Dangerous Protector (Aegis Group Book 5) (3 page)

And then there were the bodies…

“Be reasonable.” Scott sat forward. “When we discussed this job and how to get the information we—”

“Plans have changed. Retrieve the equipment.”

“That’s—no. I can’t do that.” In an effort to cut ties, to eliminate suspicion, he’d made the break-up with Brat very permanent.

“Figure out how.”

The call cut off.

The bitch had hung up on him.

Scott tossed the phone across the room onto the sofa bed. He couldn’t afford to break another one.

Fucking Brat.

This was all her fault.

He pushed to his feet, striding across the studio apartment he’d rented for this job. Accessing Brat’s condo was not an option. At least not during the day, and even then, he had to be careful. He’d seen firsthand the kind of security she ran there, and she was paranoid. He’d built a way in and out, but that was risky. He hadn’t had the chance to test his access. She knew she was still in danger, only she had no idea he’d laid in bed next to her, dreaming about choking the life from her.

She’d changed the codes. She’d told him as much in that same, frozen, emotionless way she did everything. Nothing touched that bitch.

Well, Scott would have to figure out a way in. Pretending to make up would do no good. He’d laid it on too thick with the break-up act because he’d thought this was over. That soon he’d have her wriggling on a hook for his enjoyment.

Damn her!

But maybe that was it.

If she was gone, if she were
dead
, he could get into the apartment and retrieve their stupid equipment before the cops even knew there was a body.

No, no, that was too risky. He couldn’t cut it too close. After all, he was still wanted by the FBI, thanks to Brat.

He’d have to go through the front door, right under her nose.

Fiona wiped her chin
and grinned as the alcohol hit her system.

This was exactly where she shouldn’t be, and where she wanted to be.

“How about another shot, pretty lady?” The man to her right stared at her, his lids lowered. She couldn’t see his mouth moving through his whiskers.

“I don’t—”

One hand, and then another, gripped the bar on either side of her and a hot breath of air slid up her neck.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were here, sweetheart?” His voice was lower, rougher than before.

She hadn’t been sure he would still be at the bar. Hell, he’d told her to stay away. And yet—here they were.

Fiona turned in the cage of his arms and leaned back against the bar.

The clothes were still the same. His hair was a bit messier. And yet, he seemed more…dangerous now.

“I didn’t know if you were done doing…whatever you were doing.” She shouldn’t smile at him. That was the alcohol dictating reaction, and yet she wanted to hold onto those arms, curl into him and smile.

“Hey buddy, we’re doing shots, ya mind?” Whiskers leaned closer.

“Fuck off, grandpa,” her bad-boy biker said, without taking his eyes off her. “You’re coming with me.”

She managed to set her shot glass back on the bar before he pulled her away from it to an empty table. There were a dozen logical reasons why she should go home right now, and yet she didn’t want to. For one night, she didn’t want to be boring. She didn’t want to color inside the lines. She wanted to be…free. Alive. Excitement bubbled in her veins, buoying her up so she barely felt the ground beneath her feet. She wanted to be herself. Her real self.

“What are you doing here?” He leaned in close, so close that if she took a really deep breath their bodies would brush.

“I’m at a bar.”

“Fiona—this is not the kind of bar a nice girl like you should be at alone.”

“I’m not alone, now, am I?”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Marco Benally.”

“You—what?” He frowned at her.

“Facebook phone look-up. You have it enabled.”

“Fucking hell.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You know those guys you were doing shots with?”

“No.” This was a
bar
.

“That one guy? With the beard? You see the tattoo on his forearm? You know what that means?”

“No…”

“He’s done time. Half of those are prison tats. The forearm one? It means he’s—”

“I don’t want to know.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Right. Reality sucked. If she knew… If she had any idea… She’d want to do something about it. And doing things was what had landed her here in the first place, in a shell of a life with no joy.

“Sweetheart—”

“Stop calling me that.” Okay, she’d made a mistake. A bad one, and now she’d shamble her happy ass back to the bus stop and go home with her tail between her legs. Back to her boring little bubble where she was safe.

“Fiona—”

“Just stop. I’m going home. Happy?”

“Fiona—stop.” He grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her in until they were face to face. She stared up at him, refusing to look away. His voice gentled, though his grip was firm. “Think next time, okay? You’re with me now. Have a drink.”

He let go of her and leaned an arm on the tall table.

The room was starting to spin a bit. Fiona slid onto the stool while Marco waved down a waitress. He didn’t even ask her what she wanted, just ordered. Fiona couldn’t decide if that irritated her or if she liked it. Marco was different from the men she dated and the people in her circles. He was…hard worn by life, and so far he’d won. He’d chew her up and spit her out. Well, this version of her at least.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” He leaned on the table, hands clasped in front of him, his gaze on her.

“It’s a Friday night. Why not go out?” She lifted her shoulders.

“This isn’t exactly the place a pretty girl goes to have a good time.” He tipped his chin down, his stare telling her he didn’t believe her line of bull.

He’d called her pretty. That shouldn’t matter, but most people didn’t even see her, let alone register that she might be pretty.

“I wanted to do something different.”

“A dirty bar is different?”

She shrugged again.

Marco straightened and accepted two beers from the waitress, but didn’t lose focus on her. He took a sip, then pushed his glass away, the better to lean into her personal space.

“What are you really doing, sweetheart?” He winced. “Sorry. My bad.”

“Forget it.” It wasn’t the name that grated it was…everything else. Her life. Her choices. They chafed. “You’re right. Coming here was stupid.”

“Coming here alone wasn’t the best idea. I didn’t say it was stupid.”

She leveled her own glare at him.

“Okay, it’s stupid.” He reached across and took her hand. “But you’re here. So now what?”

“I don’t…”

He lifted her knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss to each one. Her brain shorted out somewhere between the first and second brush of his mouth.

That.

That was what she wanted.

To feel alive.

“Fiona, what do you want?” His voice was almost lost in the crowd and music.

“You. I want, you.”

“Come and get me, sweetheart.”

3.

Fiona’s hands shook so
badly she could barely hold onto her keys. Marco had his palms braced on the door, blocking out the light, pressing in behind her. Her whole body vibrated from the Harley ride. She was still warm from his touch. She could still feel of him pressed against her between her legs.

He bent his head, nuzzling the side of her neck.

Besides being on the bike, he hadn’t yet touched her.

Yet.

As soon as she got these damn keys sorted though…

Ah-ha!

She jammed her key into the deadbolt and twisted it free. She shoved the door open with one hand and punched the alarm code with the other.

The system emitted a double-beep the same moment Marco’s hands wrapped around her arms. He kicked the door shut and turned her toward him. She pressed her back against the wall and stared up at him.

Maybe this was a mistake…but if it was, she didn’t want to know that. Not right now.

Marco leaned in and she flattened her hands against the wall, her gaze on his mouth.

“Last chance, sweetheart.” He lowered his head, his gaze glinting fierce in the entry light.

“For what?” She breathed as deep as the bustier would allow.

“Tell me to leave.” He edged in closer.

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m not a domesticated kind of guy.”

“I didn’t think you were a housecat.”

“Last chance.” He bent his arms and his chest pressed against hers. Feeling his strength was a far different thing than knowing about it.

He could break her. Hurt her. And yet…he wouldn’t. She’d found no indication of unnecessary violence on her little expedition.

Fiona grasped the front of his shirt and yanked him closer. He swooped down, his mouth taking hers. His tongue pushed past her lips, licking hers. Need so potent her knees went weak with it surged through her. She clung to his shoulders while he continued the sensual assault on her mouth. His big hands slid over her body, not the least bit shy about palming and touching her.

He could do anything to her.

Anything at all.

Lust tinged with fear was still fear.

No.

What did she know about him?

Marco Benally. Ex-Navy SEAL. Professional bodyguard. He had a few speeding tickets and a couple blips on his record, but in every altercation he’d been involved with he was the savior. The guy swooping in to try to help.

He might be a bit of an ass and a lot of bad for her, but he wasn’t a bad guy
per se
. He was exactly the kind of person she could let go with. This wasn’t forever and ever amen, this was a night. A single connection. Meeting a need.

“You’re trembling,” he said against her mouth. His hands stilled, one on her breast, the other at her hip. He lifted his head a bit to look down at her, his brows drawn down into a line. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” And she did. This time—this time she’d done her homework. She knew the man she’d let in through her front door. And he wouldn’t hurt her. No, she did that all on her own, without his help.

“You want me to stop?” The way he looked at her…he didn’t want to stop, but he would. Because that was the kind of man he was.

“No.” She pushed up on her toes. “I want you to kiss me so hard I tremble and my knees go weak.”

“That…I can do.”

He cupped her bottom with both hands, lifting her a little, and sealed his lips over hers. He ground his pelvis against her, the feel of his thick, hard erection against her abdomen a very real promise. Her pussy clenched and her fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him back.

And she did indeed tremble.

Marco kissed down her neck and pressed the back of her hands to the wall, the silent command coming across loud and clear.

Stay put.

He dipped his fingers into the cups of her bustier, teasing her nipples with his rough touch, but he didn’t linger.

Marco sank to his knees. This big, powerful man kneeling in front of her was…she’d never felt…sexier. He pressed a kiss to the thin line of skin between her shorts and the bottom of the corset.

He gripped the button on her shorts and pushed it through the slot.

She swallowed.

He pulled the shorts down her legs, and she stopped breathing. Cool air skated over her skin. Everything throbbed. She curled her fingers against her palms to keep from covering herself.

This was what she wanted after all.

“Fucking…you sat on my bike like this?” Marco sat back on his heels.

“I didn’t have the right panties to wear with those anymore.” Hell, most of her underwear covered more than the shorts. Going commando had seemed like the most logical option.

“If I’d have known that…”

He left the sentence unfinished, but she got the idea.

They might not have made it home.

Which meant…she wasn’t the only one turned on right now.

He wasn’t just doing this out of the kindness of his big, ol’ heart.

He wanted her, too.

That…

Fiona smiled.

Marco slid his palms up her thighs and over her pelvis.

He muttered something that didn’t even sound human.

She’d really been messing with the wrong kind of guys. This was…she’d never felt power like this before. Unless she was hacking. But this? With Marco? It rivaled the thrill of the hack.

He stood suddenly, folding her over his shoulder without warning. She yelped and gripped his shirt, all too aware that she’d gone from goddess-on-a-hill to maiden-moments-from-being-ravished.

She watched the hardwood floor fly by.

Marco grunted, pitched forward, and she went flying once more over his shoulder, landing with a bounce on her super plush sofa flat on her back. She pressed her knees together and pushed the silly throw pillow onto the floor.

He planted one hand on the back of the couch and leaned forward, grasping the zipper pull on the bustier. She sucked in a breath and watched as, tooth by tooth, he unzipped the last stitch of clothing on her body.

At least she could breathe again. The bustier did great things for her figure and plumped her boobs but that was about it.

He tugged the zipper down the last bit and flicked the bustier open, leaving her in nothing.

“You have neighbors?” he asked.

“What?”

“Neighbors?”

“Uh—not right now. Why?”

“I’m going to make you scream.”

She sputtered a laugh.

Scream? Really?

That was a bit much. She’d had some great orgasms in her life, but scream-worthy? This was real life. Not a porn flick.

Marco grasped her knees and pushed them apart. She sucked in a breath and fought against the urge to shield her most vulnerable of places.

He wasn’t even naked yet. But maybe that was his thing. Looking.

Marco knelt on the floor, his knees on the very pillow she’d kicked off the sofa.

What—was he doing?

She scrambled to get a hold on the cushions but her fingers slid off.

Marco hooked his arms under her thighs, his hands on her hips, and pulled her ass nearly off the sofa. Her legs pressed against his shoulders.

He grinned at her; at least it was supposed to be a grin. It was more like…the big bad wolf right before he ate up the three little pigs. And she was number four.

“I’m not opposed to a little hair pulling,” he said.

The way he said it…her stomach did a little flip.

His hands spread out over her stomach, her legs trapped by his shoulders, his head between her legs.

Oh, God…

His tongue licked between her folds, and her spine came up off the cushions. Her brain short-circuited. It simply stopped working. All because of his tongue.

He penetrated her, fucking her with his mouth. Not casually, no, with purpose. His hands stroked her stomach, down over her mound. He shifted her, exposing more for his mouth. There were no tentative, teasing strokes. He wanted to make her scream, go wild, lose herself—and she wanted that, too.

His fingers stroked over her clit, pulling back the delicate skin until she felt his hot breath on her. She trembled and her channel clenched, wanting more of him. The flat of his tongue rubbed against the bundle of nerves, driving a shout up through her.

She reached down, burying a hand in his long, unruly hair, and lifted her hips. Seeking more of that touch. More of him.

His hands clasped together over her hips, his fingers threaded together.

“Ooohhh!”

She groaned and rocked her hips, using his shoulders for leverage.

He…hummed, the vibrations sinking into her.

God—more of that.

She could hear herself. Not speaking, they weren’t words, but sounds of pleasure.

One hand in his hair, the other flat against the cushions, she rubbed herself against his tongue. There was no gentle, toe-curling build-up. There was just need. The need to orgasm. To lose herself in this. It was a race toward the edge.

His arms flexed, forcing her hips down onto the cushions.

She arched her back more, seeking that spot. The perfect touch that would push her flying over the edge.

All at once, he found it.

Her breathing hitched and for a second she was falling—only to fly. Release was sharp, sweet, and near painful. She tightened her grip in his hair, all the muscles in her body fluttering, caught in the euphoric free-fall of bliss.

His tongue did a thing, amping up the orgasm to a twenty. His name bubbled up her throat, though when she opened her mouth all she did was scream her release, her hips undulating against his mouth, riding out the orgasm in his arms until there was nothing left and she was boneless and weary.

For minutes, maybe an hour, she lay on the sofa, panting for breath, her vision hazy.

That was for sure a first.

Screaming orgasms?

Okay, so not just for porn.

Good to know.

Marco eased her legs off his shoulders, guiding them to the sofa. He was such a contradiction. A bit of an asshole, yet thoughtful. Clearly a bad boy, yet he’d been careful with her. She’d had lovers who were rougher, even a little cruel. He was none of those.

Fiona was too boneless to do anything but watch him stand and stare at her.

“I think you’re wet enough now.” His heavy-lidded gaze left no question what she was wet enough for.

Fiona reached for him first, grasping the double-skull belt buckle and pulling it free. He straddled her with one foot on the floor and his knee on the sofa. She bit her lip and worked the tab through the stiff denim.

“Easy,” he muttered when she grasped the zipper.

“Like this?” She slid her hand into his jeans, cupping his erection and easing the zipper down. Maybe he was right. She wasn’t boring, simply uninspired by the men in her life.

Marco pushed his jeans down enough to be out of the way, but not completely off. He braced one hand on the back of the sofa and watched her. She hooked her fingers in the elastic band and bit her lower lip. There really wasn’t any going back after this. Not that she wanted him to go anywhere for at least the next thirty minutes. After that, well, it wasn’t like they were moving in together, or looking to date. All that mattered was now. This moment.

She pulled his boxer briefs down, freeing his cock and balls.

He was well formed. Thick. And hard.

Best decision ever.

Fiona wrapped her hand around him and stroked his length.

“Do you have a condom?” She was pretty sure she hadn’t tossed the ones she’d had, but wasn’t all that sure.

“I got us covered.” His voice was rougher than even earlier.

She brought his erection to her chest, held it to her sternum and stroked with her fingers, exploring his shape and size.

Marco rocked forward, rubbing his cock through the valley of her breasts.

There was something…taboo about her being completely naked, while he was mostly clothed. It was wild, naughty, and completely out of the norm for her life. Now, at least.

He pumped his hips, and she pressed her breasts together.

His cheeks were sunken in, and his focus was completely on her.

He wasn’t forever material, but he was here now, and that was what she needed. This man. To make her feel alive.

Marco muttered a curse and gripped her at the waist and shoulder. He forcefully flipped her so fast she was left a little light-headed and disoriented. At least until he palmed her ass. She pushed her hips up, more than ready for round two.

As talented as his mouth was…she wanted the full experience.

Fiona peered over her shoulder and watched Marco pull out his wallet. Ah, the emergency condom. Right now, she was thankful to whatever authority figure had instilled a sense of readiness in this man.