by Lea Griffith
He’d been careful leaving his home earlier. In case anyone was watching, they’d have no idea he’d even left the building that housed The Underground. He would do whatever was needed to protect Daly.
He used the key he’d gotten back from Toby to let himself in, disabling her alarm before it had time to beep. The code was another variation of his birthday. As nearly every code he used was some variation of hers. She’d guessed right the other night when she approached him in his office above The Underground. He’d seen the shine of excitement and pride in her eyes when the number she’d punched in had worked.
And now he sat there watching her chest rise and fall, hearing her mumble in her sleep, watching her legs move restlessly under her down spread. Her home was comfortable, the vibrant but soothing colors fitting her to a T. Her scent permeated the air of the small bungalow, making his chest tight. Her head rested on the pillow he’d slept on the other night. One hand was curled under the pillow, holding it close, while the other was flung wide, palm up.
She moaned his name and the husky edge of her voice had his cock straining against his fly. God, how he wanted this woman. From the top of her stubborn head to the bottom of her sexy feet, he wanted to know everything about her and then relearn those things over and over for the rest of his life.
She’d damn near destroyed him when she walked away. He’d been forced to try to understand her mindset. It had been impossible. He hadn’t been able to see past the fact that she hadn’t trusted in him. She hadn’t trusted in the man he’d become with her.
She twisted and turned on the bed, finally settling down on her side. She wore an old T-shirt—damn, it looked like one of his. He smiled. She’d tried but had been unable to break the ties the bound them. Judging by her words, but more importantly, by her actions, he was still embedded in her heart.
Her face smoothed out finally and Copeland took a deep breath as he undid his tie and threw it aside. He was going to do something he hadn’t done in three long years—he was going to make love to his woman.
He had fucked, sucked, and played her. He’d taken her submission under the force of his dominance. He’d made her come and been blessed to have her do so in return, but here, in her bedroom in the early hours of this morning, he was going to make love to her. He was going to open himself up by restraining his dominant tendencies and just being the man who loved her.
And he was going to hope she’d trust him this time. Because Copeland knew that whatever was going on was tied to her father and the task Copeland had performed for the man three years ago.
He forced thoughts of the past to fade away. He stood and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging out of it, pulling his undershirt off and then moving to his belt buckle. He moved in silence, not wanting to wake her up with anything but his lips on hers. Because that’s how they’d begun all those years ago—her lips under his, his hand in her hair. He’d taken a young woman’s blush and reveled in its heat. He’d stolen her kiss and given all of himself in place of her loss. And then he’d never turned away from her as his main priority.
From the moment she’d given her body to him, she had been his forever. Copeland had learned many things growing up. The most important was that when you found something that called to you, you had to make it yours or risk losing it. Never had anything spoken to him the way Daly Edwards had. Her mind, soul, face, body, needs, and desires—they were a unique combination, and she’d sunk her claws into him with a smile at the tender age of sixteen.
He’d watched her grow up, never crossing society’s lines until she matured. Then nothing could have stopped Copeland from taking what was his.
He pushed his pants and boxer briefs down and stepped out of them as he walked to the bed. She still moved restlessly, and he wondered if she sensed that he was there with her.
“Daly,” he called in a low voice, stroking his hard flesh from root to tip and wishing it were her hand doing the stroking.
Gooseflesh popped out on her arms and she turned on her back.
“Wake up, baby,” he called as he lifted the edge of her covers and slid in between them.
She turned toward him immediately, her body seeking the warmth of his, her hand finding the area over his heart and staying there.
“I’m going to love you, Daly. With my mouth, my body, and my heart. You own every part of me and I’m going to give it all to you tonight. Open your eyes, love. See me,” Copeland said, voice deep and full of purpose.
She murmured his name and then her beautiful brown eyes opened, foggy with sleep at first, then clear with surprise and …
… love?
She licked her lips and his hips shifted automatically. The call to mate with her was a burning hum in his gut.
“Jeremiah,” she whispered again.
He took her lips. Just leaned his head down and dove into her mouth. Teasing, biting kisses that had her gasping and threading her hands in his hair. His tongue stroked into her mouth and glided along her teeth, tangling with hers, tasting and marking.
He shared his breath with her and soon she was on her back, him above her, bodies pressed together, desire pooling heavily between them. His love for her flavored the taste of their lust. Deep and hot, the ache in his chest grew until he had to pull away or be consumed by her.
She moaned and he answered, burying his hand in her hair and holding her still for another sensual feast at her lips. So much need scented the air—his, hers, theirs. It was almost too much.
Yet it wasn’t enough. Could never be enough. His hands drifted over her skin and he cursed the separation that kept them from being one person. He tested the heat between her thighs and found her ready for all he had to give her.
“Please, Jeremiah. Love me,” she pled on a groan.
He settled in the cradle of her hips and she hissed in a breath. With one arm he held himself above her, while the other held her hip.
“Give me the word, Daly. Open up and give me it all,” he said at her lips.
Her gaze met his, and in her eyes was the knowledge that tonight he was doing more than taking her. When he meshed their bodies together tonight, there would be no going back.
She licked across his lips and sighed. “Everything.”
He pressed forward and entered her, not stopping until he was all the way inside. Her breath stuttered, but so did his heart.
“Yes,” he said as he pulled out and stroked back in.
She felt so fucking good around his cock. Her body was wet heat and a blinding grip, milking his with tiny contractions of her inner muscles.
She arched up as he sank deep and it was the most intense feeling, staring into her eyes as he took possession of her body. There was nothing but naked desire on her face and a truth he knew was reflected on his own.
And yes, that truth was love.
It was the only thing. Everything.
Daly’s nails dug into his shoulders and she bit her lip, releasing a breath as his thrusts increased in speed, then slowed. Sweat dripped from him to her and his hand held her hips still for his passion. A broken breath, a sigh, a groan and a hiss—it was a symphony as their bodies curled into one another.
He rolled his hips and her eyes closed. He pulled his cock out and they opened. He teased her with everything he had, hoping to take as his the one thing she’d never fully given him. Her trust.
Copeland loved her like he’d never loved another person in the entire world. She owned him completely.
Soon, the slow thrusts weren’t enough. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she pushed his hand off her hip. He slapped it on the bed beside her and rose up on both hands now, using the leverage to sink even deeper, thrust even harder.
Her head thrashed and her body writhed. She was fucking gorgeous in her passion.
“I need you,” she said, and her voice wavered.
“You have me,” he answered.
“Make me come,” she pleaded.
“I will,” he vowed.
&nbs
p; “Love me,” she begged.
“Always.”
Then Copeland proceeded to make good on his promise, cherishing her body with every ounce of emotion in him. And when her gaze locked on his and her body hugged his tighter, he took them both over in a rush of ecstasy.
She screamed his name and he whispered hers like a prayer. Daly held him tight as Copeland lost himself inside her.
And it was perfect.
Chapter 18
When Daly woke up, Jeremiah was gone. The bed was cold, but on the pillow he’d used was a note. His scrawl was bold and nearly illegible, but she made out the single word with no problems.
Always.
A promise to her, then, in lieu of his presence in her bed. Daly didn’t know how she felt about that. She rolled over and stretched.
How many times had he taken her last night? Her body ached, but the feeling was delicious. He’d never been so gentle, yet so … consuming. It was as if his goal had been to physically impress himself on her so she’d never forget to whom she belonged.
His natural dominance had moved under his skin, rearing its head and making itself known in small ways. His hands holding her hips still for his thrusts. His demand that she scream his name as she came. It was the little ways that always made her aware of what she held in her hands.
He was more than flesh and blood, bone and sinew. He was more than the man she’d loved three years ago. For him to set aside what made him tick to love her in a way she’d never dreamed gave Daly hope.
He was hers. Her heart, her soul, her everything. He’d left her no defenses last night, keeping her gaze prisoner and not allowing her to run from the promise in his. He’d shattered her and put her back together so many times Daly lost count.
And it was okay.
She loved him. Nothing had changed except to recognize it again for what it was and always would be.
To wake up with him not beside her wasn’t the best way to start her day, but his note sent her heart fluttering. For Jeremiah to leave a note was akin to the sun rising in the west. It had never happened.
So she got up and started her Saturday with a much lighter spirit. She cleaned her house, leaving the sheets as they were. His smell was all over them and in the event she didn’t see him anytime soon, she wanted to drift to sleep every night with his scent surrounding her.
She confirmed her dinner with Chelsea. Afterward she ran to the grocery store and returned. It wasn’t until she headed back through her living room that she noticed the vase of roses on her coffee table.
Her heart leapt in her throat and a smile creased her face. Joy blossomed and she reached for the envelope beside the vase. She really needed to get her key back.
But he’d sent her roses. Couldn’t be angry at a little breaking and entering if the man left roses.
Yet the writing on the card didn’t look like Jeremiah’s, and the big yellow envelope with her name on it had her heart thumping hard. Something about the hard yellow paper of the envelope against the backdrop of the perfect roses had her glancing around.
Her house didn’t feel violated but for some reason, she knew it had been. Someone had been inside. Hadn’t Toby told her Jeremiah had a man on her now? Oh, how that had pissed her off! Maybe Jeremiah had called it off.
Maybe the envelope was nothing. Maybe she was being a ninny. She reached for it and tore open the tab. The pictures that fell into her hands had her standing and covering her mouth to hold in her scream. There was a note attached to the pictures.
You’re fucking a murderer.
She dropped the note and glanced back to the pictures. The top one showed a well-dressed man whose neck had been broken. The grotesque angle of his head, the slack horror on his face, the death in his eyes—it was disgusting. But what had her heart beating triple time were the pictures that came next. Pictures of the man she held in her arms at night leaving a building with none other than the man with the broken neck.
And it wasn’t just one or two—the pictures appeared to be in sequence, and it was the very last one that had Daly’s soul withering in fear. It was of Jeremiah, obviously arguing with the soon-to-be-deceased man, holding him by the throat, his face hard and filled with rage of the murderous kind.
It wasn’t possible. Toby had told her the drug dealer had been killed by his own people. Was the man in the picture the drug dealer? Her memory of the media accounts was vague. Had he lied to her? Had Jeremiah lied to Toby? What the hell was going on?
Fear wound through her gut, shaking her foundations and rocking her world. If there was one thing Jeremiah had never done to her it was lie. Any man who could stand in front of a woman he professed to love and tell her he wasn’t giving up crime wouldn’t bother to lie and cover it up.
Something was off. Conviction replaced the fear in her gut. Anger began to simmer, making her fists clench around the pictures. Something was going on. Toby had said someone was following her. Now pictures, a warning, and roses had mysteriously appeared in her house. And Daly and Jeremiah were once again involved in something she refused to give name to.
It was too convenient, the ribbon wrapping it all together, too fucking neat. Her instincts kicked in. She hadn’t been cut out to be a cop, but she’d been blessed with the instincts of one. She’d never trusted them when it came to Jeremiah because her heart had always been involved.
But they were screaming at her now. She put the pictures back in the envelope. Daly had some connections and she was going to use them to find out what the hell was going on.
She wasn’t going to tell Jeremiah or Toby. But she was going to protect herself and get to the bottom of this. Someone wanted her to believe Jeremiah capable of killing, and while she knew he’d done whatever it took to survive, she refused to believe his words from the other night.
“I’d kill for you, Daly.” Her heart had stuttered. But words pulled from him in passion did not make him a murderer. She didn’t believe him capable of snuffing out a life.
He’s a criminal.
You love him.
Can you really trust him?
How can you not?
Her head hurt. First things first, she told herself. She tossed the roses into the garbage. Then she called another locksmith. Two hours later she had new locks, a brand-new code for her alarm system, and a meeting with Carson Davidson, a PI she’d worked with for years. After setting up her appointment with him, she’d gotten her Glock from her bedside nightstand and checked her property. There were no signs that anyone had been there. None of her locks had been tampered with according to the locksmith, and her alarm company said the security system showed no signs of being disabled.
She didn’t call Toby and still had not heard from Jeremiah. Five o’clock was coming up rapidly and she showered, getting ready for dinner with Chelsea. Until she met with Carson, she wasn’t going to tell a fucking soul about those pictures.
Daly shoved the pictures in the top drawer of her dresser and got ready. An hour later she was setting her alarm, getting in her car, and pulling out of her drive. She looked around surreptitiously, noticed nothing out of the ordinary, and headed to McGuire’s.
How the hell she was going to enjoy a meal with all this weighing on her she had no idea. But in the end, she couldn’t do anything until she met with Carson. So Daly did what she always did: she shoved it to the back of her mind and faked it.
* * *
Copeland hadn’t even wanted to shower when he’d left Daly this morning. Their combined scent had stayed with him all day long and as he watched his brother pulling into the drive of the house that sat on Lake Lanier, all Copeland could think about was getting back to her.
David strode into the library of the mammoth house Copeland had built on the edge of Lake Lanier for his family—Ruthie, David, and yes, Daly. It had been an achievement and he’d wanted Daly to decorate it. She’d left him before that could happen and he’d outsourced the decorating. This house wasn’t a home, but it was a safe place, and th
at was why Copeland had demanded David come here.
The man who walked into the house today was a worried man. His shoulders were tense, his hands shook, and his eyes traveled over everything as if he were expecting someone to jump out at him.
Of the three siblings, David had always been the weakest mentally. He’d been the happy-go-lucky child. He’d never thought past his next want, and since his needs had been met by Copeland long before their parents abandoned them, he’d always turned to Copeland for everything.
And Copeland had long ago realized he’d done David a disservice by always taking care of everything. Though the weakest, he was incredibly bright, graduating at the top of his class in high school. He’d excelled at law at the University of Georgia and had become a lawyer with little effort. Once the achievement happened, he’d gravitated toward public defending.
Then he’d gotten into trouble with Juan DeLeon, and Copeland had to bail him out. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the worst. And it had cost him Daly. From that moment on, his relationship with his brother had changed, morphing into something along the lines of distant adversaries instead of brothers. They weren’t amicable unless their sister was around.
Now it seemed they’d come full circle once again and as David took a seat, Copeland sighed.
“I’m here,” David said with a huff.
Copeland lifted a brow. “The question is why?”
Confusion passed over David’s face like a cloud. “Well, because you told me to meet you here,” he muttered, and continued to glance around nervously.
“Yeah, I did. I don’t know if you’re being obtuse intentionally or if the fear I can smell all over you is making you dense,” Copeland bit out.
David’s gaze met his, then flitted away. Long moments passed, and Copeland refused to let his brother off the hook that easily.
“I’m in trouble,” David said into the silence.
“How?”
“I’m being blackmailed.”