Honest Intentions (The Safeguard Series, Book Five)

by Kennedy Layne

  Brettany shifted on the couch. He didn’t have to look to know she’d turned on her side and was resting her elbow on the armrest. The position gave her a better view of his expression, which he didn’t welcome. He was too exposed, but he always had the freedom to put a halt to it and then change the subject.

  “Danny committed armed robbery when he was eighteen years old.” Coen figured his team members were well aware of his brother’s misdeeds. No one had mentioned it though, with the exception of Ashlyn. Keane’s fiancée was a federal prosecutor who had most likely heard the details of the case, considering the particulars. “One of Danny’s associates decided he should pull the trigger when an off-duty officer decided to intervene.”

  “Was the policeman killed?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Coen stared right past the wavering flames and watched a scene unfold that he hadn’t thought of for some time. “I was in between deployments, stationed in Jacksonville, North Carolina, when I got the call from my mother. Danny had pulled some sob story on her, going on about how he and his two friends hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. My parents fell for it, because it was what they wanted to believe about a son who they had raised.”

  “I’m sorry.” Brettany set a tentative hand on his shoulder. His skin burned underneath his shirt because he wasn’t looking for her sympathy.

  “Again, you’re apologizing for something you had no part in.” Coen bent his leg and rested his arm across his knee. He had no idea what prompted him to do so, but he shared with her the reason no one should apologize for his family. “It turned out that I happened to be friends with the junior prosecutor who had been assigned to Danny’s trial. My parents asked if I could use some leverage to get my brother a lighter sentence.”

  “What did you do?”

  Coen couldn’t help but look in Brettany’s direction for any hint of judgment. Her green eyes were clear in the golden hue emanating from the fire.

  “I told them that I would never burden a friend by asking for that type of favor, nor would I intervene in a murder trial—not even for my brother.”

  “Was he charged as an accessory?”

  “Yes. Danny wasn’t armed, which was the reason he received only eight years.” Coen didn’t bother to add on that in his opinion his brother’s sentence should have been a hell of a lot longer. “He was old enough to know right from wrong. He sure as hell understood the ramifications of choosing to rob a store…with or without a weapon. Every action in our lives has a consequence. He chose to participate in robbing a gas station, and a man’s life was taken as a result of that action. That officer had a wife and two children. He was a son and a brother. It doesn’t matter whether or not Danny pulled the trigger, because that family will always be missing one of their own. My brother was guilty by his participation in a felony robbery. Any act committed by any of the perpetrators is shared by all the bad actors. Any interference on my end to lighten his sentence would only have encouraged Danny to think he could get away with his crimes without suffering the consequences.”

  “I take it from your phone call earlier this evening that Danny has continued to choose unwisely since his release?”

  Coen had studied Brettany’s features as he told his story, somewhat astonished that she was listening without giving her opinion. She wasn’t grilling him for not lending a hand to a family member, yet she also wasn’t criticizing the fact that his brother had been involved with taking a man’s life.

  How many times had Coen asked himself where had he gone wrong in his duties of being the older brother to whom Danny could look up to and respect? Had he not been a good enough role model? Had he been favored by his parents to the point that Danny had felt neglected? Had lashing out always been his way of seeking attention?

  “Danny purchased a weapon for his protection.” The muscle in Coen’s jaw literally ached from the amount of pressure he’d put on it. “His decision to do so violates his parole, regardless that he felt threatened by some not-so-reputable people. There’s a reason an ex-convict has a parole officer. My brother has once again made a decision without considering the consequences. He knew that he wasn’t allowed to own or use a firearm as a violent felon.”

  “And your parents?” Brettany asked, her hand still in place on his shoulder. As a matter of fact, her touch had gone from unwelcomed to appreciated. “Where do they stand in all of this?”

  “Let’s just say that our relationship has been strained over the years as a result.”

  Coen let the comforting silence roll over him. He’d been in the Corps when Danny had first gone to prison. His unit had been very free with their opinions during the course of the trial, most of them picking a side and vocally expressing their thoughts. It was a struggle to keep his mind on task, specifically during those more harrowing times while on deployment in a combat zone. The stress of those days had lingered for many months after he’d gotten home. This peace and tranquility Brettany offered was refreshing, and the pain gradually receded from his jaw.

  “Did I ever tell you the time that I…”

  Brettany flipped over onto her back and talked for hours about miscellaneous things, from her childhood to when she made a special connection with a young boy who struggled to read. It had been the sole reason she had chosen to become a teacher. The late evening passed into night, and yet even those darker hours seemed brighter as their laughter filled the air as she recounted her youth.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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  Brett wasn’t ready for this welcome respite to end. Who would have ever thought she would fall for a man who was way out of her league? It wasn’t about looks. She owned a mirror and could see for herself that she was an attractive woman. She took care of herself, usually running three miles on days that the weather permitted, and had a handful of children who picked flowers for her during their recess.

  No, she thought. There was just something in the way Coen carried himself. It was his bearing that made her realize they lived two separate lives. Maybe it was something in those articles on Shepherd Moss she’d read, or it could have simply been the gap between how they lived their lives, along with their contrasting environments.

  Either way, he was most likely leaving within the next hour. She’d never set eyes on him again. And that was a shame.

  “Morning,” Coen said, his voice still raspy with sleep. She’d heard the shower running in the middle of making her world famous pancakes, prompting her to pour him a glass of orange juice. A quick glance his way revealed damp hair and bloodshot eyes. “Something smells mighty good.”

  “I made breakfast.” Brett sipped her tea as Coen pulled out the stool and took a seat. He placed his cell phone next to the napkin she’d set out for him. Had he already been in touch with his teammates about his departure? “I figured you wouldn’t want to start your trip back home on an empty stomach, much less airport food.”

  “Do you know if the airport is back up and running?” Coen took a healthy drink of his orange juice, but didn’t reach for the fork next to his plate. Her stomach fluttered as she met his dark gaze. He had no idea she was mulling over doing something she’d never done in her entire life. “I’ll help you clear the driveway before I go, and then I can meet up with my replacement.”

  Brett didn’t want someone else besides him to stay in the house across the street. She didn’t want a reminder that she’d spent two days with a man who could grace the cover of a men’s lifestyle magazine and had a morality only ever seen in the heroes of the movies she watched. She didn’t want to let go without taking a chance. She loved living on the edge, but the men she’d chosen in the past had always been what she would describe as safe. Why? Because she wanted the white picket fence with a minivan parked in the driveway to haul around two point five children, or maybe five?

  She wouldn’t deny that she desired a life like what her mother had or maybe her grandmother, but what was stopping her from stepping over the edge?

  “Brettany?” Coen se
t his half-drained glass of orange juice back on the counter as he regarded her with curiosity. He misunderstood her silence. “Shepherd Moss has been quite busy in Florida, very far from here. It’s doubtful he’d make his way this far west. It’s a risk for him to travel even a short distance.”

  Brett didn’t want to talk about murder, serial killers, or anything that had to do with his chosen profession or what she’d stumbled into last weekend. The storm had ended hours ago, the snow plows were out clearing off the streets one by one, and the sun was shining in a clear bright sky. It was a new day and one she wanted to celebrate with him.

  She drained the rest of her tea and carefully placed her cup in the sink. This was it. There didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the air, but that might be due to the fact that she’d stopped breathing. Her adrenaline spiked just enough as she walked around the kitchen island.

  “Are you okay?” Coen asked cautiously, turning his stool slightly to the left so that he was facing her. “You haven’t—”

  Brett closed the distance between them before she could change her mind. She slipped her fingers underneath the leather of the holster that seemed to be a permanent fixture over his shirt and pulled him close.

  “Give me this one morning before you leave,” Brett whispered imploringly, searching for any sign that he was willing to ignore this attraction between them. Her heartbeat faltered when the rich brown of his eyes darkened in sensuality. “No strings. No expectations.”

  “You don’t want to do this with me.” Coen raised his arms and gently clasped her wrists to stop her from sliding her hands up behind his neck. “I’m not—”

  “Looking for anything serious?” Brett finished for him, although she inferred his statement as a question. “You might not believe this, but I’m not expecting you to want that with me. The plan I’ve laid out for myself doesn’t include a man in your line of work. I do want that white picket fence with a husband who will play baseball with our son in the backyard…but not for some time to come. In the meantime, I’m not without desire, Coen. I’m a woman with sexual needs…and I want to be with you very much before we part ways. I warned you there was a chance I’d take you up on what you had so temptingly dangled in front of me. Well, here I am…just like you wanted.”

  Coen inhaled deeply as if he was trying to clear his mind. She’d attempted that very same thing this morning as he showered, but it hadn’t worked. Arousal flooded her body when his large hands left her wrists to cup her face. There was something so damned sensual in the way he moved that shivers of excitement shot through her. He didn’t say a word to her proposition other than to press his firm lips against hers, sending sparks flying higher than the flames in the fireplace that had kept them warm last night as they sat and talked the hours away.

  “Are you certain this is what you want, sugar?”

  Brett gradually smiled at the nickname he’d given her the other day in his attempt at preventing her curiosity from spinning out of control. She wasn’t sure why she’d thought of it in this exceptional moment, but she made a mental note to put the rest of the cupcakes into a container that he could take with him. It would be her way of saying thank you for all he’d done these past two days, and for what she hoped he was about to do.

  “I’m more than sure,” Brett whispered, tugging on the leather strap of his holster so that he was forced to stand. She tilted her head up to receive another kiss. “Shall we take this upstairs?”

  There was no doubt in her mind that her parents would stop by sometime later today to see if she needed any help after the heavy snowfall. Neither her mom nor dad were aware that Coen had spent the past two nights with her, and she wanted it to stay that way. They would start in on the rhetoric of grandchildren, and she was far from ready to have that conversation again.

  Coen’s warm hand sliding up underneath her sweater to rest on her bare back had those thoughts dissipating in a matter of seconds. The cold air had followed and then billowed all around her upper body as he swiftly pulled the material over her head.

  He kissed her again, moving in a way that had her carefully walking backward. She trusted him to guide her through the kitchen as she savored his taste of mint and oranges. They stopped at the archway that led into the living room when he pushed her up against the doorframe.

  The coolness of the wood had her quickly inhaling in reaction, so she slipped her hands underneath his shirt. She encountered a problem with his shoulder holster.

  “You’re going to need to remove your weapon so we can get this started,” Brett directed a little breathlessly, pulling back so she could see his reaction.

  “Really?” Coen trailed his lips down her neck. She shivered as goosebumps trailed over her arms, but he wasn’t going to divert her attention away from the fact that he was still fully dressed while she was without her sweater. “And here I thought you might like a little handcuff action, seeing as you’re such an adrenaline junkie and all.”

  The thought of Coen clasping any type of restraint over her wrists had her mind spinning with scorching fantasies.

  “I want your shirt off now,” Brett replied honestly, knowing full well he wasn’t carrying handcuffs. She playfully tugged on the bottom of his t-shirt. “And I can’t get your top off without you removing that fancy holster of yours.”

  “Let’s see if I can accommodate you, sugar.”

  Coen removed his holster with a simple shrug of his shoulder, though he maintained a firm grip on the leather strap. She didn’t mind that he was always overly cautious with the tools of his trade. It was one of the reasons he made her feel so safe and secure, but that wasn’t the experience she was going for at this precise moment. She needed to feel him against her skin.

  Brett ever so slowly lifted the soft material, excitement curling her toes as if she were unwrapping an early Christmas present. He helped remove his shirt and let it drop to the ground over his free hand.

  She needed a minute to look over his ripped upper body. It should be illegal to cover up this type of perfection. The contours of his muscles had her fingers itching to touch him, and she didn’t hold back. This was her time to enjoy herself.

  Leaning forward, she gently pressed her lips to his chest. The fresh smell of her own special soap mingled with his natural fragrance as if it were an aphrodisiac. She didn’t leave one speck of his skin untouched and would have kneeled to taste more of him had he not stopped her descent.

  “My turn,” Coen warned her in a rich tone that was warm like molasses fresh from the flame. He changed their position so that she was once again walking backward. He gracefully used his thumb and index finger to remove her bra with a well-practiced hand, and an image of him attempting such a move in high school came to mind. “Amazingly beautiful.”

  Brett didn’t know if it was the tempting way he spoke or the sudden onset of electrifying sensations that had her gasping as his mouth covered her nipple. The sudden temperature change from the cool air hitting her sensitive tissue to the hot, moist impression his lips left behind was simply torture of the most provocative kind. She wasn’t sure she was going to last long enough to make it upstairs. The pressure inside of her had begun to build.

  They needed protection for many reasons, and that particular brand-named product was currently stored in the nightstand beside her bed. If only she could get the words out, but instead she arched her back to give him unlimited access to her breasts.

  “You’re making me wish we had started this last night,” Coen whispered hoarsely, telling her she wasn’t the only one feeling the strain of making it to her bedroom. “The things I’d like to do to you take a hell of a lot longer than we’ve got time for this morning.”

  There he went again, using words and phrases that had her body instinctively responding in kind. He allowed her to lean back away so that she could catch her breath. It was then she caught sight of the trail of clothes they’d left in their wake.

  “You’re behind,” Brett shared, nodding toward t
he apparel that littered the floor. She reached for the button on his jeans. “We need to do something about that.”

  The corner of Coen’s lip curled in a sensual manner that had her immediately working on his zipper. He had other ideas though, having her retreat through the living room toward the stairs. Her heel hit the first step and then the second before he covered her body with his, laying his holstered weapon on the step above them.

  He once again captured her nipple before unfastening her jeans, much as she had done to his. Only he took things a step further when he ever so slowly drew the rough fabric over her hips, down her thighs, and over the fuzzy socks she’d put on this morning. His eyes practically twinkled when he saw the cotton candy color of her panties.

  “Sugar and sweet,” Coen murmured against the inside of her right calf. She couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped her lips when he gently kissed the sensitive spot above her knee. “I can’t wait to have more of you.”

  Coen lifted his weight in a manner that gave him room to slide his fingers inside her panties. The light stroke over her clitoris so that he could penetrate her folds had her scooting up one more stair in response to the overwhelming pleasure. He dipped his middle finger into her cream, giving her a taste of what was to come.

  “Condom. We need a condom,” Brett managed to say as she rested her foot on one of the stairs. She finally opened her eyes and saw that they’d made it halfway up the staircase. “We need—”

  “I have that covered.” Coen sighed reluctantly as he pulled away. She literally felt lost without his touch, but she used the brief interruption to use the steps as leverage. He’d slung the leather strap of his holster over his arm as he searched for the foiled package tucked somewhere away in his wallet. They easily made it to the top of the landing, but that was as far as they would get. He held up the condom in victory. “I might not have finished as an Eagle Scout, but I still come prepared.”