False Hope (False #2)

by Meli Raine

  “He never did anything inappropriate to her, did he?” The thought fills me with rage.

  “No, no, no. It was all psychological. You know, making himself look like such a good guy who was so concerned about me and about my family. It was all about manipulating my mother.”

  “What about Tom?” I ask, knowing the answer.

  “I don’t think Dad was as snowed by him. It was more the way he was always there, Duff. He didn’t have to threaten me. His very presence was the threat. He found ways to turn everything upside down, until I reached a point where I didn’t know which way was up.”

  “That’s what we’re trained to do, Lily. He was doing his job.” Before she can protest, I hold up a hand and touch the edges of her lips with my fingers. “I’m not saying what he’s been doing is right. Let me be perfectly clear. But I am saying this is what we’re trained to do.”

  “Are you doing it to me now?” she demands.

  “No.”

  “Don’t ever do it to me. Do not ever make me the target of your manipulation. Not now, not ever again.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answer.

  “I’m not joking.”

  “Neither am I,” I assure her. “Now that you’ve told me who your shooter was, I swear to you, Lily, I’ll protect you from him.”

  “How can you? Look what happened at the coffee shop.”

  “Did you die?”

  “No.” She gestures at her body. “Do I look like I died?”

  I don’t want to tell her what I think about when I look at her.

  Just then a bowl of fruit is set in front of me. The dinner plates have been cleared almost without my noticing.

  “Hey!” Jane interrupts from across the table. “What are you two talking about?”

  Lily blushes.

  Jane starts laughing and takes a sip of her white wine. “Oh, I see what you two are talking about.”

  Lily quickly extracts her hand from mine. “No, no, it’s nothing like that,” she demurs.

  Jane winks at her. “Okay, Lily. Sure.”

  The playful sarcasm is fun. I’d forgotten what fun is like. I observe plenty of it in the line of duty, but I never, ever participate in it.

  “You’re not off the hook yet, buddy,” Silas says to me. “We have a lot of questions for you.”

  Drew gives him a sidelong glance. “Some of us have more questions than others.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say to him. For some reason, that makes Lily and Jane burst out laughing until Jane yawns, the gesture long and sincere.

  “I’m exhausted,” she says, looking at Silas, “and I need a shower. It’s been a long day.”

  “Of course it’s been a long day,” he says to her. “They're all long when someone's trying to kill you.” A somber silence takes over, cutting through the jocularity of the previous minute. Exhaustion soaks in, my own tiredness hitting me.

  Lily tips her head down, the ends of her hair starting to dry and curl up.

  “I’m ready for bed,” Jane says with a stretch. She puts her napkin on the table.

  Drew stands, looks at me, and says, “We’ll need to schedule a follow-up meeting. Confidential.”

  “That means we’re not allowed to be there,” Jane says to Lily in a mocking tone.

  “Pretty sure I remember what the word ‘confidential’ means,” Lily replies.

  Silas stands next, Jane joining him, and soon all five of us are on our feet.

  “Silas and I are going to use our room at the main house,” Jane tells us. “Drew, are you spending the night?”

  “No, I’m heading home to California,” he says. “To Lindsay and the baby.”

  “How’s she doing? And Emma?” Jane inquires. “I haven’t talked to her lately.”

  “Good, good. Baby’s fine. Lindsay’s fine. Just have to keep her away from…” He gives Lily a look. “...this.”

  “From me?” she asks.

  “No, not specifically you. Just…” Drew flicks his wrist. “...this.”

  “Duff, you can have the room on the other side of the hall. Lily, you already claimed one.” Jane stifles another yawn. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.” She looks at me. “You know what to do.”

  Lily blushes again.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I tell Jane. Within a few seconds, we’re alone, and Jane’s right.

  I do know what to do.

  We walk down the hallway to the bedrooms. Sound is more acute. Scent is, too. She's become everything in the emptiness. We're in a secure location. I'm assigned to the bedroom across from hers. My job is to protect her in case the other layers of security fail. I'm the final line between life and death for her.

  I'm her personal emergency brake.

  “Duff, I...” she says before turning around, her face tipped up to me. The aura from the light behind her head makes her look like an angel, the moonlight dripping through the window glass, bathing her in glow. She breathes through her mouth, lips parted, eyes asking me before her words form.

  I step into her space.

  She steps into mine.

  The point where two lines intersect can be plotted. And while calculus allows us to compute the area under a curve, math isn't enough for Lily's curves.

  She tastes like sweet wine and strawberries as I kiss her, my mouth hungry, hands hungrier to taste the essence of this woman who nearly died yesterday. Nearly died on my watch, bullets flying, the president calling us in for a meeting that was almost as traumatic. I want to use my skin to take away her pain and suffering, to give her relief, to absorb it all because I can.

  I can do it for her.

  If she'll let me show her how.

  Fantasy isn't part of my inner life but for the last few months, snippets of indulgence have broken through. Lily tastes like I imagined, fresh and deep, with an unwavering boldness that makes her rise up and press against me, urging me on. Her tongue moves against mine, fingertips at my waistband, pausing at my gun belt.

  The reminder of violence, ever present.

  The reminder of security, ever true.

  I won't let anyone hurt her. Ever.

  But will I let her hurt me? Because that's what is happening as her hands ride up my back, the still-damp tendrils of her hair brushing against the backs of my hands. I breathe so hard, so full, my body burning against her as she kisses me with an abandon I don't understand. How do you let loose like this when you've spent two years of your life constantly fighting?

  The thought evaporates as her hands slip under my shirt and find my heat, direct skin contact so close to my cock turning me hard in an instant. Lily is taking what she wants, second by second.

  And I'm standing here, ready to give.

  Ready to feel the pain of pleasure.

  The weight of my gun reminds me of my gritty job, the lingering grime of the day. With regret, I break the kiss, holding her in my arms, chest to chest, her puzzled, worried face shining up at me.

  “I need a shower. It's late.”

  She pulls back. I cage her in.

  “I'm not supposed to do this.”

  “I know.”

  “But I am.”

  “I noticed.” A shy smile follows her words. She doesn't look away, though. Lily is one hundred percent here.

  All in.

  I want to be all in, too.

  Pants tightening, I find myself at the mercy of her touch. “Let's sleep on this,” I say, moving my arms from her body, feeling like we're racing at breakneck speed towards an emotion I can't define.

  “Okay.” Now she looks away. “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “It's too much. You're letting yourself feel too much.”

  She does understand.

  “How–how do you know?”

  “Because,” she says softly as she takes one step backward, then two, headed for her bedroom door, eyes on mine the entire time. “Because it's exactly how I feel right now, too, Sean.”

  Sean.

  My heart jump
s into my throat as she turns, her body eaten by the dark room, the door closing.

  Click.

  All I have is my breath. Her warmth is gone. Those words, though.

  That last one.

  Sean.

  No one's called me Sean since Gran.

  An older memory reaches through the decades and tugs at my heart as I walk into the bathroom, strip down fast, and crank up the shower to the hottest setting possible.

  The spray feels nothing like Lily's hot, eager hands on me. I'm hard as granite and rush through the shower, avoiding touching myself because if I do, I'll explode.

  Then again, maybe that's better.

  Get it over with. Out of the way. Remove the hunger that makes me want to go into her bedroom right now and make love to her all night long. Bury myself in her. Breathe her in.

  Control.

  It has two edges, like a razor blade. Find the right place in the middle and you're golden.

  Get too close to either edge and you bleed.

  “Fuck,” I groan, leaning my head against the tiled wall, letting the spray roll down my neck, my back, curling into rivulets around my ribs, pooling between my legs. I imagine the water is her skin, wet and soft beneath my touch.

  That... doesn't help. Not one fucking bit.

  I stare down at my erection.

  It stares back like a drill sergeant screaming, “What do you think you're looking at?”

  Except this isn't basic training.

  This is my life.

  Impulse management is my entire career. I always have my own under tight rein. Managing other people's baser natures is my job, too. People who sow chaos feel entitled to have their needs met instantly. Their wants are more important than anything else. Or anyone else.

  My job is to thwart them. Stop the assassin. Block the assaulter. Prevent the damage.

  And never, ever have needs of my own.

  Lily's cracking that wall, one look, one kiss–hell, one limp at a time. She just soldiers on, like me, moving forward.

  Moving, period.

  I rinse, shut the water off, and angrily towel myself dry, my damn cock a sentry between my legs, standing at attention. Turning in the direction of her bedroom, I stand like a dumbass, staring.

  Like that'll make a damned bit of difference.

  I realize, too late, I've forgotten my bag with clean clothes. The hooks on the back of the door are empty. Lily must have taken the only robe when she showered. Wrapping a towel around my naked body, I look in the mirror.

  Wet, short brown hair.

  One eye scarred, pulled down at the corner, same as it's been since I was eleven. I tell people it was hand-to-hand combat. I lie.

  A grim frustration tinged with thumping blood.

  The expression of a guy who is floating aimlessly in an abyss.

  Sounds about right.

  Opening the bathroom door, I march into the dark hallway, only to run into a soft, small body, my hands going out in defense, her scent in my nose before I realize who it is.

  “Duff?” she whispers, pulling back. “Sorry. I just–oh.”

  Her eyes are on my towel.

  Then she looks up.

  All my impulses rush to the surface.

  All my impulses are demanding their turn.

  Now.

  Chapter 22

  A fair ringing, like a thousand tiny sleigh bells a hundred miles away, fills my ears. It's not a specific noise, but diffuse. It just is. Every machine in the background, from air purifiers to ice machines, adds to it, but they travel through the haze of bells, all jingling out of sync, all rushing towards us.

  Towards the space between.

  “Your–you–” The bathroom light is behind me, the hallway dark, so Lily has to stand close to see me. I could turn away. I could hide. Anger is a solid weapon in moments like this, too, when you want to deflect.

  I don't want to deflect.

  I stand my ground.

  The pale line of her hand moves towards my bare chest, fingertips skimming the space over my heart. “These scars. So many scars, Duff. Sean. Where do they come from?” She takes my hand, tracing the lines on the back of it.

  “Life.”

  “But–” Rappelling down, her fingers bounce on my skin, touching another scar, then another, my mind playing catch up to recall how they got there. Archives no one should have to curate rush out of old files inside my mind, remembering, reliving.

  Preserving.

  Moments like this shouldn't intersect with the past. Lily's touch is pure present.

  Letting her touch me is my future.

  She reaches my diaphragm, where a long, angry knife wound left its mark. Below it, to the right, is a grisly keloid, from shrapnel. All of my scars have names. Places. Scents. Feelings.

  She's evoking every damn one.

  One step forward and she's in my space, her leg brushing against the edge of my towel. There's another part of me she's about to touch, and it has feelings, too.

  All of them rushing up.

  “All of these are combat wounds?” she asks.

  In a way, I think to myself, not ready to tell her the real story.

  “Right.”

  “And this?” I'm bent down, abs curling in, ready to explode on the spot but unable to move. Every second she touches me like this is torture, but it's ecstasy, too.

  How do you fight that?

  You don't.

  On her tiptoes, she kisses the corner of my eye.

  And just like that, we're on the other side of the hallway, my ass bare as my towel drops, her body flat against the wall and we're kissing, and she’s moving up, knee bent, until she pivots.

  If she weren't wearing pants, I'd be in her.

  No words needed, we move as one entity into the bedroom, mouths on each other, kisses turning into one long, frantic release of months of pent-up uncertainty. Her mouth offers me access to all the parts of her I've wanted to get to know.

  Invitations come in many forms, Lily's breasts pressed against my chest, her hair tangled in my fist, her tongue daring me to lick, suck, bite, lavish with endless strokes. All of it is breathless, breathtaking, enormous, and fucking hot.

  Permission offered, I run my hands up under her t-shirt, finding no bra, no hesitation, no obstacles. Just her body, barely clothed, so close to mine.

  Something in me roars.

  I'm over her, on the bed, as I pull her shirt up, mouth on her belly before I can close my eyes. From the way she moves, I know she's taking off her shirt, making low sounds of pleasure as I move to her nipple, sucking it in with a flick of my tongue, the sweet taste of her incredible. My fingers catch her waistband just as her hands ride down my chest, my body moving up over hers.

  I pause. We're panting, my mouth almost bruised by how hard we've kissed, the need to be closer to her too intense.

  “I want this. I want you.”

  Melting, her body softens at my words. “I want you, too.”

  “You're sure?”

  “Zero doubt.”

  “Sounds sure to me.” All of the parts of me not touching her are cold, chilled.

  “Because I am.” Her hand clutches my ass, then lessens the hold, an appreciative caress coming next.

  “You have any idea how long I've wanted to do this?”

  Her mouth moves up in a grin, our eyes capturing each other. I'm looking down at her, shadows obscuring one side of her face, the effect alluring. Every time I inhale she joins me, our fused chests moving in tandem.

  “Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this, Sean?”

  Sean.

  I close my eyes, throat tight, emotion threatening to spill out of me and all over her, pouring down the sides of the bed, under the door, out onto the front lawn and beyond, covering the world with a blanket of all that I am.

  All that I was.

  Lily slips out of her borrowed sweatpants, the release of more skin a raw, visceral joy. I kiss her again, this time slower, more d
eliberately, with the sense that we have more time.

  This isn't some rushed encounter, snatched in between anything else.

  This is us.

  And that means beginning right.

  Texas moonlight drips into the room through the small cracks above the light-blocking curtains. The shutters are closed for security. The moon doesn't need a full view of us, but it can't help but steal a peek.

  “Thank you,” Lily whispers, making me jolt, shoulders rolling as I shift my weight and peer at her.

  “For what?”

  “Everything.”

  “That's... vague.” I kiss her nose.

  “You saved my life, Duff. Over and over..”

  “It's my–”

  No. I can't use that line any more.

  “Your job?”

  “My pleasure.”

  As she breathes, she moves me up, the force of oxygen replenishing her blood through her lungs an automatic response that is underrated. Rosy, sensitive nipples peak with my touch, her ribs distinct under my mouth. Feeling her breathe, the tactile sensation of experiencing that process first hand, so much of me touching so much of her, creates a circle of emotion between us that defies words.

  Initiating a kiss, Lily rises up, pulling my shoulders, bringing me to her. I move against her, hips instinctively searching, her legs spreading.

  I stop.

  “Are you...” I start, fumbling for words, rational thought fading, “...on anything?”

  “No.” Regret fills her words. “You–you don't have a condom in your wallet?”

  “It would have expired long ago.”

  “So, you haven't, um...”

  I answer with a kiss that tells her what she's asking.

  Nuzzling her neck, I whisper, “I guess we'll have to do everything but.”

  She tenses suddenly, her sharp gasp making me realize my error.

  “That's 'but' with one T, Lily. Not two.”

  A throaty laugh, resonant and smoky, comes out of her, the sound going straight to my heart.

  And places further south.

  Her phone picks that moment to buzz.

  “Ignore it,” she groans, chest filling, a long sigh coming out of her as I lower my head, kissing her breast, making her breath stop in an instant.

  Kissing a trail between her breasts, I reach her navel. My hands part her legs, fingers finding the warm, wet sanctuary where I know I can give.