Shattered: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 4)

by April Wilson

  His lips trail up the curve of my throat to the tender spot just below my ear, and I shiver, whimpering.

  “Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?” he murmurs in my ear.

  I nod as my breathing quickens.

  “Are you? Tell me.”

  “Yes!” I gasp, panting and keening as the pleasure inside me crescendos. When my orgasm rips through me, I press my face into my pillow to muffle my cries.

  I’m so overwhelmed by this man, so taken over. He owns me heart and soul, and when he touches me, I’m lost. Luciana’s words come back to me in a rush, and pain slices through me at the thought of losing him.

  It’s all too much, the pain and the pleasure, and my irrational fears. It’s just too much. A sob tears through me, and I pray in vain he didn’t hear it.

  But of course he hears it. He notices everything. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice suddenly hard. He rises up behind me and pulls me onto my hands and knees. “There’s no one but you, do you hear me?” he says in a tight voice as his hands grip my hips hard. “No one!”

  He positions me in front of him, my bottom up in the air. I fall forward onto my pillow, burying my face. When he sinks deep into my wet core, pressing in slowly and steadily until his thighs hit my buttocks, I cry out at the sudden feeling of fullness. He’s thick and hard as he grinds himself deep inside me. I’m so wet and soft already that my body opens for him, greedily accepting him as he takes every inch he can.

  “You all right?” he says, his voice hoarse as he holds himself still deep inside me.

  “Yes!” I gasp. I push back against his hips, lodging him further inside me.

  “Fuck,” he groans, his voice rough. His breath comes hard and fast against my shoulder as he leans forward, covering my back. He kisses the back of my neck. “God, you feel so good.”

  I rock myself back against him in an effort to get him moving. Right now I need to feel him moving inside me, marking me inside as well as out. I need to know he’s mine, too, because the alternative is unacceptable. He’s ruined me for anyone else, and now I can’t imagine my life without him.

  As he starts to move, slowly at first, but quickly gaining momentum, I rock back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. The heat and friction of him inside me is scorching, and my entire world narrows down to the sensation of him taking me, consuming me. There’s no room for any other thoughts in my head right now, no room for insecurities, no room for fear. His hands clasp my buttocks, his fingers digging into me to hold me in place for his deep thrusts. It’s rare that he lets himself go like this, that he indulges his more aggressive needs, and I revel in it.

  The feeling of fullness is both tantalizing and comforting. When we’re joined like this, when I feel his heat and his strength deep inside me, I think we’re invincible. I don’t think anything can come between us.

  “You’re mine,” he repeats, clutching my hips so he can thrust harder. “Do you understand that?”

  “Yes,” I groan.

  He slams himself hard into me, sinking as far as he can go. “Do you?”

  “Yes!”

  As he moves in strong, measured thrusts, his hand slips beneath me, and his finger sinks between the slick folds of my sex to zero in on my already sensitized clit, circling and tormenting it with increasing intensity. He’s determined to make me come again. He’s going to make me come right along with him.

  When I feel him tense behind me, his thigh muscles hard as stone, his breath hot and heavy in my hair, he pinches my clit and I see stars. My body clenches down on his erection, squeezing him hard and holding him deep inside me.

  “Fuck!” he grates, throwing his head back and grimacing as if in pain. He sinks deep as he erupts inside me, filling me with stream after scorching stream of liquid heat.

  His thrusts slow as he slides his cock through his come, and he murmurs rough, unintelligible words. Finally, he rolls us onto the mattress, onto our sides, still joined together.

  And that’s the last thing I remember.

  Chapter 6

  When I wake Sunday morning, the sun is well up in the sky, filling our suite with light. I stretch and moan, not surprised to find no residual evidence of our lovemaking from last night. I passed out afterward, so Shane must have cleaned me up.

  Shane is usually pretty careful with me, but sometimes he gives full reign to his carefully-controlled aggression, like he did last night. I know why he did it. I was feeling insecure about my place in his life, and he showed me, in no uncertain terms, that he owns me body and soul. That it’s me he wants... and no one else.

  I lie in bed for a little while, enjoying the high-rise view out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sky is a clear, sharp blue today, lovely to behold, and the sight adds to my sense of well being. My body aches deliciously in all the right places, and I feel well loved. I detect a slight twinge deep inside me, perhaps a little tenderness from Shane’s rough thrusts last night, but I don’t mind.

  Then reality shatters my tranquility as I’m flooded with memories of Luciana. For a moment, I’m afraid I’m going to be physically sick. I lie still, breathing through my mouth, hoping the sudden wave of nausea will subside.

  I know I’m being silly. I trust Shane. And I know, rationally, that if he truly wanted to be with Luciana, he would be. But he’s not with her. He’s with me.

  Shane attracts a lot of attention wherever he goes. It’s not just his looks, or his wealth, or his personality. It’s the whole package. He’s a very charismatic man. That’s something I’ll have to learn to deal with, which is not easy for someone like me who’s always had a problem with low self-esteem.

  I roll over to face his empty side of the bed and lay my face on his pillow, breathing in his familiar scent. That’s when I notice the little folded note propped against the base of his bedside lamp. It’s addressed To the Future Mrs. McIntyre, written in black ink in Shane’s bold, heavy hand. That makes me smile. I pick up the note and unfold it. “Good morning, sleepyhead. I’ll be downstairs in the fitness center. Txt me when you’re up and we’ll have breakfast. Love you, S.”

  It’s no secret that I’m not a morning person. Fortunately, Shane doesn’t hold it against me.

  Even though we have a fully-outfitted fitness center right here in the penthouse, Shane likes to use the building’s fitness center every now and then so he can mingle with some of the residents and see how the natives are faring. As the landlord of a residential building with over six hundred residents, he takes his responsibilities very seriously.

  Grabbing my phone from my nightstand, I send him a quick text.

  I’m up. But don’t rush back. I need a shower.

  Then I slip out of bed and head to our bathroom to take care of business. My earlier queasiness passed as quickly as it arrived, and by the time I’m finished with my shower, I feel much better.

  After drying my hair and brushing my teeth, I pull on a pair of comfy knit shorts and a baggy sweatshirt, then venture out to the great room to see who’s around, if anyone.

  I spot Cooper seated in one of the armchairs positioned beside the hearth. He looks so handsome in a sexy-old-guy way with his wire-rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose. His neatly trimmed hair and beard are a mixture of dark gray and silver, as if they can’t quite make up their minds what color they want to be.

  He’s holding a tablet, and there’s a muted Chicago Bulls basketball game playing on the huge flatscreen above the hearth. Occasionally, he glances up to check the score on the TV.

  “Good morning,” I say, heading straight for the Keurig machine. “Whatcha reading?”

  Cooper looks my way as I pour water into the coffee maker’s reservoir and insert my favorite K-cup.

  “Jamie’s latest book,” he says, setting down his tablet. “Want me to make you some breakfast?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t feel like eating. I’ll just have coffee.”

  “You hardly ate anything yesterday either.” He gets up and joins me
in the kitchen, frowning as he feels my forehead. “Are you feelin’ okay, kiddo?”

  “I’m fine. It’s just nerves... thinking about the wedding.” And Luciana.

  Cooper crosses his arms over his chest, looking far from convinced. His faded jeans hang low on his lean hips, and a plain gray T-shirt hugs his muscular torso. His feet are bare.

  “I’m fine, Cooper, really.”

  “You can’t survive on coffee alone, honey. You’ll get dehydrated. Drink some water, too, and let me make you something to eat.”

  “All right, I’ll have toast. And I’ll make it myself. You go sit down and read. I can manage.”

  The elevator chimes, and a moment later Shane steps through the foyer door. He’s dressed in workout clothes – running shorts, a sweat-soaked T-shirt, and running shoes. His damp hair is plastered to his head, and he has a towel draped over his neck. Even after a hot, sweaty workout, the man looks divine.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in to give me a quick peck on the cheek. “Sorry, honey. I just ran six miles, and I’m a ripe mess. You relax with your coffee, and I’ll go grab a quick shower.”

  * * *

  I grab my phone and coffee and a slice of dry toast and bring them with me to the sofa, where I get comfortable. Another wave of nausea hits me, and I breathe through it, hoping it will pass as quickly as it came. God, I hope I’m not coming down with something. I really don’t have time to be sick. Just as I take a cautious bite of toast, my phone chimes with an incoming message. I have a new text message from Lia.

  What r u doing 2day? Let’s take the rock star shopping. I’m sick of looking at the same damn 3 tees. It’ll be fun. We can watch the fan girls gawk at him. ;)

  I chuckle. Having a celebrity in the family, and everything that entails, is certainly a novel experience for me. I send her a reply.

  Sounds fun. I’ll ask Shane if he wants to come.

  It’s not long before Shane joins us in the great room, freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. He drops down beside me on the sofa and reaches for the remote control on the coffee table to turn up the volume on the basketball game.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, stealing a sip of my coffee, then leaning over to look at my phone.

  “Texting your sister.”

  “Which one?”

  “Lia. She’s taking Jonah shopping this afternoon, and she’s asking if I want to come. Apparently, Jonah needs clothes. Do you want to come?”

  He raises a dubious eyebrow at me. “Shopping for clothes? Really? Can’t he just order something online?”

  I nudge him with my elbow. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We can watch the fan girls drool all over him.”

  Shane looks less than thrilled at the prospect, but he nods anyway. “Well, if you’re going, I’m going.” He rises from the sofa and heads for the kitchen. “If we’re going out, I’ll need more coffee and food.”

  “Great! I’ll tell her we’re game. I’ll be fun – like going out on a double date.”

  Chapter 7

  I had no idea what a circus it would turn into, being out in public with Jonah.

  Word spread quickly through social media when Jonah announced his resignation from his popular rock band, Locke, just a few weeks ago. He’s a free agent now, writing songs and recording alone in a nearby rented studio. He passed up a new contract worth millions in exchange for his freedom. But knowing how talented he is, not to mention how much money he has socked away in the bank already, I’m sure he’ll do fine on his own. Judging by the crowds that materialize wherever he shows up in public, his fans certainly haven’t forgotten him. If anything, he’s even more popular now that he’s “gone rogue.”

  The weather’s mild today for late in November, but it’s still a little chilly, so I swapped my shorts for a pair of blue jeans to go with my sweatshirt. Shane makes me put on a jacket because this is The Windy City, after all. There’s bound to be wind coming off the lake. He’s wearing a jacket, too, although in his case, it’s mostly to conceal the gun holster strapped to his chest.

  I’m sure Lia will be carrying, too, although I know I won’t see any sign of her handgun. Even though she’s Jonah’s girlfriend now, she’s still essentially his bodyguard, and she’s always armed when they’re out in public. She has to be. Most people are respectful of his privacy, but they have had some uncomfortable run-ins with overzealous fans who failed to respect Jonah’s personal space.

  Since the weather is unseasonably nice, we decide to walk. Shane and I follow behind Lia and Jonah, the four of us strolling leisurely along The Magnificent Mile, heading toward the central shopping district in downtown Chicago. Shane has a tight hold on my hand as we maneuver through the crowded sidewalk foot traffic, dodging families with strollers and groups of exuberant teens.

  Lia and Jonah walk ahead of us, and Lia points out a few landmarks to Jonah, who’s still getting to know his newly adopted city.

  Jonah came to Chicago last month to get away from a crazy ex-girlfriend in L.A., and he ended up meeting the love of his life, giving up his record label, and making Chicago his new home. Right now, he and Lia are living in her two-bedroom apartment in our building. They’re exploring their options right now. They really need more space so Jonah can have his own private recording studio.

  They make a striking couple. Jonah’s tall, with broad shoulders and a well-muscled torso. He looks hot in distressed jeans, a grungy graphic T-shirt, and black leather jacket. His dark, wavy hair is pulled up into a man bun – his signature look. Dark aviator sunglasses make him look like a real bad ass, but unfortunately they do little to conceal his identity. In contrast, Lia’s petite, blond, and gorgeous, not to mention tough as hell with her take-no-prisoners attitude.

  Since Shane and I are walking a few yards behind them, we see all the double-takes and the gawkers who catch sight of Jonah as they pass him on the crowded sidewalk. Even though he recently dismantled his band, he’s still featured pretty heavily in social media. In fact, maybe even more so now that he’s seen as this unconventional performer who bucked L.A. and the status quo to go out on his own.

  Jonah sightings still trend hotly, leading to the impromptu formation of crowds of squealing fans at the most unlikely places. It’s hard for the guy to go anywhere without drawing big crowds.

  The first stop we make is at a big, well-known trendy department store on N. Michigan Avenue, and that turns out to be a huge mistake. It’s not long before images of the rock star light up Twitter and Instagram, and Jonah is soon mobbed by hysterical teenaged girls.

  Shane can’t help laughing as Lia almost forcibly clears a path through the crowd and gets Jonah back outside. Shane and I run interference for a few minutes to give Lia and Jonah a head start.

  Once we’re out of the store, Shane and I follow in the direction they took, and we wait for our rendez-vous instructions. Finally, we receive a text from Lia telling us to meet them at a small, hole-in-the-wall men’s clothing shop on a less-crowded side street.

  “This looks like a good place,” I say when we reach the shop, eyeing the small window displays. It’s a tiny little shop showcasing distressed jeans, grunge-style graphic tees, baseball caps, and leather jackets. It’s perfect.

  Shane holds the door for me, and I enter the narrow space. The store is so crammed full of tables holding merchandise that there’s barely room to move around. Tables are piled high with faded and ripped jeans and stacks of graphic T-shirts in every color and style imaginable. The walls are covered with displays of sweatshirts and jackets and racks of baseball caps.

  Wasting no time, Jonah has already picked up a couple pairs of jeans and a few T-shirts, and is standing in line at the check-out counter, which is manned by a lanky young man with short, twisted afro locks. Lia’s waiting in line with him.

  “That was fast,” I say, nodding at Jonah’s haul.

  “I just want to get this over with,” Jonah says. “I hate shopping.”

  There�
��s only one other customer in line ahead of them, a young man with greasy brown hair, wearing an oversized coat that looks like it hasn’t been washed in years.

  The customer ahead of Jonah sets one T-shirt on the counter, and as the cashier rings up the purchase, I notice that the customer’s hands are shaking badly as he digs around inside his coat’s big pocket. As he fidgets, practically bouncing on his feet, the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I realize something’s seriously off with this guy. Then he pulls a small black handgun out of his coat pocket and shoves it in the clerk’s startled face.

  “Empty your cash drawer, now!” the customer yells. “Do it!” As he waves his gun wildly in the cashier’s face, his hand is shaking so badly I’m afraid he’s going to shoot the kid, whether he means to or not.

  The rest happens so quickly it’s over almost as soon as it started. Shane grabs my upper arm and shoves me behind him as he pulls his handgun out of his chest holster. At the same time, Lia whips out the small handgun tucked into her ankle holster and pushes Jonah behind her. A second later, Shane and Lia have their guns drawn on the guy.

  “Lower the gun, now!” Shane orders. “Put it on the counter and step back! Put your hands behind your back!”

  Lia moves in close, pressing the muzzle of her gun to the back of the perpetrator’s head. “If you don’t do what the man says, asswipe, I get to shoot you.”

  The guy drops his gun on the counter and steps back, throwing his hands up into the air. “Please don’t shoot me!” he cries, looking frantically from Shane to Lia. “I wasn’t going to hurt anyone, I swear! Please don’t shoot me!”

  Shane holsters his gun and pulls a flex cuff out of his jacket pocket, then he tugs the guy’s arms behind his back and quickly secures his wrists.

  Lia still has her gun trained on the guy’s head.

  “I wasn’t going to shoot him,” the perpetrator says, wincing as Shane tightens the restraints.