathe in his musky male scent for fear she’d end up returning the favor of his touch.

  “You have no reason to be embarrassed about a picture taken in the heat of passion.”

  He thought that’s why she was sprinting for the door? Embarrassment? While it might be easier to let him think so, she hated for him to believe her that weak.

  “I’m not embarrassed.” She refuted the accusation even before she’d come up with another excuse. “At least not anymore.”

  “No? Then why the hasty exit when we didn’t even clarify where we’re going from here?” His hand remained on her cheek, his thumb too close to her mouth. He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze dipping down to her lips and then back to her eyes. “You don’t still have…feelings for this guy?”

  “Are you kidding?” She hadn’t expected him to ever think that. “I’d rather have my kinky photo posted at the precinct than see my hoodlum ex again.”

  “Then what gives with the retreat?” His forehead furrowed with concern and it was all she could do not to close her eyes and lean into his touch.

  But with all her energy focused on standing very, very still, Donata didn’t have enough mental power left over to concoct a plausible explanation, leaving her no choice but to go with the truth.

  “As much as I resent the man who took that photograph, the picture reminds me of all the sex I’m no longer having.”

  She’d been so intent on turning her life around and carving out a noble profession for herself that she kept her body, her heart and her feelings under lock and key. And although her heart seemed content to stay there, her body was making a hell of a case to be free.

  Sean lowered his hand, removing his fingers from her cheek and leaving only the heat of the touch behind.

  “You’re thinking sex thoughts?” One eyebrow lifted in mild surprise.

  “What? That’s never happened to you before?” She knew she should back away, head for the door before she sacrificed any more pride, even though the conversation was taking an interesting turn.

  She couldn’t afford to let her guard down too much around this man.

  “I’m not at liberty to say, given our history.” The steely note in his voice reminded her of the way she’d panicked four years ago when he came close to her.

  She hated that she’d started them off on bad footing, but she’d be damned if it would keep them from having a working relationship. And just now, she had an idea how she could level the playing field.

  An unorthodox idea, maybe, but it would definitely keep Sean on his toes.

  “Is that right?” She looked him in the eye, hoping she could carry off her plan. “Maybe this will help jar your memory and spur some thoughts of your own.”

  She wound her hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer, arching up on her bare toes to brush her mouth over his. Heat flared inside her at the slow, easy slide of her lips against his. Her breasts tightened against the silken fabric of her bra and she imagined how easy it would be to ease that ache if only she could lean into him, rub herself against the hard plane of his chest.

  Vivid visions scrolled across her thoughts, making it nearly impossible to pull away even though she knew that’s what had to happen. She’d be the worst kind of hypocrite if she fell into his arms tonight after raising the roof about his long, lingering looks once upon a time.

  “There,” she whispered, breaking off the kiss and managing to insert a half inch of space between them. “Now you can pay me back with a harassment threat of your own. Clearly, I was the aggressor this time. I promise I won’t deny it in the morning.”

  Her heart skip-hopped as she breathed in his scent, his nearness, his maleness. Her senses seemed heightened as she processed the sound of her breathing, the quiet hum of the electronics on the desk and the inevitable sounds of the city drifting up from the street below.

  And then her hyperconcentration shattered as Sean slid his arms around her waist and kissed her. Really kissed her.

  His was no gentle brush of mouths but a full-on assault. He slanted his lips over hers as if to improve the angle of access and his tongue flicked over the quivering softness of her lower lip. She closed her eyes in an effort to sink deeper into the moment, to give herself over to all that she’d been denying. She wanted this, wanted him, with a fervor she couldn’t refuse.

  Her lips parted under the expert sweep of his tongue, her whole body opening itself to whatever pleasures the night might offer. The time for rational thinking had fled, disappearing about the moment Sean had first touched her cheek. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t want to follow the heat that existed between them.

  A low hum of approval emanated from her throat, the same sound a woman makes when tasting the first bite of warm chocolate cake. And yet this bliss was only a precursor of delights she knew awaited them if she dared push this further.

  Heat pooled between her thighs at the thought and her hands gravitated to Sean’s shoulders. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on him—all over him—but she also needed the support of his strength when she was melting with long-suppressed desires. Her fingers dug into the cotton softness of his T-shirt to feel the warmth from his skin beneath.

  So. Damn. Good.

  Her breasts flattened against the plane of his chest, spilling over the lace cups of her bra. His hands bunched in the hem of her blouse at her back, tunneling beneath her sweater, then beneath the silk camisole she wore underneath it. At the first brush of his palm on her naked back, over the little hummingbird she’d had inked there when she’d freed herself from the past, a plaintive little moan chirped from her in a clear message of want.

  She was pretty sure he understood the sound by the way his shaft strained against his jeans, str
ained against her belly. She tucked her hips closer, pressed herself nearer that fiery source of male heat.

  His hands traveled up her back with the same slow restraint he’d always shown around her and she wondered vaguely if she’d ever be so fortunate to see this man unleash the kind of raw want that she had tonight. She tried to lean back to gauge his expression, to see if he wanted this as badly as she did, but he held her fast with his hands, keeping her breasts pressed to his chest while he unfastened hooks and lowered straps and finally cupped the soft weights in his hand.

  And somehow that was answer enough.

  Her hands stilled on his shoulders, her whole body tensed with anticipating his touch on the taut peaks of her breasts. The teasing feel of her silk camisole on the tight points was nothing compared to what Sean’s touch would be like.

  Now it was his turn to lean back, to take in the sight of her with her sweater falling off her shoulder, her camisole stretched taut against the breasts he cupped in his hands. Her whole body was buzzing, humming, tingling and he seemed to sense that as he drew out the moment, looking at her.

  Then, bending over her, he closed his lips on one tight peak through the fabric. The moist heat of the kiss sent a shudder through her as she arched, offering him total access. His tongue laved the point through the silk, creating a damp spot and heightening the sensation of his tongue directly on her. At her needy whimper, he kissed the other nipple in the same way, teasing her into a frenzy of erratic breathing and restless hands.

  She wanted more. Much more. Her needs had been ignored too long for her to remember the finesse of seduction but she wanted to seduce Sean, to please him and make him want more. She palmed the length of him through his jeans, testing the breadth of an impressive erection.

  “Bedroom.” His muffled word was his only explanation for lifting her off her feet and swinging her into his arms, but it seemed sufficient.