Private Security

by Mallory Kane

  “I know what your father has been telling you.”

  “Look, Mom, it’s just a business thing—”

  “No,” she said, holding up a slender hand. “No, it’s not. I know, J.D.,” she said. “I know.”

  “You know?” He tried one more time to pretend he didn’t understand her. “About what?”

  Her mouth turned up in a small smile, another reminder of what a beautiful woman she was.

  “About everything,” she said patiently. “The threats. The demands.”

  He had nothing to say. He couldn’t tell her she was wrong. She knew she wasn’t. He couldn’t tell her the threats were nothing because they weren’t nothing. He’d seen in his dad’s face, heard in his voice, that the deadly threat was real. If his dad hadn’t complied with Vega’s demands, his mother might well have died.

  “Your father needs you. He needs you to believe in him.” She stepped closer to him and laid her hand on his chest, over his heart. “You know, in here, that he wouldn’t skimp on materials.”

  Dawson took an instinctive step backward. His mother was acting too much like her old self and it was messing with his brain. And his heart. She’d always been able to see through him.

  “I don’t know that,” he protested. “Look at Grampa. He screwed people for a living and they still voted for him every election. Look at Uncle Robert. He’s like Con reincarnated. I used to hear him yelling and hitting stuff—sometimes hitting Aunt Bettye or the kids.”

  His mother’s delicate brows lowered. “What are you saying?”

  His gaze lit on the glass door. In the dim light he could see his palm print on the glass. “What makes my dad different from his brother or his own father?” He looked down at his palm.

  “And what makes me different from any of them?” Hearing the words that he’d never said, even to himself, stunned him.

  “You think you’re like your grandfather or your uncle? You think your father is like them?” Edie shook her head. “No. Michael is not and you’re not.”

  “Mom, I just nearly put my hand through the glass door over there,” Dawson protested, feeling his face heat up. “I don’t like knowing I can do that.”

  “You listen to me, John Dawson Delancey,” she said. “Your father went into construction because he wanted to get as far away from politics as he could. He wanted to make his own legacy. He was never more proud than when you went to work with him. Knowing that you believed he was guilty hurt him much more than even going to prison.”

  Dawson walked over to the glass doors and looked out. It was pitch-black outside, but he couldn’t face his mother right then. He swallowed against the huge lump that had grown in his throat. “You believe he was innocent?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “Of course I do,” she said. “I believe in him.”

  “I can’t—” Dawson swallowed again and rubbed his eyes. “I just don’t know.”

  “J.D., look at me.”

  He looked down at his feet, then took a deep breath and turned around.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  He grimaced. “Mom—”

  “Don’t interrupt your mother. Even if you don’t believe your father, even if you don’t believe me, I need you to do everything you can to prove what really happened to the Sky Walk.”

  Dawson nodded. “I am, Mom. I’m going to uncover the truth, no matter what it is.”

  “That’s all you can do, darling,” she said. “Now, it’s late. Why don’t you stay here in your old room instead of driving all the way back to your condo?”

  Dawson looked at his watch. It was eleven o’clock. “I can’t. I’ve got to get back. Jules is there by herself—” He stopped but not soon enough.

  “Jules?” his mother echoed. “Who is Jules? I didn’t know you were dating someone.”

  “Trust me,” he said, “I am not dating her. She’s Juliana Caprese. She’s the daughter of the casino manager who was killed when the Sky Walk collapsed.”

  “Oh, the poor girl. How awful for her.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Okay, well, I need to go—”

  “If you’re not dating, what’s she doing at your condo? Is she in some kind of protective custody?”

  “No. Well, kind of.” He moved toward the stairs.

  “J.D.,” Edie said, propping her fists on her hips. “What’s going on with you and that girl?”

  He laughed. “Okay, Mom. First, I’m thirty-two, not sixteen, okay?” He sighed. “Someone’s been following her, so she’s staying at my place.”

  “Following her? Why?”

  “She’s been looking into her father’s death,” Dawson said. “We’re working together to figure out why the Sky Walk fell.”

  Edie frowned at him. “That seems odd,” she said thoughtfully. “If her father was killed when the Sky Walk collapsed, and your father is being investigated because it collapsed, why would she want to work with you?”

  He felt his face heat up again.

  “Oh, my,” his mother said. “She doesn’t know that you’re Michael Delancey’s son, does she?”

  * * *

  ALL THE WAY BACK TO HIS CONDO, his mother’s words echoed in his ears.

  She doesn’t know you’re Michael Delancey’s son. He’d planned it that way, of course, but hearing the words in his mom’s disappointed voice made his brilliant idea seem more sleazy than smart.

  He saw the lights on in the living room. He really hoped she’d left them on when she went to bed because he didn’t feel like facing her with his mom’s accusing voice still echoing in his ears.

  She was tucked into the corner of his leather couch, with one of her manila folders open on her lap. Beside her was her gun. She looked up. Was that relief on her face? Had she really been scared to stay by herself?

  “Hey, I thought you were going to bed,” he said. “I smell popcorn.”

  She nodded toward the coffee table. “There’s about half of it left if you want it. It’s extra-buttery.”

  He didn’t want popcorn. “I know. I bought it.”

  She stretched her legs. She had on a pink tank top that said Pink on it and pink-and-gray plaid pajama bottoms that stopped right below her knees. Her calves were smooth and shapely. He could see the edge of a strip bandage on her left knee. It didn’t completely cover the scrape from her attack.

  When his gaze slid down to her slender ankles and bare feet, his mouth went dry. Those toes. Pink-tipped and sexy. Struggling to swallow, he pulled his gaze back up to her face.

  She closed the folder and set it on top of the others on the coffee table, then lifted her gaze to his. She blinked and her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips.

  Dawson nearly groaned aloud at the sudden exquisite ache in his groin. If he didn’t get a grip she’d soon know exactly how badly he wanted her. Not just for sex. He’d decided a few years ago that sex for sex’s sake was an exercise in frustration and boredom. It served its purpose, but he preferred women who could keep up with him other than just between the sheets. And he’d never met anyone as beautiful, as smart or as fascinating as Juliana Caprese. From those dark, snapping eyes to her sexy pink toes, she embodied the perfect woman. As the thought slid through his mind, he saw her breasts tighten under the thin pink top. Adrenaline pumped pure lust through him.

  Her eyes narrowed, she lifted her chin and he crashed back into the real world. Which was a good thing, because once she found out who he was, she’d send him crashing to hell if she could.

  “How was your appointment?” she said frostily.

  “Appointment?” For a split second, he was confused. “Oh, right. It was fine. Lasted longer than I’d hoped it would.”

  She assessed him for a full three seconds, then nodded and picked up the folders. “Well, if you’re going to be a private eye,” she said casually as she stood, “you have to be available when your client needs you.”

  Dawson chuckled.

  She wrapped her arms around the folders. Her teeth graz
ed her lower lip. “What if I need you?” she asked.

  Dawson’s chuckle dissolved. What the hell? “I’m right here,” he said softly. “What do you need?”

  She shook her head. “I was scared while you were gone.”

  He stiffened, looking at her gun on the couch. “Did something happen?”

  “No, but—”

  He stepped closer until her arms, wrapped around the folders brushed against his shirt. “I thought you said you could handle that weapon.”

  She shrugged, and Dawson couldn’t take his eyes off the bony, sexy curve of her shoulder. Her skin was beautiful, a kind of a ripe-peach color that made his mouth water.

  He slid his fingers along the slope of her neck down to her shoulder. He touched the little bump that defined the shoulder socket.

  Juliana shivered and raised her gaze to meet Dawson’s intense blue eyes. What was it about him that made all rational thought fly out of her head? Silly question. It was everything about him. Starting with his hands. Those large, beautiful hands that she knew would be able to stir her into a frenzy within seconds. Then there were his eyes—no matter how cocky and sarcastic he was, she’d found out that if she was quick enough, she could see a bit of the truth in them. Right now those intense blue lasers were promising her delights that she’d never before experienced.

  His mouth was curved, not sarcastically, but gently, sensually. She looked at it, imagining how he would use it. Which was a mistake, because she’d always had a vivid imagination. A tiny moan gathered deep in her throat.

  Dawson bent his head and touched her lips with his. At the feel of his mouth, her lips parted and Pandora’s box opened deep inside her, releasing a cloud of confusing, conflicting emotions. It had cracked open a little in her dad’s office the last time he’d kissed her.

  But here there were no deadly beams to crash down on them. Here, the only danger was to her heart. And while he’d been her savior then, now he was the danger.

  He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to him, crushing the folders between them.

  She stiffened automatically.

  Dawson pulled back and stared down at her. He grabbed the folders and tugged on them. “Still don’t trust me, do you?”

  “No,” she gasped, forcing herself to let go of them. “I mean— I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” he said, his jaw clenching. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “Put them down,” she said.

  “What?” His jaw muscle worked. “Hey, Jules, come on—”

  “Put them down—over there.” She pointed to the couch. “On the floor, anywhere. I don’t care.” Then she moved, pressing her body against him, and kissed the line of his jaw. “And relax,” she whispered, running a finger along his jawline.

  Dawson tossed them onto an end table and pulled her close until she could feel the hardness of his erection against her. He pressed her closer, moving his hips in slow, rhythmic motion as he kissed her.

  The pulsing rhythm sent electricity arcing through her as his mouth explored hers. His tongue slid along her lower lip, tickling, teasing, before it delved inside, pushing past her teeth and flirting with her tongue.

  Sensation swept her up into a whirlwind. Nothing existed except her body and Dawson’s, molded together, heat melding with heat, motion echoing motion.

  Somehow, while she was flying inside the whirlwind, they were magically transported to his bed. Her pajamas were gone. He threw off his jeans and shirt and lay down beside her. His body was hot and firm and smooth, and he was engorged—so ready for her that it was a little scary.

  But he was in no hurry. His hands explored her body, caressing her, massaging her, delving into secret folds and finding erogenous zones that she had no idea existed.

  She did her best to give back as good as she got, but he was relentless, and she kept forgetting everything except her own pleasure.

  That didn’t seem to bother him. After he’d brought her to climax with his fingers, he let his mouth do the exploring, and stirred her to a peak even higher than before.

  “Dawson,” she gasped. “Please.” She grasped at his shoulders, pulling him to her. He took his time traveling up her body, stopping to nip and suck at her breasts until she was panting.

  He lifted himself above her and kissed her, leaving his own taste in her mouth. Every tendon in her body contracted in an erotic electrical storm as he entered her smoothly and deeply.

  Surging and crashing like an ocean wave, she lost all control for the first time in her life. When the waves finally waned, she collapsed, as scattered and still as the sand.

  Dawson buried his head in Juliana’s neck and waited for his breathing to return to normal. He’d never lost control like that in his life.

  He’d planned to stoke her slowly and deliberately, coaxing her to the most explosive orgasm she’d ever had. In fact, if she held on to everything as tightly as she held on to those folders, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d never had one.

  But he’d been hoisted by his own petard. Not only had she exploded for the third time as soon as he’d entered her, her explosion had triggered his own. He shuddered as tiny aftershocks sparked and fired through him.

  She trailed her fingers down his back, sending goose bumps across his skin. He lifted his head and smiled at her. Her eyes drifted open and she peered at him through thick black lashes. Her teeth scraped across her bottom lip and she smiled back at him.

  He felt a twinge deep inside him at the sight of that shy smile. It was oddly painful—and uncomfortably familiar. Suddenly he needed to separate himself from her. So he bussed the tip of her nose, then rolled away and threw his arm over his eyes.

  “Dawson, are you okay?” she asked.

  “Sure.” He hoped his arm hid his grimace. He wasn’t okay, but he didn’t want to talk about it. The twinge he’d felt was the same queasy feeling he’d gotten while talking to his mom.

  How had all those things he’d never even consciously thought to himself come bubbling out as soon as his dad had left the room? He’d never dwelled on his family’s scandalous legacy—other than to joke about it to family and friends. It had surprised him how much he did not want to be like his grandfather or his abusive uncle Robert.

  It was admirable that his mother thought his dad was a good man who’d been framed for a crime he hadn’t committed. But Dawson wasn’t so sure.

  Not sure. A week ago he’d been positive his dad was guilty. How had his mom managed to plant doubt in his mind? What had changed?

  As soon as the question hit his brain, he knew the answer.

  Juliana. Once he’d met her, everything changed. Listening to her accuse Michael of killing her father had shaken his certainty. Suddenly, he found himself defending his dad.

  And now he’d screwed up royally. He’d known before he’d walked in that he didn’t want to talk to her tonight. Didn’t want to see her. His subconscious, knowing how vulnerable he was after talking with his mom, had been trying to protect him.

  It hadn’t helped that Juliana had thrown herself at him. No. That wasn’t fair to her. When she’d said she needed him, all she’d meant was that she’d been afraid to be by herself. He was the one who’d taken it to the next level.

  A thrill—half lustful, half fearful—swirled through him. The next level and the next and the next. He was still stunned by the intensity of his orgasm—of his and hers.

  He lowered his arm and when he did, Juliana turned and laid her head on his shoulder. Her breathing turned soft and even. She was asleep.

  Dawson shifted into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, filling his head with the scent of peppermint from her hair.

  As he drifted off, it occurred to him that this was the first time a woman had slept in his bed since—when?

  Since ever.

  Chapter Ten

  Dawson woke up with a start. Something wasn’t right. He opened his eyes and saw a cloud of soft black hair draped acr
oss his arm.

  Juliana was in his bed with him. It was five-thirty in the morning. Ugh. A part of him wanted to turn over, snuggle up against her naked body and wake her with foreplay. But when he looked at her, peacefully sleeping, trusting him to keep her safe, guilt racked him. He was lying to her. Not just with words, but with everything he did, every move he made. She had no idea who he was.

  If—when she found out, she would brand him with the same label he’d used on his grandfather, his uncle and even his dad. And he would deserve it as much as they did—possibly more than his dad did.

  He slid out of bed, grabbed a pair of underwear and his favorite around-the-house jeans and slipped out of the bedroom, easing the door closed behind him. He headed to the bathroom, yawning and stretching.

  After a fast hot shower, he made coffee and paced in front of his living-room window as he drank it. What was he going to say—what was he going to do—when she woke up?

  Would she be battling the same mixed emotions he was? He seriously doubted she slept around. Not as tightly as she held on to those folders.

  The folders. He turned and looked at them, stacked on the coffee table. He glanced toward the bedroom and back again. He was dying to look at them. He couldn’t imagine that she had much that he didn’t already know. But she was sharp and thorough.

  He thought about the flowchart she’d put together of the corporations Tito Vega was connected with. The work she’d put into making all those connections was a testament to her determination and focus. It would be interesting to know if any of the city officials and charitable organizations that courted Vega’s money for their pet projects knew about all of Vega’s involvements.

  Glancing at his watch, he wondered what Mack was doing right now. In Zurich it would be—he did the math in his head—around one o’clock today: Saturday. He didn’t know what flight Mack had been able to catch. Had he had time to see his little secretary last night? He sighed. He probably wouldn’t hear a word until Sunday or even Monday.

  He sat down on the couch and set his coffee cup aside. Damn, he wanted to get his hands on those folders—had ever since he’d first seen them.