His Innocent Lover (Slade Security Team Series Book 3)

by Leslie North

  He straightened. “Please what, Chloe?”

  “Touch me.” She pressed against him. “It’s been so long. It’s never been this good.”

  “Where do you want me to touch you?”

  “Everywhere!”

  Trent kissed her once more, hard, and backed away, pulling her with him to the bedroom. He pulled her in, pulled her dress off over her head, and gave her a little push towards the bed. There were nice things about small houses.

  He dragged off his shirt, kicked off his sandals, and slipped off his jeans. He stroked a hand over himself. She was watching him with curious and hungry eyes.

  Chloe licked her lips. Trent had a sudden image of her mouth on him, taking him, licking and sucking. He’d like that—he’d love having her on her knees in front of him, but he needed her bonded to him, not him begging for more from her.

  Trent snagged a condom from his bedstand and knelt on the bed. “Lay back.”

  She did so, reaching up and spreading her arms and legs. She looked abandoned like that—a siren from the ocean sent to torment him.

  He rolled the condom on and stroked himself again. He settled himself between her spread thighs. “Are you sure? Don’t want you to say I took advantage of you.”

  She smiled. “What if I want to be taken advantage of?” Reaching up, she pushed her fingers through his hair. “I like the way you feel. I want more. It’s been too long, Trent.”

  “Been a while for me, too.” He reached down and slipped a finger into her—she was warm and wet and wide open.

  Her only response was a moan of satisfaction and the lifting of her legs to wrap around his waist, urging him on. “Don’t stop,” she urged.

  “I didn’t plan to. Open your eyes and look at me and keep watching me,” he told her as he increased the tempo of his thrusts, feeling her body tighten around his own just before she exploded into ecstasy and he followed her over the top.

  Chapter 9

  Chloe lay in a tangle with Trent. He was breathing hard, but his weight felt anchoring, as if he could keep her from shattering. She kept on ignoring the voice in her head warning her that she didn’t know enough about this man to be sleeping with him. She needed what he had to give her and any consequences to follow—well…she’d just have to deal with them later. She knew how to do that.

  She woke with her heart pounding, uncertain where she was. Not the ranch. She knew that in a heartbeat. She could hear the humming of cars—the more distant sound of the ocean. Light filtered into the bedroom from streetlights. Trent rolled over, threw an arm over her, and that settled her pounding pulse. She snuggled into him.

  She should slip out, gather up her things, and go back to her place—what would Mrs. Wilson think? But it was warm here—and he had a good bed. Closing her eyes, she went back to sleep. She’d deal with everything in the morning.

  She woke to sunshine and heat, and Trent was gone. The warm smell of coffee lured her out of bed. It was not yet bitter, so he couldn’t have been gone that long. She padded into the kitchen, Trent’s shirt over her shoulders, and found a note propped up on the coffee maker.

  Gone surfing. See you for lunch?

  She smiled. After a shower, she headed to her place to change and go visit her dad before she had to be at the Guardians of the Earth office.

  ***

  “Thought the idea was to get into the Guardian’s computers, not the receptionist.”

  Trent glanced at his brother. He kept walking to the coffee pot, poured himself a mug, and came back. Travis sat next to two laptops, a tablet computer, and a desktop he’d built himself. Sitting down, Trent blew on his coffee and said, “Mrs. W.’s been talking.”

  “You know her—she loves to gossip. She’s also got an eye on your back.”

  Trent rolled his eyes. “I stopped needing a nursemaid a long time ago.”

  “Really?” Travis crossed his arms. “You don’t remember what happened in Bosnia?”

  “Look, Chloe is just—”

  “A sweet kid who just needs someone. Yeah, you said that about Nadia—up until she stuck a knife in you.”

  Trent winced. “Okay, so she was one—”

  “And that chick in Brazil? What was her name? The one working with the drug cartel to kidnap her boss? Kim in South Korea—you trusting she wasn’t going to sell you out, that went so well.”

  Trent drank his coffee. “Chloe is different.”

  “Heard that before. Bro, you’ve got this thing for a big pair of eyes and a sad story.”

  “Chloe hasn’t told me any sad stories.”

  “Really? No mention of her dad’s accident? Having to move off of the family spread? No word about how she didn’t end up married to her high school sweetheart?”

  Stiffening, Trent asked, “Okay, how’d you hear about that?’

  Travis waved at his computer. “Bro, engagement shows up in the local paper, but a wedding photo never does. No marriage license recorded. Doesn’t take a degree in math to put those together. If Slade finds out you’re breaking his ‘don’t trust and do verify’ rule, you are going to get one serious earful.” Turning, Travis pulled his computer out of hibernation with a few key strokes. “Lucky you, she does check out.” Glancing at him, Travis lifted an eyebrow. “But did you even think to check her story?”

  Face warm, Trent shook his head. “No time.”

  “You mean, too busy getting into her pants.”

  “All part of the plan. Look, you said it, those computers are behind a firewall that’s majorly secure. We need local access to their network—meaning I need Chloe to trust me enough that I can drop by without her freaking and calling me a stalker.”

  “So you sleep with her instead? Bro, I hope you know what you’re doing. Not that she’s not hot.” Travis hit the computer keys and pulled up telephoto images of Chloe shrugging into her wet suit—and pulling it off, as well.

  “That’s one fine as—”

  “Watch it, dude.”

  Travis grinned. “I was going to say asset. Get your mind out of the gutter and back on the job, or Slade will be giving us the worst, most boring baby-sitting job next to remind us we’re supposed to be pros.

  Standing, Trent met his brother’s stare. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah, just like in Bosnia. Just remember, too, we’re in the US of A. You pull a stunt like in Bosnia to get out of things, not even Slade will be able to get your ass out of jail.”

  Trent shrugged and grinned. “With Chloe helping me, it’s an easy in and out.”

  “Sure, sure…oh, and Mrs. W. says next time you better at least stay for breakfast or she’s whooping your ass for being a jerk.”

  Trent waved. He went and caught a few waves to make his excuse for being up early a valid one. He headed over to pick Chloe up for lunch. He took her to a local taco stand—surfers weren’t supposed to have much money, since they spent most of the time in the water. He also tried to hang around the Guardian’s office afterward, but a group of school kids came in for a tour. Trent bailed before he could be drafted into entertaining the cranky rug rats.

  He had time enough to leave a few listening devices. He’d have to have a go at their network from Chloe’s computer later.

  Chloe came over to his place that evening. He met her at the door, had her clothes off in a record thirty seconds, and took her up against the wall, her ass in his hands and her legs wrapped around him. There were advantages to smaller girls you could hold up against you. He took her to bed, brought snacks to bed, and spent some time eating peanut butter and chocolate sauce off of her breasts, belly, and toes—his sheets would be a mess, but it was worth it.

  His proper little miss seemed to have no shame in bed—and a willingness to try just about anything. Except more sushi. He also finally got his wish to see her take him into her mouth and use that talented tongue of hers on him.

  She fell asleep in his arms. Trent lay awake, thinking about what Travis had said. Sure, Chloe stirred that impuls
e he had to protect the weaker—he’d always had that, and in no way did he want to get rid of it. But Chloe really was different. This was different. Yes, he was using her; but he was going to make damn sure she didn’t get hurt in the process.

  Now he just had to figure out how to make that happen.

  ***

  Chloe was starting to wonder if maybe there was such a thing as love at first sight. She’d spent two days with him—two days of hot sex and sweet kisses and laughter. She hadn’t taken him to see her dad yet—she wasn’t ready for that, and she wasn’t sure that either Trent or her dad were ready, either. But at least she knew this was better than what she’d had with Sam Collins.

  She’d just locked up the office when the headache started. She hadn’t had a migraine for well over a month now—stress tended to trigger them, however, and lately she’d been under enough stress to lay anyone low; what with having to relocate her dad and find a place for herself, and get a job.

  Trent pulled up in front of the Guardian’s office. She climbed into his Jeep, her tablet on her lap, leaned her head back, and shut her eyes. “Could you take me home?”

  “You really don’t look all that well.”

  Chloe put a hand over her eyes. Light hurt, hit like shards of glasses piercing her brain—everything hurt. “Thanks. I don’t feel all that well. Someone’s beating a very large drum in my head. Migraines. I’m not very good company at the moment.”

  Trent put a hand on her forehead. “Home it is.”

  She put a hand on her stomach—the nausea had started.

  “Aspirin in the glove box,” Trent said. He sounded worried.

  She started to shake her head, but that was a mistake. “I’ve got something stronger at home. Then I just need rest and quiet. The meds usually knock me out for about eighteen hours.”

  Pulling up in front of the bungalows, he shut off the engine and she heard his door bang open and closed. She gave a groan. She sat where she was, willing herself to find the energy to get up. Instead, Trent swept her up. She cluched her work tablet and tried to look at him, winced at the light, and shut her eyes again. “I can walk.”

  “Humor me, dude.” He carried her to her bungalow, somehow managed to get the door open, and the next thing she knew, a soft bed cradled her body. Trent threw a blanket over her—more softness that seemed a comfort. She heard the hiss as he closed the drapes, darkening the room. The pounding lessened a fraction. He took her computer from her, pulled off her shoes. She heard him moving around, and he came back, propped her up, and said, “Here, take these. Dude, you don’t fool around with the weak stuff, do you?”

  She took the pills, had them bitter on her tongue, and swallowed the cool water. She lay down again. Trent covered her forehead with a wet cloth. She caught his wrist. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll lock up when I leave. I’ll look in on you later.” He kissed her forehead.

  She heard rustling from the other room. The front door opened and closed. She frowned. Something wasn’t quite right, but she couldn’t think. She couldn’t do anything. She was pretty sure this migraine had been brought on by too much work in front of a computer.

  The pain killers were fast working and already she was beginning to get that floaty sensation that preceded a respite from the horrible pain. Sighing, she relaxed her shoulders and gave herself over to the pills and oblivion.

  ***

  Trent waited for a few moments outside Chloe’s place. He’d used his own key to let himself in—he was hoping she hadn’t noticed. He locked her door now and headed for his place, Chloe’s tablet in hand. He texted Travis to get his ass over there.

  Twenty minutes later, Travis let himself in. “Bro, got your text.”

  Trent waved at the computer on his dining room table. “I’ve got a Guardians of the Earth tablet.”

  Travis let out a low whistle. “Where’s Chloe?”

  “She’s got a killer migraine and just took enough pain meds to desensitize a horse. And we’ve got an opportunity too good to pass up.”

  Travis glanced over his shoulder. “Still trying to guess her password to get in?”

  Trent nodded. “That and I need a key fob to VBN remotely. I’m going to have to go back to her place.”

  He stood and Travis slipped into his seat. “Careful, bro.”

  Heading back, Trent let himself into Chloe’s place. She didn’t seem to carry a purse, so the key fob would be on her. Slade Security used a similar security measure. A random code was generated every hour and sent out to the key fobs. If you didn’t have a key fob, you didn’t have the code; so you couldn’t log in remotely to the network. Trent had lost the first one he’d ever been given and had been chewed out for that. Now he needed Chloe’s.

  He eased into the bedroom. Her breathing sounded regular and deep. Slipping a hand under the blanket he’d thrown over her, he felt her front pockets. He got lucky on the right one and felt something hard and oblong. He slipped it out. She stirred in her sleep, muttering one word—a name. “Sam.”

  Trent froze. What the hell? He already knew she’d been engaged—it hadn’t gone well. But she still dreamed about the guy? Pissed now, he tightened his hand around the key fob. Yeah, well, he wasn’t in this for a forever after. He headed back to his place, this time leaving the door unlocked so he could slip the key fob back into Chloe’s pocket.

  When he came in, he saw Travis staring at his phone and grinning. “Care to share?” Trent tossed the key fob to Travis.

  Travis caught it one-handed and put down his phone. “Nothing urgent. I’ve got an idea on that password.” He worked fast, pulling up access to the Guardian’s network. He typed in the key fob number, and then a password. He grinned. The network opened up for him.

  Arms folded across his chest, Trent frowned. “Okay, how’d you know her password?”

  “Easy, really.” Travis cracked his knuckles. “Her first horse was named Beanie. She won a few barrel racing contests with him, so he must have been good. Had to be either Beanie or her mom’s name—which was Sally—but mom died when Chloe was a kid, so I figured horse mattered to her more.”

  “Not her dad’s name?”

  “Dad’s something of a disappointment. Got a rap sheet on him—a few DWI’s, local bar fight stuff.” Travis gave him a smug smile. “And you’d know this and more if you’d bothered to do your job and checked into her.”

  Trent pulled up a chair. “I know enough. Now, let’s see if we can find anything interesting on these damn Guardians.”

  Chapter 10

  “Nada. Zilch. Nothing!” Travis leaned back from the computer. “Looks like the Guardians are just who they say they are. We’ve wasted the night.”

  The dawn was starting to lighten the room. Trent got up and stretched. “No way are these guys legit. I know there’s more—they just have a great front. But I can’t hang onto Chloe’s computer all day.”

  With a nod, Travis started to shut it down. Trent caught his hand. “Wait. That file. The one with only numbers for a file name. That strike you as odd?”

  “Right now the only thing that I’d like to strike me is a large pot of coffee.” He opened the file.

  Trent scanned down the document. It seemed like a lot of other memos, but this one was addressed to an individual outside of the organization, and talked about ‘action against McFall Enterprises’ and some vague deal-like terms. A series of numbers were noted across the bottom of the file. “That name mean anything to you?” Trent asked.

  Travis shrugged. He closed out of the Guardian’s network and turned to Trent’s laptop. Doing a search on the name, he said, “Looks like it was a lumber company. Went out of business last year. It’d been targeted by some environmental groups for logging in old growth forests.”

  “Sounds like the Guardian’s type of target.”

  Rubbing his unshaven cheek, Travis nodded. “Yeah, but something doesn’t add up. Look, a month before they went under they got a huge contract to clean out trees from a burne
d area, then they went under? The contract went to a competitor.”

  Trent straightened. “Let me guess—the guy on the memo, his name was Harold Givart. Competitor was—”

  “Givart Industries. The Guardians aren’t just eco-terrorists, or even do-gooders. They’re selling their sabotage skills to the highest bidders.”

  Trent nodded. “That’s what it looks like. But we need a paper trail. We need to see that money changed hands.”

  “And find out who is paying them to go after Jawhara’s oil.” Travis stood. He handed the tablet to Trent. “This puppy isn’t going to get us there. My bet is Chloe’s access is limited. If she’s on the up and up, she won’t have access to financial records.”

  “No, but we can get those from their offices. They’ve got to have a server room on the premises.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Travis slapped Trent’s shoulder. “I’m heading for that coffee and sleep. You can get that computer back, no problem?”

  Trent gave a snort. He let himself into Chloe’s place, left her tablet on the table, and moved into her bedroom to check on her. Her face had relaxed in sleep and the lines of pain that had creased her brow had eased. She’d tossed off her covers, so he slipped the key fob into her pocket and kissed her on the forehead. She stirred, but didn’t wake.

  Outside her bedroom, he glanced around. She’d bought a few things—flowers, a vase, some dishes, it looked like, but the place still looked more like a stop-over. She hadn’t moved in. Was she still thinking about Wyoming? Did she want to move back there with her dad?

  What was her old man like? Trouble? He had been. He headed back to his place, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and fired up his laptop. PJ had sent him an email, asking him to Skype her—she was still on the payroll with Slade Securities as a consultant, and you ignored her at your peril. She not only knew where all the bodies were buried, she’d put a few of them in the ground.

  He pulled up Skype and called her. PJ’s voice came through the computer, raspy and warm, a touch of humor in her tone. “About time you called. I thought the waves had lured you out.”