Bidding on the Bodyguard Read online

  When they emerged from the final obstacle, they stood looking at each other, drawing ragged breaths. Something about their shared breathing in the silence broke his restraint.

  He couldn’t hold back. He grabbed her face, his mouth angled over hers.

  “Stop me now,” he said, his breathing ragged.

  “I don’t want to,” she whispered in invitation.

  Tucking her against his chest, he kissed her hard. He lost himself to the burn of intensity that had sparked the moment they met.

  Their hands grasped and slipped, clawing at each other’s bodies like they would never be close enough. Too many clothes.

  With frustrating effort, he forced himself to accept a brief distance from her, grabbing her hand and tugging her behind him. “This way.”

  He led her through a shortcut to the bunker. When their fingers slipped from the mud, he latched onto her tighter.

  On the porch, he yanked her to him, feasting on her mouth. They pulled off each other’s sweaty, ruined clothes. Exhilarating frustration took over. He tossed her over his shoulder, grinning at her squeak of surprise, and headed for the showers.

  Before her feet touched the tile, he sealed his mouth over hers again. He fumbled blindly for the knob and turned it full blast.

  The shower slowed things down. He refused to make his first time with a her a race to the finish. She deserved his full, undivided, unhurried attention.

  Without lifting his mouth from hers, he grabbed the bar of soap he’d left in his shower stall. Suds formed between his hands, and he took his time exploring her body. He coasted bubbles over her shoulders, over her generous breasts. Her hard nipples peaked beneath the suds. He sluiced water down her front before hungrily latching onto those peaks.

  Listening to her pleasure, he found himself addicted to her sounds. Every sigh, every gasp, every cry. His sole focus centered on her pleasure.

  Reaching for the soap again, he slid suds down her spine, across her scars, between her ass cheeks. He caressed the sensitive crease. She arched against him, curling her hands around his shoulders in hesitant invitation. Probing her there, he slung her leg over one of his hips.

  The breath she released held passion, but he could do better. Rinsing his hand, he shifted his fingers to the front, drawing from the slickness that seeped from her, grazing her opening, circling, providing the wetness needed to caress the bead of concentrated sensation.

  When she cried out in pleasure, he focused his touch there. She writhed against his hand.

  Still he could do better. Way better, with his mouth and tongue. That required a different situation than he’d planned for. His mind quickly adapted.

  “Come with me,” he whispered.

  When she nodded and pressed against him with absolute trust, he knew he needed her. All of her. Barely able to leave the clasp of her lips, he breathed against her mouth. “I need to do something.”

  Leaving the showers without drying off, he faced the task of creating a love nest from a row of bunkbeds. Without hesitating, he tore the room apart.

  Like a hurricane he whipped through the room. He shoved bunkbeds against the wall. He hauled mattresses to cover the floor in the space he’d made. He dragged sheets from the closet and spread them over the makeshift California-king mattress he’d patched together.

  Well, he thought, rubbing his neck. Beats making love in a tent or a bunk bed.

  Then he realized the reason for his efforts stood opposite him, at the entrance to the showers. She was wet, naked, and looking delicious enough to devour.

  “Are you finished?” Her sweet, accepting smile let him know his efforts hadn’t been wasted.

  “Not a hotel room, where I wish we were.” He drew ragged breaths from his efforts, shrugging. “It’s the best I could do.”

  “Aren’t you the one telling me we need to stick together, regardless of the outcome?”

  “Yes?” he answered warily, arms stretched out as his sides.

  She crooked her finger at him. “Then come here and make a believer.”

  His mouth couldn’t get to her fast enough. He kissed her until her back met the mattresses he’d laid across the concrete floor.

  They writhed against and crawled across vinyl until he pinned her wrists with his left hand, missing two fingers, and she didn’t flinch. Empowered, he slid his good hand between her thighs and pleasured her until she begged for more.

  Then he released her wrists and went down on her, sinking his fingers into her luscious thighs, burying his face in heaven. The cries of passion that left her lips as she shook against his tongue, gave him more pleasure than when she urged his body up to meet hers.

  He tore a condom wrapper open with his teeth, rolled it on as he fixed her with a sharp, ravenous stare. Then he wrapped her legs around his waist, and with one firm thrust, he buried himself inside her.

  Chapter Eight

  THE MOMENT SHANE slid inside her, his fulfilling pressure had her arching her back to invite him deeper. His drives were intense, like she had unleashed his inner beast. The steam of his breath coated her neck.

  She welcomed him, curling her legs around his waist. He hit her spot with every pulse.

  Fulfillment was the wrong word. Completeness worked better.

  She held expectations beyond this weekend, beyond this moment feeling him inside her, his sexy body embracing her, striving with her.

  Then he pulled out and went down on her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, shocked and breathless.

  “Making you happy.” He grinned before lowering his face between her thighs.

  “But, I—” She lost the capacity for speech.

  He really went down on her. Not like previous lovers who spent five minutes getting her wet and deciding that was sufficient. Shane focused his mouth on her peak until she writhed in his hands, denying, bargaining, begging, until she shook uncontrollably beneath his tongue. He pinned her in place with his steel grip.

  The soul-shattering orgasm sent ripples of pleasure careening through her, stilling her breath, making her heart pound as she surrendered to the intense release.

  Breathless, spent, she drew her arms over her head. “Wow. Just…wow,” she whispered when her capacity for speech returned.

  Lifting his muscled body over hers, he straightened his arms, giving her a gorgeous view of his muscular torso as he slowly entered her swollen dampness. He moved powerfully over her, inside her.

  “You feel so good,” she said on a sigh.

  He lowered until his chest brushed her nipples, and murmured in her ear, “You have no idea.”

  Their bodies created luxurious friction. “I wish we could stay like this forever.” When he went still, she cringed. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

  Intensity infused his gaze. He grabbed her hands and held them hostage above her head, pressing his hard body against her. The throb of his length inside her insisted he had no intention of slowing down or walking away.

  “We came together by chance. What we do with that chance is ours.” He lowered his head, gently sipping her lips. “You take your time, figuring out what you want beyond this weekend.” He kissed her harder. “Until then, you’re mine.”

  He rolled her across two mattresses, so her back pressed against his front. Grinning down at her, he brushed her hair to the side and latched the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. He nipped her with his teeth and she shivered. He slid inside her again, and the angle was beyond perfect.

  “Come with me, baby,” he breathed against her neck.

  “Shane—”

  “Relax. Let me take you there.”

  His rhythm intensified, slow, hard-driving thrusts. He cupped her face, lifting her chin. His lips fastened on hers.

  She began to shake.

  Yes.

  “Feel me, baby. Feel us. Together.”

  She arched into meet his movements, but he was behind her and she had nothing to hold on to except sheets. She curled her leg
s around his, feeling hard muscle all around her.

  Resting her head in the curve of his arm, she arced against him. “Shane.”

  “I’m right here with you, baby.” He strained to hold back. “I’m yours.”

  His admission shattered all resistance. Emotion and sensation overwhelmed her. An earthshaking climax shook her.

  “And you’re mine,” he said through clenched teeth before he groaned and spasmed inside her.

  Wrapping his arms around her from behind, he stayed inside her, inviting any last ripples of sensation. He spread kisses across her shoulder. “We make one hell of a team in bed, too.”

  She grinned. “Yes, we do.”

  When he pulled out, she turned to face him, snuggling into his arms. She pressed her nose into his chest and inhaling the clean-sweat scent of him, all testosterone and sex.

  He sighed as if the weight of the world had lifted from his chest. He dropped a lingering kiss on her lips before he untangled himself from her and disposed of the condom.

  Tingling pleasure still swam through her veins. She felt beautiful, worshipped, blissfully satisfied.

  “Damn, you look sexy,” Shane said from the doorway between the main room and the showers. “Like you just had three orgasms.” A smile curved his lips.

  Grinning, she said, “Your fault.”

  Possessive hunger glittered in his eyes, leaving her breathless. “It had better be,” he growled softly. “I want to be the only man who makes you feel that way.”

  He dove onto the mattresses. She spun away, giggling.

  One eyebrow arched, one side of his mouth curled as if he enjoyed the chase, he prowled toward her on all fours. She tried to scoot away but he caught her ankle, dragging her to under him. He rested his weight on his elbows as he dropped a stack of condoms onto the sheet.

  Eyes widening, she glanced up at him and swallowed.

  “We’re postponing our self-defense class until later,” he announced. “And the shooting range will have to wait until tomorrow.” A determined light glowed in his silver eyes. “Because right I need more of you. All of you. All day and all night.”

  His molten kiss melted any objections. And she gladly surrendered to the undeniable force that was Shane.

  Shane woke Sunday morning to find one of Emma’s legs inserted between his, her cheek nestled on his chest. She curled trustingly against the shelter of his body.

  Damn, he didn’t want their weekend to end. He suspected he’d instinctively known when they met Thursday night he would miss her before the weekend ended.

  This wasn’t a one-weekend kind of thing. This was a force myself to wait the obligatory six months before I ask her to marry me thing.

  Startled by the strength of his feelings, he turned them over in his mind like a saltwater taffy machine, the mechanisms of his emotions and intellect pulling and stretching, working the consistency into something sensible. Because the idea of wanting her, needing her so deeply, seemed crazy.

  He hadn’t moved back to Virginia Beach when he returned from overseas. Would he reconsider for her?

  No.

  Every instinct confirmed his automatic response. Too many memories. He couldn’t live surrounded by ghosts from the past. One ghost especially haunted him.

  That reason had kept him away except for the occasional visit to see the family he adored. He’d explained to Emma the night before, between teaching her self-defense techniques and making love to her, why he needed to follow through with his career in Denver.

  Until he’d put his thoughts into words, he hadn’t digested the reasons himself. He liked that she made him think, challenged him to face his deeper purpose.

  He didn’t want to live the bodyguard life forever. It was a tough existence—always on-call, insane hours, the inconsistency, the dedication toward people he didn’t necessarily care about, though duty required he put his life on the line to protect them.

  Duty. The loaded word demanded reflection he hadn’t fully examined since he left the marines.

  What was his duty to himself? To his ideal future? He’d only delved into the deep end of those life questions recently. Meeting Emma had escalated that search.

  The idea his coworker Cam Anders had planted in his mind—an opportunity Cam had rejected, claiming he wanted to travel abroad again—was the chance to sit at a desk and vet new bodyguard recruits. According to Cam, rumor had it that higher-ups like Slone Rowan, who reported to CEO Adam Soren, were overwhelmed with applications from veterans like himself, who wanted good work for decent pay, without seeing a battlefield again. The desk job grew more appealing to Shane with each passing day.

  The desire to chase the thrill of the next challenge had faded. His former goal to find that rush after braving battle had shrunk to an emaciated, half-remembered vision. Stability appealed more.

  Stability and consistency were necessities a girl like Emma deserved, after all she’d been through. More than that, she deserved the truth. After revealing so much about herself, her past and all she’d overcome, she had earned the right to hear the story he’d refused to share up to now.

  While he hated the idea of leaving her warmth, he wanted to cook her breakfast. He needed a distraction—not alcohol—to tell what he’d never told anyone, except the military shrink who’d given him the all-clear to pursue work in the civilian world.

  When he unfolded himself from the bedding, he paused before draping her with the sheet. His hand hovered above her scars. He rested the three intact fingers of his left hand reverently over them. Two wounded people, who’d shut out the world, managed to find something special together. They defied the odds.

  Pride welled in his chest. He kissed her shoulder and rose to hunt for his boxers.

  Dang, they’d torn up the place. He grinned unrepentantly.

  Pretty girl, we rocked it hard last night.

  If he thought more about their limbs tangling and his mouth on hers and him sliding deep inside her, he wouldn’t get far. She deserved the explanation he was preparing himself to give, so he rummaged through sheets and mattresses to find his boxers. He pulled a clean undershirt from his duffel, dragged it over his head, and started making breakfast.

  Coffee first, he decided, remembering how much better she’d felt yesterday after a hot cup of brew. He preheated the oven and set bacon strips on an oven pan, way less mess than cooking them on the stovetop.

  The scent of java soon filled the air. She stirred behind him, while he whisked eggs in a stainless-steel bowl, dog tags clanging against his chest with the motion. He almost paused, wondering if he could—or should—tell her.

  A deep breath of fortitude continued him on the path he knew was right.

  Alluring scents seeped through Emma’s dreams, rousing her when she wanted to refuse. Instead, she wished she could cling to the last wisps of the most wonderful dreams, all about Shane.

  She opened her eyes to find herself amid a slew of bunk mattresses and twisted sheets. A couple sheets and one mattress had landed halfway across the room, proof of how heated their night had turned. With a dreamy smile, she remembered the times she’d tried to crawl away from the beautiful intensity and endless orgasms—needing a break to absorb it all—before he yanked her back under him, giving her more of what she wanted, even when she swore she couldn’t handle another gasp of pleasure.

  Propping her head in her hand, she cupped her other hand over her mouth. The giggles she attempted to stifle broke free. Happiness permeated her pores, her body and mind still drunk on bliss.

  The shoulders of the man standing in the kitchen began to shake up and down. Low, rumbling laughter matched her giggles. He turned, tossed the spatula into the sink and catapulted himself into in the pile of mattresses with her.

  He kissed her until she dropped down to the bedding. The quick, sharp pecks turned into deep, exploring kisses.

  Hips between hers, he rose above her, giving another glorious view of his ripped torso. The smile that touched his lips held
the hint of regret. “I’m making you breakfast. I can’t do this right now.”

  “Then, come back?” she asked, running her hands down his arms.

  “Yes,” he said, swooping to kiss her lips before he returned to the kitchen. The beeper on the oven released a shrill sound. He stopped it, opened the oven and slid a tray of bacon inside. “Twenty minutes, and breakfast will be ready.”

  When he didn’t return to her side, to find out how much sensual enjoyment they could accomplish in those twenty minutes, she rose onto her elbows. The muscles in his broad shoulders looked stiff, and she sensed a wariness about him.

  “Shane?”

  He stopped beating the eggs in the bowl. “Yeah.”

  “Talk to me.”

  Those were the words he’d said the first night they met, when she’d found the simple request appealing, intimate. She sat up, gathering sheets around her, ready to listen.

  “We’d dropped bombs on an insurgent camp the night before,” he said, sounding distant, like a recorded echo from the past. “No civilian casualties, we’d been assured. I was there when the approval went through. In the next twelve hours, though, we heard nothing from the special forces unit deployed fifty miles from the drop site.”

  He gripped the sink ledge. She sat up straighter.

  “When no word came by sunrise, my marine unit was dispatched to find out what why. Special forces rarely require backup. We went anyway. We slung down from ropes let loose by the helicopter, and our boots hit the ground running. The dust there is incredible, Emma. I swear I still feel it sometimes, the grit in my eyes, the crunch between my teeth.”

  “What did you find?”

  “It’s what we didn’t find,” he said, distress weighting his tone. “The special forces bunker was empty. They had vanished. Everything was wrong.” He exhaled. “We backed out of there fully aware we’d entered enemy territory without cover—because our special forces cover no longer existed. That’s when the M-sixteen automatics rained bullets on us from the hills. We were trapped.”

  Emma gulped, feeling helpless even though she was a bystander in his retelling.