Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series)

by Beauman, Cate

  She couldn’t imagine the agony of always wondering, of never finding the answers he and his family needed most. “I’m sorry, Tucker.”

  Sighing, he closed his eyes. “I can’t stop remembering. I keep replaying our last conversation by the hot tub and the way she smiled as we said goodnight. I should have stayed with her. Why did I leave her by herself? I’ll never forgive myself for going inside.” He pulled his hand from hers and scrubbed at his face. “God. God.”

  The agony in his voice brought tears to her eyes. “It’s okay.” She got on her knees in front of him. “It’s going to be okay,” she repeated as she wrapped her arms around him.

  He pulled her close, resting his forehead on her shoulder as his breath rushed out in steamy torrents against her skin. “Is this what you wanted, Wren? Is this what you needed to see, me on my knees?” He gripped her tightly, clutching.

  She held on to him just as strongly. “This isn’t what I wanted, Tucker. This isn’t what I meant.”

  “I feel like I’ve been ripped open, like she’s dying all over again, like I’m dying all over again. I was supposed to protect her. She was my sister. My God, Wren, I loved her.”

  “Shh,” she soothed as she played her fingers through his hair. “This isn’t your fault. This isn’t what she would want. Staci loved you as much as you love her.” She kissed his cheek, desperate to ease his pain.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I don’t either,” she confessed as she pressed her palm to his cheek, looking into his tormented eyes. “But I want to make this better.” She kissed him, trying desperately to banish his suffering. “It’s breaking my heart seeing you hurt this way.” She touched her lips to his again. There was comfort here in their embrace.

  Tucker slid his fingers along the small of her back, holding her gaze.

  She moved in, capturing his mouth, slowly, tenderly. The kiss heated, deepening by degrees. Their tongues finally met as Tucker pulled her more truly between his legs.

  “Cooke,” he murmured, easing back.

  “Shh.” She touched her finger to the warmth of his lips.

  He grabbed hold of her wrist, nibbling his way to the center of her palm as they looked in each other’s eyes.

  Shivering, savoring his touch, she pulled him back for more, and a small grumble escaped his throat. Electricity snapped in the air, humming along her skin, but there was no sense of urgency as there had been the first time they were together.

  Tucker’s mouth left hers, wandering to her temples, her chin, her neck as she ran her hands over firm shoulders and down his back.

  “Wren.” He skimmed his fingers along her jaw. “We’re both pretty raw. I don’t want to take advantage.”

  And because she knew he meant what he said, she couldn’t hold back from giving him what they both longed for. She stood and held out her hand.

  He reached out, accepting what she offered, and stood. “Are you sure?”

  “You should know by now I don’t do anything I don’t want to.” She smiled.

  He gave her one of his slow grins. “I can definitely attest to that.”

  It had been so long since she’d seen one of those sly smiles. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed them.

  His smile faded as he moved his fingers along her collarbone, sliding the strap of her nightshirt from her shoulder. He circled round her, slid the other strap free and the silky fabric cascaded down her body. He gathered her hair in one hand, wrapped it around his wrist, and tugged gently, tipping her head, exposing her neck. He nipped at her ear, sending tingles to her core, trailed open-mouthed kisses along her neck, her shoulder blades, and she whimpered, thoroughly seduced by the simple yet devastating gestures.

  She reached her arms back, clasping her hands behind his neck and he slid rough palms down her elbows, her breasts, stopping, teasing, until her nipples hardened and she moaned, resting her head on his chest. He journeyed down her ribcage, her waist, stroking her stomach, making her muscles jump, then slid thumbs in the elastic of her pants, tugging, freeing her of the last of her clothing.

  She attempted to face him, but he held her still, leaving circled caresses against her hips, her thighs, turning her legs to jelly, craving him. Moving her hands, she pulled at his boxers, and they were both naked.

  Tucker walked them to the bed, gently pushing her forward on the mattress, nibbling and nipping at her shoulders as she crawled further on the sheets. His body covered hers, and he entered her from behind. She stiffened, moaning, eagerly welcoming him. He brought his hand around as he thrust, finding her with his fingers, teasing, rubbing, sending her over the top. “Tucker,” she panted out.

  As quickly as he invaded her, he pulled himself free. “I want to see you, Cooke,” he said, winded.

  She turned and sat in his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. Lips met for a long, hungry kiss as he lifted her hips, and she took him in. They swallowed each other’s groans as she rocked, sliding her hands along the hot, damp muscles of his chest, shoulders, his back.

  He clutched at her ass, pressing her closer, pushing himself deeper as his steamy breaths puffed against her skin. He suckled at her breasts, lapping at sensitive skin, heightening the throb deep in her core. “I’m close,” she whispered next to his ear, gripping his arms, ready for the stunning power to overtake her yet again.

  “Not like this,” he said, pushing her back so that she lay among the pillows. He broke their connection, changing their positions, nestling himself between her legs. She arched, ready to take him in, craving to ride the next wave as he pulled the covers over them.

  She dragged at his hips in her attempt to guide him back as the liquid pull of desire churned her to the edge. “God, Tucker, I’m so close.”

  He entered her, slowly, torturously so, and she moaned, her body quaking, shuddering, her arms and legs trembling. Gasping, straining, she reached, waiting, waiting. “Now, oh God, now.”

  He thrust hard—once, twice, three times—and a rush of heat rocketed through her system, destroying her. She cried out loudly, undone as the orgasm ravaged her. He held her jaw as she bucked and jerked, staring into her eyes, and she repeated his name again and again.

  Her breathing steadied as she came down, and Tucker kissed her deep, no longer moving while he lay inside her. She rocked her hips, urging him to finish them both, but his mouth continued to capture hers. He eased back, staring down, caressing her damp temple. “This right here, the way you’re looking at me when you’re too busy feeling to think… You and me, we work just fine. You’re what I want, Wren, what I need. I’m willing to wait until you figure out I’m exactly what you need too.”

  As she looked into gorgeous hazel eyes, intense with passion, she knew he was right. She traced his bottom lip with her thumb and kissed his brow.

  “I need you, Wren.”

  “Tucker,” she whispered, undone.

  Their lips met once more, and he took her hands, clasping their fingers, pulling her arms over her head, and he began to move. Their rhythm was unhurried as they held each other’s gaze. Soon the slow tugs deep in her belly grew to pulsing, and his breathing grew shallow, his hands clutching hers tighter.

  She climbed as he did, whimpering. He pushed himself deeper, sending her flying as he shuddered and groaned. Sweaty, gasping, they smiled, and for the first time ever, she understood the true meaning of making love.

  He walked among the trees, concentrating on the dim glow in Wren’s bedroom windows. She was still up—perfect. The hike from town had been a bitch in the bitter winds and blinding snow, but he had to see her—and him. The sweet taste of payback made the grueling two-mile trek a pleasure, despite his icy fingers and toes. Pretty Boy was in all kinds of trouble.

  Park City was in an outright panic after another horrific murder. Poor Chlo
e Wright—such a smart, sweet girl. Rumor around Main Street was the police brought Tucker Campbell in for questioning. He grinned. Lord Campbell was having a rough month—shouting matches with the lovely Wren, interrogations at the cop shop, reliving his sister’s tragic death time and time again. Ouch! What was a guy to do when everything was falling apart? The stress had to be taking its toll, and he looked forward to seeing it first hand.

  He skirted the last few pines and inched his way to the edge of the window. Moving closer, he peered through the small opening where the curtains met, staring, and a swift, hot rage consumed him. “You fucking bastard,” he spat, watching Pretty Boy thrust himself into Wren beneath the ivory sheet pooling at his hips.

  What the hell happened to the yelling and slamming doors? The asshole’s movements suddenly stopped, and he brushed the hair back from Wren’s face as he spoke. She brought her thumb to his lips, kissed his brow, and he took her hands, raising them above her head, and began fucking her again.

  Wren had been mad as hell when he walked away last night. Pretty Boy was supposed to be miserable, sleeping on the damn chair with his gun at his side. The dick probably sent her one of his stupid-ass smiles, and she’d gone running back for more—they all did. “Bitch.”

  This wasn’t right. He’d damn near killed himself getting here, and he sure didn’t come for this. Where was Tucker’s pain? Where was the agony?

  The stud finished himself off, and by the stunned look on Wren’s face, she’d finished too. He struggled to steady his breathing as they smiled at each other. Prince Charming said something, kissed her for a long fucking damn time, then rolled to his side, pulling Wren against him as she curled up in his arms.

  His day of fun was ruined. Ruined. He glanced in once more and turned, ready to make his way back to town. It was time to show them all who was in charge. It was time to up the ante.

  Chapter 16

  Tucker opened his eyes and stared down at Wren still asleep against his side. He loved waking up with her soft, warm body curled around his. If he had his way, they would wake like this every morning.

  He moved his fingers through thick waves of black, sliding her hair back from her temple. Tucker studied her truly stunning face: long eyelashes resting against flawless skin, sharp cheekbones and soft, full lips. He’d meant what he said while he lay inside her, joined as closely as two people can be. He would wait for her, because there was no one else he wanted. Somewhere along the way, his utter fascination with the sharp-tongued beauty had turned into full-fledged love. He wasn’t about to let her go. His job with Ethan no longer existed at this point, but he’d be damned if anyone else would be keeping her safe. If she was hell-bent on heading to Santa Barbara, he was going with her.

  Wren could deny she had feelings for him and insist her life didn’t work with him in it, but when they were together the way they had been just hours ago, he knew she lied to herself as much as to him. He wouldn’t be declaring his heartfelt emotions anytime soon; Wren needed to catch up before they could move forward. She was still afraid, so he would give her time to get used to the way things were. Slow and light was the way to sneak past her guard, so that’s how he would precede.

  A gust of wind blew down the chimney, scattering embers, and he looked toward the window. Even through the barrier of fabric, he could see the snow stacked a quarter of the way up the glass. There was no way in hell they were going anywhere. Thank God they still had electricity. It was past eight—more than time to get up and check in with Ethan and Owens and answer any incoming e-mails he needed to finish up for Jackson. But they could wait a little longer. Before too long, Wren would open her eyes and pull away again. He’d take advantage of what he had right now.

  Her hand stirred against his chest, and her eyes fluttered open.

  “Morning.”

  She gave him a sleepy smile. “Morning.”

  “It’s eight thirty, Cooke. Getting lazy.”

  “Mmm,” she said as she flexed her arm across his body, stretching. “Do you think we’ll get a flight today?”

  “Uh, no. The snow’s past the window frame.”

  “What?” She turned her head. “Holy cow. Look at all that.”

  He chuckled at her amazement. “That’s nothing. Winter’s just getting started around here.”

  She faced him. “I think I’ve decided I hate winter. I want my palm trees back.” She grinned.

  “Looks like you’re stuck with pine for awhile yet.”

  She groaned and settled her forehead against his chest. “I think I might hate pine trees, too.”

  He rubbed his hand along her shoulder blades, enjoying this little piece of casual intimacy. “Such a pessimist in the morning.”

  “No, just getting bored,” she muffled against his skin, then looked up. “I need a conference call, an order gone wrong, mockups. I would even settle for a meeting with Lenora.” She pressed her hands to his cheeks, moving in close, emphasizing each word in her mock desperation. “I like to be busy. I need to be busy.”

  He grinned and grabbed her chin, pulling her face another inch closer. “I can keep you busy, Cooke.” He reached down and cupped her ass. “All you have to do is ask.”

  Her eyes turned from playful to mischievous in a flash, and her hand was under the covers, wrapped around him before he exhaled his next shaky breath. “Maybe I don’t feel like asking.”

  “Hey, I can be flexible.” He gripped her ass tighter, already revved from her hand working him. “God, Cooke,” he sucked in through his teeth and pulled her closer, ravaging her mouth. There was no tenderness this morning, only blazing heat as she straddled him and took the kiss deeper. Her fingers were wild in his hair, and he gripped her waist, sliding his hands up her ribcage, hooking his arms around her shoulders, pressing her breasts to his chest. He tore his mouth from hers, leaving a trail of moist heat along her neck, then he dove again like a starving man, tangling tongues before she pulled back, breath heaving, staring into his eyes as she began a journey of her own—nips at his shoulder, lips and tongue over his pecs, curious fingers sliding down the sweaty skin of his abs. Then she journeyed lower, running her palms along his thighs, teasing as she moved ever closer to fulfilling him. She looked up from under her lashes, sending him a knowing smile as she stroked her finger up, circled, and made her way back down.

  He clenched his jaw, waiting for the slide of her warm, wet mouth.

  She continued her playful skimming until he thought he would beg. “Is this where I’m supposed to ask?”

  His thighs shook as he tensed them. “You’re killing me, Cooke,” he choked out.

  “So are you saying—”

  He groaned his frustration. “Do it. Do it,” he panted, sucking in and curling his toes, dropping his head against the pillow as she took him in. He groaned again, clutching at her hair as her hand and mouth destroyed him. “You keep that up and this is going to be over.”

  She continued on until his stomach muscles danced with every breath, then stopped, leaving him dangling on the edge. She started her way back up his body, slowly, but he grabbed her under the arms, yanking her up, needing to finish what she began.

  “In a hurry?”

  “Turnabout’s fair play,” he promised.

  “Not today.” She sat up and lowered herself on him. He grunted as she surrounded him in wet warmth, and she whimpered, grasping his shoulders. She began to rock, slowly and he played with her breasts, teasing purring moans from her throat.

  Desperate to taste her mouth, he sat up, bringing them chest to chest. He kissed her deeply, clutching her hips, helping her hurried movements as her breathing grew more frenzied. He struggled to wait for her as she worked herself closer, then finally gasping, she froze as her muscles tensed and she throbbed around him. Jerking deep, once, twice, he let himself explode, muffling her cries as their mo
uths met and he grunted.

  She rested her cheek on his shoulder, and he rubbed his hands up and down her back as they both caught their breath.

  “I think we’re going to have to stay like this for at least a couple of hours. My muscles are officially jelly.”

  He grinned. “I can see why.”

  She lifted her head and smiled.

  “Who knew the key to unlocking your inner animal rested in cabin fever? I’d threaten to keep you here indefinitely, but we would more than likely kill each other if we went at it like this all winter long.”

  She laughed. “I’m game if you are.”

  “Be careful what you wish for.” He wiggled his brows.

  She chuckled and gave him a quick kiss.

  These voluntary displays of affection pleased the hell out of him. He leaned back to the mattress, taking her with him. She collapsed against his chest, and he rolled, lying on top of her.

  She reached up and played with the hair along his temple. “So what are we going to do today?”

  “I thought we were going to drive each other crazy in bed.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure even you have your limits.”

  He feigned insult as he nipped at her collarbone. “You know how to aim right for a guy’s ego.”

  “Gotta keep you in check.”

  He slid his finger along her jaw, debating whether or not to share the idea he’d been tossing around. As he stared into her eyes and moved his fingers over her skin, he realized this was the perfect opportunity to show her that he was willing to let her in to the deepest parts of him. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since yesterday.”

  “What about?”