Her Bodyguard

by Mallory Kane

  “Yeah, well you’re gonna learn that you can’t count on luck in this business, little brother. Now where in this steaming hellhole city are you?”

  “What?” Tony blurted. “You’re here?” He felt a mixture of irritation and relief. “Listen up, Paulie. If you’re here to take me home, then forget about it. I’ve got ’em.”

  “I’m not here to take you home. I figure if you’re dumb enough to do this, I better help.”

  “Where are you? D’you fly?”

  “Naw. How could I bring my rifle if I flew? I drove, and I’m whipped. I hope you got a nice hotel.”

  Tony’s pulse leapt in anticipation. Paulie was here. They could take out Angela and her big protector together. “I got the nicest.” He gave him directions.

  This was going to be good. He could leave Delancey to Paulie, while he grabbed the girl. Once Delancey was dead, they’d have no problem getting Angela to call her brother and force him to fix it so Papa could go free.

  Tony grabbed a bottle of bourbon and poured himself a double shot. When Paulie got here, they’d have a toast—a toast to Nikolai Picone’s freedom, and Tony’s first hit.

  DINNER WAS STRAINED. Angela had found a pair of boys’ jeans that weren’t indecently tight and a man’s white shirt that was almost indecently loose. But with it buttoned all the way to the top button and the sleeves rolled up, it served its purpose.

  She’d come out to the kitchen when she couldn’t reasonably avoid it any longer. She’d smelled the coals burning and knew Lucas was cooking dinner.

  She’d planned to do that for him while he napped. Something else she’d failed at.

  She couldn’t bring herself to meet Lucas’s gaze. He grilled the steaks and she fixed the salad. They sat across from each other at the kitchen table and ate in near silence.

  At first, Lucas tried to make conversation. He mentioned a couple of pieces of gossip his mother had told him the last time they’d talked. Mitzi Ingerman had divorced her husband and was living in sin with a younger man in Baton Rouge. The Baptist preacher had been called to a higher-paying church. Lucas’s youngest brother, Harte, had decided he wanted to try politics, like their father and grandfather.

  Angela tried to pay attention. She murmured at what seemed to be the appropriate times, and smiled occasionally, but she was miserable. Humiliation, fear and self-consciousness seemed to paralyze her.

  Finally, Lucas picked up his plate and took it to the sink.

  “Can I fix you something else?” he asked, eyeing her nearly untouched plate.

  She looked down. “I’m sorry. It’s delicious. I just don’t have an appetite.” She stood and picked up her plate just as Lucas reached for it.

  Their fingers touched. Another close encounter. She froze and slipped her hand out from under his. “I’ll do the dishes,” she said.

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “Lucas.” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended, but she’d had all of his altruistic care that she could stand. “You’ve been shot. You’ve been blown up. You haven’t slept. What’s it going to take to get you to rest?”

  He opened his mouth to protest.

  “I swear Lucas—” She held up her hands. “I don’t know how you think you’re going to protect me if you can’t hold your head up. Isn’t it dangerous to be too tired? Aren’t you liable to make a mistake?”

  His jaw muscle flexed.

  “I don’t want you to make a mistake.”

  The jaw muscle was still moving. “I might be able to get some sleep if I could be sure you wouldn’t run outside as soon as I closed my eyes.”

  She propped her fists on her hips. “I have no intention of going outside alone. I panicked,” she added grudgingly. “It won’t happen again.”

  He tried to cover a yawn but was unsuccessful. “I need to be able to count on that.” He assessed her. “I tell you what,” he said. “You and I will both get some sleep tonight. We’ll sleep in the master bedroom in the king-sized bed.”

  Together? Angela thought. Oh no. No. No. No.

  “I’ll sleep in my clothes and keep my gun at my side, in case anything happens.”

  “You want me to sleep in that bed—with you?”

  His face grew solemn. “Not with me. Just in the same room in the same bed as me. It’s a good idea.”

  Right, she thought. Except for the part where he and she were sleeping in the same bed. She wouldn’t close her eyes all night, she was sure.

  “Okay. I’ll wash these dishes and then I’ll come in there and lie down.”

  “Nope. Leave the dishes. I’m ready to go to sleep, and if I’m in the bed, you’re in the bed. We go to bed together.”

  Angela swallowed hard and ducked her head to keep him from noticing the pink that stained her cheeks. Every word he said sounded suggestive. Why couldn’t he have decided to sleep on the couch in the living room? She could curl up in one of the massive recliners. That way, every sentence he uttered wouldn’t contain the words bed and together.

  As a matter of fact, that was a good idea. She opened her mouth to suggest it, but he cut her off. “Let’s go.”

  “Why don’t you lie down on the couch in the living room?”

  “Too hot. And it’s on the wrong side of the house.”

  “Too hot? We could open the windows—”

  “No.” He set his jaw and glared at her.

  “But—”

  “Ange.” The warning in his voice and eyes was clear. She wasn’t going to win this argument. It was over.

  So she followed him into the bedroom. He grabbed his duffle bag on the way.

  “Okay, it’s cool in here. And with the blinds closed it’s fairly dark. The sun’s gone down so the light will be fading fast.” He stepped over and lifted one of the slats on the blinds to peer out. “Looks like it might rain.”

  He turned. “I’ve got to take a shower. Can I trust you not to get into trouble?” He sent her a mischievous grin. “Or am I going to have to cuff us together?”

  Her cheeks flamed with heat. “No. No. I promise. I’ll sit right there in the middle of the bed. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve learned my lesson.” All my lessons, she added silently.

  “Just to be safe, I’ve got the keys to all the doors with me.”

  Irritation sent heat along her nerve endings. “Right. Typical. You can’t possibly trust me. It’s insulting that neither you nor my brother think I have sense enough to take care of myself or to stay out of trouble. I mean, what if there’s a fire while you’re in the shower, and you’ve got all the door keys?”

  Lucas shook his head and clamped his jaw again. If she didn’t know just how irritated he was at her, she’d think he was struggling not to smile. “First of all, that’s not going to happen. Second, if there is a fire, you come into the bathroom and get me, and we’ll escape through the window in there.” He gave a brief nod. “Okay?”

  Angela scraped her teeth across her lower lip. “I still wish you’d consider for one moment that I can take care of myself.”

  “Listen, sugar. Brad and I both know you can take care of yourself, normally. But this isn’t a normal situation. Your life is in danger. And your life is not something either Brad or I take lightly. We love you, and in spite of your stubbornness, we are going to take care of you.”

  By the time Lucas finished his shower and emerged from the bathroom in khaki shorts and a white T-shirt, Angela had changed back into the orange caftan. She’d turned back the comforter and the blanket and climbed beneath the sheets.

  He had his duffle bag in one hand and was finger-drying his hair with the other. In the dim light filtered by the closed blinds, his skin shimmered a dusky gold color against the white of his T-shirt. His bare arms and legs were sleek and toned. His shoulders were broad, and the loose T-shirt barely hinted at the planed abs beneath.

  In high school, his fresh good looks and slender body had promised powerful, virile manhood.

  They had delivered, with int
erest.

  He went around to the other side of the bed and set the bag on the floor and then rooted in it. Angela leaned up on one elbow, curious to see what he was looking for. She heard the clattering of keys.

  He set a key ring and several individual keys on the bedside table and then dug again. A cell phone went beside the keys. He dipped into the duffle bag a third time and came up with a gun. It seemed to be the gun he’d drawn from underneath his shirt. But as he ejected the magazine and checked it, then reinserted it with that unmistakable sound, it looked twice as big. Even in his large, long-fingered hand.

  “Do you have two of those?”

  He shook his head. “I put it in the bag while I showered. Safety.” He laid it on the bedside table.

  “But now you’re keeping it right out there on the table?”

  “That’s right.”

  She swallowed.

  He pushed his hands through his damp hair one more time and lay down on top of the sheet.

  She lay back down and studied his profile across the expanse of white sheets.

  He closed his eyes, the lids sweeping down as they fanned the longest lashes she’d ever seen.

  “You doing okay over there, Brat?”

  “I’m okay. I’d be happier if there wasn’t a lethal weapon less than three feet away from me, but yeah, I’m fine.”

  “I’m going to nap awhile. I’m sure I won’t sleep long.” He turned his head and looked at her, a twinkle in his green eyes. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  She shook her head in frustration and sighed. “Yes, dear.”

  For a second his gaze held hers, then he turned over. “Say good night, Gracie.”

  Her chest fluttered with a chuckle and something else as her gaze traced the slightly ragged line of his hair along the nape of his neck. What was it about a man’s nape? It looked so innocent, so vulnerable, so—sexy.

  She swallowed. “Good night, Gracie,” she whispered, because his breaths already sounded even and strong.

  He was asleep.

  A DEEP, SHARP CRACK split the air. Angela sat bolt upright, gasping. The room was shaking. She tried to scream, but she didn’t have enough breath.

  Blinding light flashed in her eyes and another crack rattled the windows. She pushed herself back against the headboard. Her breath rasped in her ears.

  “It’s just thunder,” came a rough sleepy voice from right beside her.

  “What?”

  “Ange? Sugar, wake up. It’s me, Lucas.”

  “Lucas?” Lucas? But it was dark. She was in bed.

  She reached out blindly just as another bright flash and resounding boom filled the air. She saw his silhouette sit up. He turned and loomed over her, then she felt his arm around her, pulling her close.

  The sky continued to rumble as rain beat down noisily on the tin roof of the cabin, but suddenly she didn’t mind it so much. Lucas’s body was sleepy-warm and big enough to shield her from any threat.

  “I thought it was another ex-explosion,” she stammered.

  “Nah. Just thunder. I told you we were in for some rain.” He pulled her head down to rest against his chest. His voice rumbled through her like the thunder.

  And like the thunder, it scared her.

  His voice, his body, his very presence, was like a drug—a dangerously addictive drug. And she knew if she ever gave in, she’d be hooked.

  His palm slid up and down her arm, petting and comforting her. He laid his cheek against her hair. “How’re you doing?” he whispered.

  And there it was again, that urge to kiss him. Apparently, it was never going to go away. It would be so easy. All she had to do was lift her head.

  She’d raise it slowly. He’d wait. Then when they were looking into each other’s eyes, all she’d have to do was press her lips against his.

  Easy.

  Except that she’d kissed him twice before, and both times he’d rejected her. What if he rejected her a third time?

  “I like your hair like this,” he muttered. “It’s soft. Why don’t you let it curl like this all the time?” His left hand still caressed her arm. He touched her hair with his right hand, then brushed it back from her face. Let his fingers trail along her cheek to her neck.

  She gasped quietly at the feel of his warm, rough fingers. Was he coming on to her? Or just comforting her?

  The sky exploded again and she jumped. She couldn’t help it. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  His arm tightened around her and he wrapped his other hand around the nape of her neck. “Don’t be. I remember, you were always afraid of thunderstorms.”

  She nodded, her eyes closed. “They’re always so big, and you can’t get away from them.”

  He laughed softly. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that your fear of thunderstorms is not because you can’t get away from them, Brat. You’re afraid of them because you can’t control them.”

  His thumb slid along her jawline. The simple gesture made her entire body ache with unbearable longing.

  “Because being in control is what you’re all about, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter if it’s the weather, or your brother, or a stalker, or me—you refuse to give in. It’s in your nature to fight.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. Every slight touch, every word that rumbled up from his chest, was stoking her desire.

  “Comes from—from having a big brother and his best friend who were always two steps ahead of me,” she stammered. A pulse fluttered in her throat.

  His thumb pressed gently on her jaw, urging her head up. She met his gaze, and the fire in his eyes sent a spear of yearning all the way through her, down to her sexual core.

  She’d gotten a fleeting glimpse of that green fire before—twice. But this time, the fire didn’t die as quickly as it appeared.

  This time it stayed.

  This time, he was going to kiss her.

  And in that instant everything changed. Protector became lover. Safety morphed into danger—danger to her heart.

  Angela knew all she had to do was lift her head another millimeter and his lips would cover hers.

  After that, who knew what would happen? She didn’t know, nor did she care.

  She was consumed with need. She throbbed with desire. And it was far too late for second guesses. So she threw caution to the thunderstorm outside and lifted her head.

  Lucas made a soft sound deep in his throat and kissed her. At first it was a soft, short pressing of lips on lips. Then he paused, he lifted his head and stared into her eyes.

  She wanted to close them, to block out the inevitable sight of those brilliant emerald eyes fading to opaque jade as he realized, once again, that he didn’t want her. But she couldn’t.

  Whatever happened between them this time, she was going to meet it head-on.

  So she tilted her head back a little more and reached for his mouth with hers. His mouth came down again, softly. But almost immediately, the pressure increased and his tongue traced the seam of her lips until she parted them. Then his hand on her nape slid up to cradle the back of her head and his mouth took hers, seeking her tongue with his.

  When her heart was racing so fast that she thought she couldn’t breathe, and her entire body was pulsing with desire, he left her mouth and trailed his tongue down her jawline, down her neck, all the way to her collarbone, where he nibbled lightly.

  His fingers slid down her neck to caress the skin he was kissing. Then further, until they trailed fire along the curve of her breast. When his hot, questing fingers brushed her nipple, she arched, pushing her breast into his hand as liquid fire burned all the way to her core.

  He arched, too, and she felt the length of his erection through his khaki shorts. Tentatively, fearfully, she touched him. Lightning flashed again and a roar of thunder shook the room.

  Lucas gasped as the touch of her hand sent shudders through his body. He strained, forcing his length more fully against her hand. The stiff fabric of his khaki shorts rubbed agai
nst his flesh, creating a nearly unbearable friction that only ratcheted his need higher.

  Angela’s breasts were barely covered by the thin cloth of the gown she wore. Her nipples puckered, perfectly visible through the gauzy fabric. Was she naked under the gown? Lust stabbed him at the thought.

  He kissed her again, as his hand slid lower, lower, until he felt the swell of her hip.

  Her hand still stroked him through his clothes. Her breathing had changed, now coming in short, sharp bursts, just like his.

  She was turned on. She wanted this as much as he did. And that was a lot. More than anything he’d ever desired in his life.

  Only, he shouldn’t.

  For a split second, reality triumphed over desire. He was betraying her trust. Acting purely on hormones, when he ought to be detached and focused on the important problem—stopping the man who was trying to kill her.

  He realized that he’d gone still when Angela looked up at him, fear and inevitability almost drowning out the desire in her eyes.

  He didn’t want to watch that desire die.

  So he covered her hand with his and guided it to the button fly of his shorts. Her gaze held his.

  He nodded, and her chocolate eyes widened slightly.

  Then, one by one, her fingers nimble and sure, she undid the buttons. With each success, she slid her fingers along the exposed flesh.

  By the time all the buttons were undone, Lucas was holding onto the last dregs of his self-control with all his strength. She tugged at his shorts. Ignoring the last passing reminder of the inevitable regret he’d feel when morning came, Lucas pushed his shorts and briefs down and off, saving her the trouble.

  Then he bunched the material of her gown in his hand and slid it up her body.

  Within seconds, they were both naked and he was holding her slender, supple body pressed tightly to his and kissing her senseless.

  When he slid his hand up her thigh and delved into her with a finger, she cried out and clutched him closer.

  “Lucas,” she whispered. “Please—”

  He knew what she was asking. Her hand closed around him, squeezing, rubbing, caressing, and she whispered again. “Please—”