For His Protection (3 page)

“You never responded to my letter.”

Her chest clenched. His freaking letter. Why’d he have to
bring that up? The sappy, three-page letter he’d written that proved he really
had remembered everything she’d said.
Everything
. Something happened to
her when she thought of that letter. Her skin warmed, tingled. She should have
burned the damn thing. Better to have destroyed it than have done what she
had—read it over and over—memorized every sweet little word—for
years
.

She removed her arm from him and sank her hand into the
grass beside his head. Was that it? He still felt that way? After all these
years he still pined for the girl who’d spilled hot little lies into his ear in
order to save his life? Did he still believe that girl existed? She’d stopped
believing in that moment long ago. At least that’s what she’d told herself
until now. Until he was under her again, helpless, or so he let her believe,
because he didn’t move. Not so much as a muscle except for his rising chest.

She scanned his face, such a blend of hardness and softness
she had no idea if he was actually the boy she remembered or a man she’d yet to
know. But those lips, they were the same. Wide and full. Music filtered from
the ballroom and into the garden, reached them under the tree in the shadows.
Her heart matched the rhythm—boom, boom, boom. Those lips…the memory of which
had kept her awake so many nights…now so close. She leaned closer, her breasts
brushing his jacket. The touch taunted her nipples, sent them tight and achy.

His lips parted. She was in control, she was on top, she was
safe
. He radiated warmth and she felt
all
of him underneath her.
Muscles as tight and firm as her own against her abdomen, the place between her
legs pressed snuggly against his waist. She could taste his breath, wanted to
taste those wide lips. A wave of desire hit her like a thump to the belly,
rocking her hips.

He growled and sprang to life. Her heart slammed into her
throat. His grabbed her hips, rolled her against him and lunged for her mouth.
Her fingers fisted in his hair, halting him. Their lips brushed—just barely.
They hovered, the smooth velvet of his lips touching the slick gloss on hers.
Her arms shook and her fingers curled tighter into his hair.

Fuck
.

Her cheeks throbbed with heat. Their gazes locked. She
almost drowned in the smoky desire she saw in his eyes. Every muscle, every
nerve she had twitched with need, with fear, with no freaking idea what she
wanted. She tugged his hair, jerked his head back and leaned down, bringing her
lips to his ear.

“Some girls might think this stalker crap is romantic but my
tolerance for creep is less than zero.”

She rolled off him and onto her feet. Ty sat up slowly then
rose with the practiced agility of an athlete.

“I’m not stalking you, Brooke.”

He stepped toward her, reminding her he was taller, bigger,
stronger. She refused to back up.

“What would you call this then? Finding out where I work,
hiring me? Stalker,” she spat.

The innocence she’d glimpsed earlier vanished. He was a man
now—all hard, mean man. “Maybe I just wanted to thank you for saving my life?”

“You did that in your letter.”

He froze and his eyes closed for a moment then opened in
tiny increments. The look in them reached out and gripped the inside of her
chest. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t ignore it even though it sent guilt
streaking into her bones.

“So you did get it?” he whispered, his voice thick. “I
wouldn’t have known, since you never responded.”

She swallowed, her tongue a dry lump. Yeah, she’d saved his
life. Now he dared to make her feel bad for not responding to a letter he never
should have sent?

It was time to shut this down. She crossed her arms and
lowered her voice as if she were placating a child. “I didn’t want to encourage
you. You mistook my intentions and I didn’t want to be cruel.”

He recoiled, that boyish look streaking across his features
once more. She saw his blood-streaked face from that day behind her eyelids,
the one she’d never wanted to harm. Her heart squeezed, bled.

Intentional or not it seemed as if there was one thing she
was good at—hurting.

There she stood—his angel…or maybe the devil herself in high
heels—magnificently malicious. His plans floated away on clouds of pink the
moment she’d stepped into the ballroom. Dissolved when she’d collapsed on the
dance floor because maybe, just fucking maybe she’d been overcome by
him.
But
the moment he’d landed on his back with that sweet, fierce face above him he’d
lost his breath and his soul. It was the image from his dreams except this time
the sky was black and something about her was too.

The words she spoke in soft notes of condescension twisted
into his ribs. He’d known she’d left town years ago, told himself she was
running from something or someone else. Never let himself believe the one thing
he’d considered most real, the only thing that had saved his mind in his long months
in hospital, had been nothing more than a game.

“Not cruel?” His jaw clenched. “Which part wasn’t cruel? The
part where you toyed with me or the part where you screwed with my mind?”

Her arms slid from her chest and fuck him if her eyes didn’t
soften with something like remorse.

“I never meant to toy with you. I was trying to save your
life. I needed your attention to keep you awake. I thought if you fell asleep,
you’d die—the paramedics said keeping you awake until they got there saved
you.”

Silence stretched. His stomach seemed to open and devour the
contents of his chest. Could he be so naive, could he have let himself believe
in a fantasy for all these years? Telling himself there was something else,
some mysterious “thing” keeping her away. He closed his eyes and her words slid
through his mind, the things he’d focused on least, the things she’d said about
herself, about being afraid, about needing him to help her. The look on her
face, the tears in her eyes, the sob on her words. No. That emotion was real.
Those moments were pure. Perhaps she’d started with only the intention to save
him but it became so much more.

“You forget, I remember every word. The things you said,
people don’t
just
say. I’m not buying it.”

Her chin took a small jump toward the sky. “I got carried
away.”

“Bullshit, you felt something.” He stepped forward quickly,
too quickly. His calf seized and his leg buckled. He caught himself swiftly but
not before the stumble. Tension contracted his muscles one by one until it
reached his neck then his jaw.

Fuck
.

No one—no one—saw him limp anymore. Not even himself. He
sucked that weakness up. Not impossible, just a matter of compartmentalizing
pain. You can lock that shit up tight, make your body do what you tell it to,
not what it wants. Exhausting but doable. He raised his gaze slowly like the
ticking hand of a clock.

A frown pushed her brows together then her gaze drifted to
his leg. Even in the muted light he saw the pink slip from her cheeks.

She remembered the leg—of course she remembered the god-damned
leg. His chest became an arctic cave, everything inside hardening to icy shrapnel.
He’d feared this, deep down. Not that he did self-conscious bullshit. But he
remembered from his few lucid moments after the accident, the whispers—he’d
lose his leg. She’d heard them, no doubt. He couldn’t pretend that wasn’t a
factor in her reaction.

He rotated his shoulders and forced his muscles to loosen.
“So that’s it, sweetheart? Repulsed by the legless cripple?”

Her gaze flew to his and her mouth opened but no words
escaped.

Ty bent, not taking his attention off her and lifted the hem
of his pant leg, exposing a patch of undamaged, hair-dusted skin on his ankle.
“Sorry to disappoint you.”

Her features smoothed and her chest expanded then deflated.
Not the reaction he expected—he’d expected to see
guilt
. He’d expected
her expression to prove his assumption right. Sheer relief didn’t do that.

“I’m really glad you pulled through so well. I was worried.”

“Were you?” he said, his voice grittier than intended.

“I was.”

He rose and watched her. She released his gaze, shifting it
over his shoulder but not lowering it. No, she’d never do that—lower it. Still,
fidgeting on sexy high heels, she looked like just a girl. A stunning girl he
could reach out and touch, reach out and drag to his bed, show her what five
years of longing fucks like. But there was a layer of something brittle under
her skin that stopped him, as if one wrong touch could cause a crack.

“Look, I’m really sorry I hurt your feelings by not
contacting you, by not responding to your letter. I did the wrong thing saying
everything I did. The truth is—I’m more screwed up than I care to explain.” She
brushed the hair back from her shoulder and looked at him again. The light
seemed to have turned off in her eyes. “But you need to understand right now, I
will not have my life messed with—and I sure as shit won’t have
anyone
interfere
with my job.”

She was hiding something, the real reason she refused to
admit the truth. He’d bet both his nuts on it. He held her death stare—tried
not to smile. She probably thought she looked intimidating. She’d probably be
furious if he told her that expression on her face made her sexier. He stepped
toward her and this time his movements were steady as usual. Her neck arched as
she refused to look away.

“Are you trying to say you were never interested in me? That
there isn’t really something between us?”

Her lips pressed together a moment then released. “Yes.”

“Then how do you explain today?” He let his smile rise to
the surface. “Were you trying to keep me alive today as well?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do anything
today.” She blinked, her long dusky lashes fluttering over wide eyes.

He bent toward her but didn’t reach out and touch her the
way he wanted to, just made sure she’d taste his words on her lips. “No? Didn’t
you? You didn’t straddle me on the lawn?”

“I was executing a pin technique.” Her head drooped back farther.

He lowered his voice. “Tell me, sweetheart, did that pin
technique involve staring at my mouth as if you wanted to eat my lips?”

Her
lips parted but he kept going before she could
speak.

“Did it involve rocking your sweet body against me?” He
leaned close enough that their noses brushed. “Did it involve screwing me with
your eyes?”

Her hand flew between them and landed on his sternum. His
skin blazed where she touched him as if it was meant to keep him back yet
somehow connected them deeper.

“Stop fighting. You want me.”

She pushed with her palm. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? Prove it. Prove you feel nothing and I’ll leave you
alone forever. I’ll give Crowe Security a contract but I’ll never bother
you
again.” He leaned into her hand.

Her fingers curled against his chest. Her brow drew up but
her voice shook. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

He grinned wide. “With a kiss of course.”

A fucking kiss, you say…

The way Brooke’s heart pin-balled around her ribs you’d
think he’d demanded she strip and do the Macarena.

A kiss—as if a kiss were something, as if it could prove
some point. As if it were something she was capable of sharing…

She fisted the fabric of his shirt and stared him down.
Wouldn’t let her secrets free so easily. “That’s stupid. Proves nothing.”

“Really? Then why are you shaking?” he whispered.

She sucked in her breath, noticing the tremor in her arm.
“I’m cold.”

His chest rumbled with a soft, sexy sound. “If you say so.”
He undid the buttons on his jacket and slid it from his shoulders without
changing the space between them, just held her gaze and placed it around her
shoulders. He used the lapels to tug her closer without touching her.

The heat from his jacket, the scent of him encased her front
to back. Fired up her nerves one by one, lighting up her insides like a shot of
sunburst.

“Better? Or do you need me to warm you up some more?”

This time she felt the tremor, felt it curl through her
muscles, wash over her skin. She swallowed…bastard knew what he was doing. What
he couldn’t know was how the excitement he saw was tempered with terror. Ty was
dangerous to her, to the strength she’d built, to the pain she’d buried. He had
pushed her shell back, exposed what was underneath in a way no one ever had.
She couldn’t hide in this space and damn it all to hell, she wasn’t sure if she
still wanted to.

“Fuck you,” she whispered but somehow the words came out
sounding something more like
fuck me.

“Kiss me, kiss me then tell me you don’t want me and I’ll disappear
forever.”

She breathed in again, tasted him in the air. Her chin rose
of its own volition, her lips inching toward his. Her cells fighting her, body
demanding her brain get out of the way of her body—let it take what it wanted.

Her eyes widened.
What it wanted.
She damn well
wanted
to kiss him. Wanted to with everything in her. She wanted to feel, to experience,
to
enjoy
. Give in. Maybe one kiss was just what she needed. She’d
overcome so much, told herself she was strong, but truth was she was still so
weak, still afraid of so much. She’d convinced herself to believe in the most
comfortable path—avoidance. Maybe what she neededwas to prove she
could
.
Not to him, not for his sake, not because he’d dared her to but for
herself
.

She could do this; she could do a kiss. But it would be her
way—on her terms. Had to be on her terms.

Brooke tightened her hold on his shirt, looked into his eyes
and forced all hesitation from her voice. “Listen carefully. You’re not going
to move. You’re going to stay still like a good boy. You’re going to keep your
hands to yourself and behave. Understand?”

His brows rose slightly but his mouth turned up at the
corner. “I’m at your mercy, Mistress.”

She ignored his sarcasm and released his shirt then slid her
palm over his chest, over the wide sweep of his shoulder and wrapped her hand
around the back of his neck. The soft hair at his nape brushed her fingers.
Hesitation stiffened her knuckles but she drew him down and placed her other
hand on his cheek, holding him in place.

His lips hovered in front of her. His wide, full mouth. The
sexiest mouth she’d ever seen. When he smiled it took over his face, revealed
all his straight teeth. A little predatory, a little mischievous, completely
erotic. She moved her thumb and brushed his lower lip. It slid like a petal
under the pad of her thumb, soft yet firm. She wanted to suck that lip, nip it
with her teeth. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t twitched. He followed the rules. Maybe
she could?

Brooke breathed in deep and pressed her mouth to his. Warmth
spread from his lips to hers, sinking all the way down to her chest. Her senses
focused on that touch. So soft, he was so soft there. Despite the rough cheek
she held, his mouth was gentle. She moved, brushing him, feeling his lips drag
against hers, a hint of moisture. He kept his word, let her lead and his
acquiescence was like a drug. Heat spread across her and she pulled him
deeper—kissed him for real. Slid her tongue against him, tasted his skin then
pushed inside.

Her eyes shut and she fell into the kiss. Fell into his
taste, his scent, the feel of him, the rhythm of his breath. She moved as if
she’d been kissing all her life, as if she never wanted to stop. Open-mouthed,
gentle movements that absorbed every sensation. His tongue joined hers, slid
against her, traced her crevices, explored her. Her blood buzzed, vibrating
under her skin as if it wouldn’t be contained, flowing pleasure to her
extremities, creating a tight, wanting ache between her legs. He shifted,
opening his mouth wider over hers, flattening his body against her. Her breasts
strained into him and the ache became wet, throbbing need.

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her against his
muscular length. The air left her lungs and her eyes flew open. Alarm sprang
from her belly into her chest, smashing through the buzz. She pulled her mouth
away and shoved against him. He straightened, a frown drawing over his face.

Brooke took two steps back then slid his jacket off her
shoulders and hurled it at his chest. “You broke the rules.”

He caught it with one hand and ignored her statement, his
eyes darkening. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

She pressed her fingers to her side and shook her head, her
mood matching the look in his eyes. She wouldn’t lie and she couldn’t deny it.
“It doesn’t matter, you broke the rules—now I know I can’t trust you.”

“I wasn’t playing. The rules stopped mattering when the kiss
turned real, sweetheart.”

She lowered her voice and spoke each word slowly. “Not to me.
Now do what you said and stay the hell away from me.” She watched her words
hit, saw his face contract then she turned away.

“That’s not what we agreed,” he called behind her.

She paused mid-step.

“We agreed I’d leave you alone if you could kiss me
and
tell me you don’t want me. You didn’t, you can’t. So you stay—you work for me.”

A bolt of anger shot tingles into her fingertips. She threw
him a glance over her shoulder. “Then I quit. I’m not playing either. I don’t
need this job.” She took another step across the lawn.

“What about Connor Crowe, does he need this job?”

Brooke froze, one high-heel sinking into the lawn.
Fuck
it—Connor.
She’d almost forgotten about him, about his promise, about
hers. Connor did need this job and she’d promised to deliver. She knew her
mentor well—there was no way he’d let her stay in a job she didn’t feel
comfortable in but there was also no way she’d let him down either.

She turned and faced Ty again. “Don’t be a jerk. Crowe is
the best. Give them the contract and I’ll find you someone else.”