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…She stopped in front of one of the larger bedrooms at the end of the hall and flipped on the light switch. “It’s all yours. The house security system is armed—it’ll always be armed when we’re here. You can go out the patio doors off the dining room and use the pool because it’s enclosed by a fifteen-foot wall and the entire perimeter of the wall is armed as well. But otherwise, don’t leave the house. Got it?” “Oh, I think I’ve got everything I need right here.” His gaze swept over her again, causing another blazing hot flash inside her. “I’m serious.” “So am I, babe.” “Quit calling me babe,” she muttered, as once again she made her escape…
ALSO BY M. L. RHODES The Bounty Hunter
THE BODYGUARD BY M. L. RHODES
AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com
THE BODYGUARD AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2003 by M. L Rhodes ISBN 1-59279-099-2 Cover Art © 2003 Trace Edward Zaber Rating: NC-17 Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To my husband...always my inspiration
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CHAPTER 1
Blond hair. Bulging biceps. Rippling pecs. Surfer hunk tan. Almost too gorgeous to look at. And he knew it. It was in the cocky little half-smirk on his face. In the arrogant tilt of his nose. In the proud jut of his… Good God! Sheila Quinn stepped closer and peered more carefully to be sure. A surprising quiver of arousal wriggled to life deep in her belly. If that was real, the man had the biggest— Someone cleared their throat. She swallowed her startled gasp at someone sneaking up on her, and quickly let the professional “ice bitch” expression that served her so well in a man’s world, slide over her face. Turning away from the wall of framed magazine spreads and promotional movie photographs she’d been studying, she discovered prissy little Bernard Hughes standing behind her. Oh. Only him. 1
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He smiled blandly, the effect not reaching his pale watery eyes. “Sorry to interrupt you.” His nose twitched in disdain as if he smelled something foul. “Mr. Knight will see you now.” She speared Knight’s personal assistant with a scathing look. “How lovely of him since I’ve been waiting forty-five minutes.” She followed Hughes across the plush cream-colored carpet and into a wide, mirrored hallway of the Malibu mansion. “He had a meeting with the press that kept him tied up longer than he’d planned.” Tied up? Sheila silently groaned at the image that filled her head. She’d just seen one too many explicit photos of the famous Mr. Knight, several of them featuring him in positions of bondage while skinny women dressed in leather and looking like Lady Hitler stood over him. Damn. She should not have taken this job. She’d broken one of her own rules. The most important one. “Right in here.” Hughes held open an enormous gilt-edged door, then slinked away. She stepped into what appeared to be the sitting room of a large bedroom suite. The carpet was deep scarlet; the wallpaper gold with scarlet flecks. Gold furnishings with rich-toned silk and brocade fabrics graced the room, while erotic paintings lined the walls. The artwork was similar in style to the nineteenth century French nude painters she’d studied in a feminist class in college. Except these featured nude men as well as women, and the subjects were humping in every imaginable position. Even the sofa table boasted legs shaped like women’s bodies, with their full, rounded breasts holding up the glass tabletop, then tapering down to narrow waists and long wispy legs. Everything about the room screamed Sin! It was like stepping into an old-fashioned bordello. Except instead of a high-priced madam, all this sensual decadence was presided over by the cock-sure blond stud in the photographs she’d seen in the other room. But really…how fitting, how stereotypical, for the home of an X-rated film and 2
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magazine star. She’d worked in and around Hollywood for almost a year now, and had clients with some extravagant eccentricities, but this guy was a piece of work. She rolled her eyes and wondered if the man himself, when he finally deigned to make an appearance, was going to be bareassed naked. “Sheila Quinn, I presume?” She turned slowly, schooling her face into an aloof expression. But at the sight in the doorway, she felt her mouth open like a damned guppy. The man arched one dark blond eyebrow. “What? Did you expect me to be buck naked, wielding a vibrator in one hand and a whip in the other?” he rumbled in a husky, low-pitched tone. She snapped her mouth shut, knowing she’d just made an idiot out of herself. But the devastating twinkle in his intelligent gray eyes sent that thought scurrying away in a hurry, replaced by a frisson of warmth that left her insides tingling and her skin hot. Taylor Knight was huge—had to be six four at least. Dressed in elegant gray slacks, a white button-up shirt with a loosely knotted paisley tie, his sleeves rolled above his elbows, and his blond hair curling provocatively at his collar, he looked more like a GQ model than a porn star. He seemed older, more grounded, than she’d expected. Oh, man. More dangerous. At least to her health and well-being. Attempting to salvage a modicum of her professionalism, she let her “yeah, I’m tough” mask fall into place once more and stepped forward, offering her hand. “Mr. Knight.” His long tanned fingers closed around hers, but rather than shake her hand, he caressed his thumb over the back of her knuckles, then raised them to his mouth and pressed a kiss against them. When she felt the heat of his tongue flick slowly over her skin, that little squiggle of desire she’d felt earlier sprang to life again in unmentionable places. Crud! 3
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With a quick tug, she freed her hand. “I’m sorry, have I offended you?” But the daring sparkle in his eyes made it clear he’d intended to shock her. Sheila straightened her shoulders and met his gaze head-on. “No. But I’m afraid you’re wasting your games on me. I’m here on business, remember?” He made a tsking noise. “So serious.” With the sleek stride of a jaguar, he crossed the room and stopped in front of the well-endowed sofa table. “Care for some?” he asked, pouring a glass of wine. “I don’t drink on the job.” “Of course you don’t.” Sipping from the rich red claret, he smiled over the top of the crystal. “Are you always all business, Ms. Quinn?” “Yes, I am. And my first issue this afternoon is why you met with the press when I’d already told your assistant I’d prefer you making no more public appearances until your stalker is caught.” His gray eyes suddenly hardened like flint. Setting down the wine glass, he stepped closer until he towered over her and the enormous wall of his chest was mere inches from her face. “Let’s get something straight. You’ve been hired as my bodyguard, but that doesn’t make you my keeper.” The scent of Drakkar Noir caused her head to spin, but the challenge in his eyes sent a ramrod of steel up her spine. “No, you get something straight, Mr. Knight. When it comes to your protection, I am your keeper. If you’d like to retain me for this job, and keep your coveted body safe, then you will do as I say. If you don’t like those rules, tell me now because I have a waiting list of clients who are more than happy to trust my judgment.” The brittle coolness in his gaze faded to a warm humor. “So passionate about your work. I wonder, though, Ms. Quinn—or may I call you Sheila?—does that passion cross over into the rest of your life? I often find that once the stubborn outer layer is peeled away, strong women have the sweetest, ripest fruit to be plucked.” He leaned down 4
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until his mouth brushed her ear. “Would you like me to pluck your fruit, Sheila?” The heat of his breath set her nerve endings on fire and she fought the urge to turn and bolt. This man was like sizzling coals—too hot to handle. “Stop it,” she said softly, barely able to breathe with him so close. “Surely I don’t scare you? Not a strong woman like you.” He stroked her arm through the thin linen of her jacket. She swallowed hard. Damn it. Damn men in general. No way was she letting another one run her off. “No, you don’t scare me,” she said, pleased her voice sounded so even and calm in spite of the fact her insides were jumping like firecrackers. “I’m glad to hear that. But it’s your eyes that give you away, babe. I look in them and know I make you nervous. You’d like me to be on my best behavior, wouldn’t you?” “Somehow,” she murmured, having trouble breathing again, “I doubt you’re ever on your best behavior, Mr. Knight.” A smile twitched on his full, sensuous lips, and the heat of his hand on her arm scorched her. “I suppose that depends on what you consider my best,” he said in a husky whisper just a second before his mouth lowered onto hers. A protest built in her throat, but he swallowed the sound as his lips moved masterfully over hers. His arm slid around her and drew her close. The heat from his large, solid body radiated through her. Intoxicated by his nearness, his warm scent swirling through her senses, she swayed against him, pressing her hands against his chest with the intention of pushing him away. But instead, she found her fingers stroking the pebble-hard protrusion of his nipples through his shirt. He clearly liked it, because he responded with a low growling purr, like a fierce wildcat being petted. His tongue sought out hers with velvet demand, teasing and mating 5
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against hers in slow, sensuous circles and deep thrusts. On raw instinct, she thrust back. God, he tasted like hot summer nights, forbidden danger, and lusty sex on rumpled satin sheets. Heat pooled deep inside her at the thought of being so close to such paradise. One of his big hands curved around the flesh of her bottom and tugged her fully against him. She gasped into his mouth at the contact. But when the hard bulge of his arousal burned like a brand against her belly, a little warning siren began to scream in her head. Jesus! Jerked back to reality, she twisted away from him, and swiped a hand across her tingling, tender mouth. What was she doing? “What’s the matter, babe?” he rumbled, that sexy self-assured smile plastered on his face again. She straightened her jacket with an irritated flick of the hand, and checked her gun in its shoulder holster. Boldly, she met his gaze. “Don’t ever do that again.” “Another rule?” “An unbreakable one. I don’t mix business with pleasure, Mr. Knight. Ever. You’re paying me to protect you, not sleep with you.” “I don’t remember implying I wanted to sleep with you.” “No more games. Don’t ever kiss me or touch me again, or you’ll find yourself another bodyguard. Is that clear?” He chuckled. “You know, for someone who’s had an attempt made on his life, you don’t seem terribly concerned.” “Why should I be concerned, babe? Isn’t that what you’re here for—to guard my coveted body? I was just giving you an opportunity to get to know it a little better.” He lounged against the table and crossed his ankles in front of him. The position accentuated his blatant erection, which in turn reminded her of the pictures she’d seen on the wall in the other room. Another forbidden flame danced through her veins. 6
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His husky laugh rippled over her once more. “I’m glad you like what you see.” Ohhhh! Sheila pulled in a deep breath, then another. The man was insufferable. She needed to get out of here for a few minutes and get her head screwed back on straight. “Get your things packed. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.” That arrogant eyebrow arched again. “I know you want me, babe, but running away together so soon?” “Yeah, that’s right, boy toy. We’re running away. Just you and me. To a safe house.” She strode to the door. “I have some phone calls to make. Don’t leave this suite, and be ready when I get back.” His laughter followed her escape. * * * Sheila managed to avoid the cocky shit during the flight on the private jet she’d chartered from L.A. to Las Vegas. At least avoid being within touching distance of him. The man was fire in its finest form. But she’d been burned before by his type and knew just how deep that particular pain went. In spite of the fact she hadn’t been with a man in well over a year, this was absolutely not the one to break her dry spell with. No way. He was a porn star, for God’s sake! The same thing as being a gigolo in her book. No, what she had to do now was focus on the job she’d been hired to do. The job her old captain on the Las Vegas police force—one of the few men she actually did trust—had weaseled her into doing. The job he’d weaseled her into breaking her own hard-core rule for, damn it! Never, ever work with men again. She remembered the captain’s words all too well…“But he’s a personal acquaintance. A young man I met when he was in Vegas doing a photo shoot last year. There was an unfortunate incident with a member of his entourage being attacked outside one of the casinos. I see it as a matter of good will to help him out now that he, himself, is in danger. Just look out for him until the police can catch his stalker. A 7
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week or two at most. I trust you implicitly, Sheila. You’ll keep him safe.” She shook her head and mentally groaned. Yeah, but who was going to keep her safe? They were alone on the plane except for the pilot and co-pilot, who were safely tucked away on the flight deck. She’d specifically requested there be no host or hostess on board. Too many people around meant too many risks. She fully intended to keep Taylor Knight safe and sound, even if she did have to isolate him and drag him all the way to Nevada, to her old, familiar stomping grounds, where she could more easily call the shots. He’d outright ignored her earlier dictate that he avoid public appearances, so desperate times called for desperate measures. Not that he looked too upset about the whole thing. He sat across the small cabin from her, his impossibly long legs stretched out in front of him, sipping at a scotch on the rocks…and watching her. He hadn’t said a word, and he hadn’t tried to touch her again, but every time he managed to catch her looking at him, he’d smile that come-hither grin that turned her insides to molten lava. His hot gaze would travel the length of her, as if he were, indeed, peeling her like some sort of fruit. Damn him. She was used to being the object of men’s attention, but she’d never felt this…exposed. Her body shape had always been sensitive territory for her. Now, sitting across from his magnificent male figure, she was acutely aware she was far from the thin beautiful sirens he’d been surrounded by in the photos on his walls. Why God couldn’t have graced her with a willowy model figure, she didn’t know. She was fairly tall for a woman at five-foot eight, but she’d never been able to rid herself of the rich curves written into the genetic code of the women in her family, no matter how much she worked out. Even at the police academy, when she’d been in the best shape of her life, her nickname with the men had 8
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been Moony. Short for Full Moon, referring to her “big round ass” as J.J. Farringame, the ultimate sleaze in her academy class, had so charmingly put it. But Taylor Knight’s steamy stare sure as hell didn’t make her feel like J.J.’s had, nor the way her ex-husband Kurt’s had. And she didn’t know if that was good or very, very bad. She glanced up from the newspaper she pretended to read to find his bold gaze on her again. His smoky stare brazenly dropped to her chest. She’d taken off her jacket a few minutes ago and damned if she didn’t feel her nipples harden against the thin silk of her tank top. Horny bastard. He knew exactly what he did to her. “Touch them,” he said softly. “Wh-at?” The gray-blue warmth of his eyes burned into her startled gaze. “Touch them,” he rasped. “You know you want to. Those succulent nubs are crying out for attention. They want to be rubbed…pinched…plucked…until they ache. Until they get so hot and hard and anxious, that having your bra and shirt rub against them is agony and you have to peel away all the silk and lace so they can be free.” His voice dropped to a low, hypnotizing tone. “So those long fingers of yours can curve around the fullness of your tits, pressing them together, lifting them up for your lover’s pleasure. Damn, baby,” he purred, “you have the most beautiful big tits. And those nipples, like pert little berries. Oh, yeah…you wanna touch. You can’t help yourself.” He smiled slowly, knowingly. Sheila followed his gaze, and with a softly muttered curse, jerked down her hands. Good God! She’d been raking her fingernails over her nipples as he spoke. “Stop it!” she said in a shaky voice. He shrugged casually and smiled. “You were the one touching.” “Don’t say another word to me.” “Sure, babe, if that’s what you think you want.” 9
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But his throaty chuckle only caused her damned traitorous nipples to perk up even more, like two happy little soldiers at attention. Shooting him a feral glare, she dragged her jacket off the back of the seat, stabbed her arms into it, and buttoned it closed. “You can hide them all you want, but you still feel them, don’t you, Sheila?” he whispered. “Grating like sandpaper against all those nasty clothes. Aching for release.” A flood of hot need spread through her, until it settled deep in the pulsing core of her. Her nipples strained against her clothes just as he said, and the damp heat building between her thighs was an agonizing itch that couldn’t be scratched. She shifted in her seat, trying to ease the discomfort, but nothing helped. She wanted to scream. Wanted to sob. Wanted to touch her most intimate places through her slacks—crud, without the slacks—and find relief. “I bet you’re wet and slick and ready, aren’t you? Bet your rules don’t have any answers for how to handle this situation, do they? But we’re alone in here, Sheila. If you want to make yourself feel better, no one ever has to know. Relief is just a touch away. A few strokes of the finger over your swollen clit and you can find bliss, babe.” “Shut—up,” she gritted out between clenched teeth. “Damn you.” “You’re so fucking hot right now, babe, I think you’d like to do just about anything with me except damn me.” Then with a lazy smile, he snagged a magazine off the table next to his seat, opened it, and began to read like there was nothing amiss in the world. By the time they got off the plane in Las Vegas a half-hour later and stepped into the SUV provided by a friend in the security business, she was ready not only to hold Taylor Knight down for the stalker, but happy to pull the trigger. They didn’t speak as she drove the Lincoln Navigator through evening traffic and headed northeast on I-15. Tension crackled through the car like an electric storm building in the desert. 10
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Taylor’s large form seemed to crowd the front of the vehicle, his scent inundated her senses in the enclosed space, and her body thrummed with unfulfilled need. The sound of his voice telling her things no man had ever told her, things that brought every inch of her body to thinly stretched alertness, continued to run through her head. Why had he pulled that stunt on the plane? Why had he toyed with her at his house? Was he like the rest of the men she’d known, who liked to play with all women crossing their paths in order to feed their macho egos? Or did he have some vendetta against her personally— some perverted desire to watch her squirm? She turned her head slightly to study him out of the corner of her eye as she drove. For once he wasn’t watching her, but instead stared silently out the passenger-side window. He seemed to be deep in thought and a muscle tensed and released in his jaw as if he had more serious things on his mind than sex. “Penny for your thoughts,” she said, daring to break the silence. His jaw clenched once more before he answered. “I’m wondering how the hell we’re going to find the stalker, if the stalker doesn’t know where I am.” “We’re not.” He turned to look at her and his eyes were that brittle gray again, almost accusing—startlingly serious for a man whose home and lifestyle implied his most dire concern was whether or not to have champagne with lunch. She was struck once again by the thought that in spite of his erotic mansion, golden California looks, and dangerously sexy voice, he seemed more mature, more grounded than she’d expected him to be…which only served to make him sexier and more appealing. Her body throbbed at the thought. Definitely very, very bad, she thought. “It’s not my job, or yours, to discover who shot at you,” she said. 11
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“That’s up to the police. I understand they were able to follow the suspect after he fired the rounds at you last week.” “Followed for a couple of blocks, then the person disappeared off the face of the earth. They don’t even know if it was a man or woman.” “There’s nothing you can do to help. They’ll figure it out. Meanwhile, it’s my job to keep you safe, and the best way to do that is to remove you from your normal routine. We don’t want the stalker to find you, remember? You should be happy you have so many people looking out for you and just enjoy your mini-vacation.” “Next you’re going to tell me not to worry my pretty little head about it,” he muttered as he turned back to stare out the window. She wrinkled her nose as a miniature wave of guilt hit her. Had she sounded patronizing? Yeah, maybe so. She did genuinely feel bad for the man. It had to be scary as hell to have been shot at, and he had every right to worry about it. But darn it, it was hard to know how to deal with him. He gave off so many mixed signals she couldn’t decide whether he was some shallow, womanizing fuck-flick star, or a genuine, complex person who just happened to be sexy as all get out. She pulled off the freeway and followed the winding desert road for another twenty miles before she turned into the long dusty driveway leading to the safe house. The last rays of the setting sun slanted across the white stucco ranch house, bringing it to life in brilliant tones of orange and rose. And in spite of the enigma sitting next to her, a sense of peace she hadn’t known in a very long time settled over her. It was good to be back in Nevada. “Nice,” Taylor said softly, his gaze also trained on the glorious sunset. They sat in oddly companionable silence and watched until the final fingers of color fell into shadow, and dusk settled fully around them. Dragging herself back to the here-and-now, Sheila stepped out of the vehicle into the dark heat of the desert night. Some things never changed, and the dry oven-like temperatures of late August were one of 12
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them. She moved toward the back of the Navigator to get her bags, but found Taylor already there, with her two and his duffel in hand. “I got ’em, babe. You get the door.” As she walked toward the porch, she mulled over this new puzzle. For a man who had a staff of servants in his mansion and who, from what she understood of his life, depended on his condescending little assistant to do everything for him from run his bath, to make his appointments, he looked completely comfortable performing a menial chore like carrying luggage. She would have pegged him for the spoiled-brat type who demanded the hired help come out and carry his precious things. But once again, he’d proven her assumptions wrong. She unlocked the door and they stepped onto the saltillo tile floor of the entry hall. The air conditioner had been turned on and the house was blissfully cool. A vase of fresh roses stood on the old Spanish table in the hallway; their sweet aroma mingled with the spicy scent of enchiladas wafting out of the kitchen. She grinned. Juanita had been busy, bless her soul. “Housekeeper?” Taylor said, setting the bags down and looking toward the kitchen. “No. Just us.” “Right.” A smile quirked one side of his mouth. “And the flowers and the food just…appeared out of the desert like magic?” “Arrangements were made ahead of time to get the house ready, but we’ll be staying here alone. You didn’t think I’d bring Your Magnificence to an old shack with nothing to eat, did you?” “Magnificence?” The smile grew broader and the daring sparkle returned to his eyes. “I’m glad you think so, babe.” She threw her keys onto the table. “Do you ever give up?” His body was suddenly so close it was all she could see, all she could smell. “No, I don’t,” he breathed. 13
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“Back off, Mr. Knight.” “Why so formal?” “Because I’m not feeling real fond of being on a first-name basis with you right now, thanks, so you’ll have to live with it.” “There are other things you could call me.” His husky tone was right next to her ear again and her body practically convulsed in response. “Yeah, I can think of several. Ass, jerk, womanizer, pervert—” “Pervert?” His eyebrows rose in humor. She shoved at his chest, and was instantly sorry as heat seared through her hands and into her body. “Go away. Leave me alone.” “Can’t. You’re supposed to be protecting me, remember?” She snorted. “Okay, lover boy, move your ass and let me show you to your room.” “The same room as yours, I presume.” “Wrong.” She pushed passed him and led him down the hallway toward the bedrooms. “But, babe, how’re you going to protect me if we sleep in separate rooms?” “Nice try.” She stopped in front of one of the larger bedrooms at the end of the hall and flipped on the light switch. “It’s all yours. The house security system is armed—it’ll always be armed when we’re here. You can go out the patio doors off the dining room and use the pool because it’s enclosed by a fifteen-foot wall and the entire perimeter of the wall is armed as well. But otherwise, don’t leave the house. Got it?” “Oh, I think I’ve got everything I need right here.” His gaze swept over her again, causing another blazing hot flash inside her. “I’m serious.” “So am I, babe.” “Quit calling me babe,” she muttered, as once again she made her escape. 14
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CHAPTER 2
Tucker Grayson smiled as he watched Sheila stagger onto the patio in the morning sunlight. Every moment that passed he was growing more and more fond of pretending to be his brother, Taylor. Oh, yeah. There were definitely advantages to this undercover job. Sheila’s shiny chestnut hair, finally free from the fancy twist she’d worn yesterday, fell in a wavy mane around her shoulders. One of her hands clutched a cup of coffee while the other rubbed sleep from her big brown eyes. It was almost eleven o’clock. Obviously she’d had a restless night. His smile turned into a full-fledged grin. After dinner, she’d made up some excuse about needing to do paperwork and had gone straight to the desk in the den and ignored him. Had pretended to, anyway. But he knew her eyes were seldom off him. She’d either watch him surreptitiously from the desk, or if he was out of direct sight, he had no doubt she watched via the surveillance cameras positioned all over the house. 15
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He’d been watching her, too. The squirming she did in her chair and the way she kept tugging that slinky silk top away from her full breasts gave him a pretty damn good idea she didn’t have her mind on business. He chuckled softly. Had she tossed and turned in bed last night, torn between breaking her own uptight, morally righteous rules, and the baser need to slake her own desire? Too bad there weren’t surveillance cams in the bedrooms. If she had gotten herself off, he’d have given about anything to have seen it. Still, in spite of the fact she could clearly handle herself as a bodyguard—he had no doubt she could use with deadly precision that Glock she carried—she had a good-girl look about her, which implied she probably didn’t do the dirty to herself very often. If at all. And, Christ, that’s part of what made her so hot. She’d almost reached the glass-topped, wrought-iron table where he sat, but stopped suddenly, turned, and sashayed back into the house as if she’d forgotten something. God, he’d always loved women with nice, full, curvy asses. None of those anorexic model-types for him. He was trying really hard not to like Sheila Quinn, but she was making it almost impossible. Her appearance at Taylor’s house yesterday afternoon had taken him by surprise—damn Taylor for not telling him she’d been hired. He hadn’t counted on having a frigging bodyguard stuck to him every hour of the day while he looked for his brother’s stalker. His first thought had been to offend her and scare her off. But she wasn’t easily scared. And he had to admit, he admired the hell out of her for that. Then, he’d wondered if she might be the stalker—after all, what better way to get close to the person you were after than to finagle a job in which you’d be with him twenty-four/seven. But a quick covert phone call from his cell phone last night had confirmed she was on the up-and-up. She was a former decorated cop turned bodyguard. 16
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Now he was faced with what to do with her. His gut instinct said he could probably trust her with the truth, but he couldn’t be one-hundredpercent certain. And anything less than that wasn’t good enough. Although he and Taylor seldom saw eye-to-eye on anything, and sure as hell didn’t live the same kind of lifestyle, he loved his twin and he’d damn well not let anything happen to him. Taylor was safely hidden at the hunting cabin in Wyoming where they’d gone as boys, and that’s where he needed to stay until this situation was resolved. There was no way Tucker was going to take unnecessary risks. Twelve years as a fed had taught him caution if nothing else. He’d already decided to give this Las Vegas hideout thing of Sheila’s a day just to keep from screwing his cover completely, but tomorrow he’d head back to California, even if it meant having to “fire” Sheila to do it. A genuine twinge of regret settled in his gut. Sheila Quinn was proving to be an intriguing woman. She came out of the house again, this time carrying a towel and looking a bit more awake, although she still had a death grip on her coffee mug. Watching her walk was pure poetry in motion. No model on a runway could swing their hips better. But the truly beautiful thing was…he’d bet his last dollar she wasn’t affecting it. It was all natural, and she had the curves to pull it off. She probably had no idea how arousing her walk was. By the time she sank into the wrought-iron chair across the table from him, he had a first-class erection. He slid his sunglasses down his nose and peered at her over the top of them. “Morning, babe. Sleep well?” Her eyes instantly flared with irritation. “I told you not to call me that.” He responded with a grin. She was sexy as sin this morning with her hair all tousled, her big 17
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doe eyes not quite open, and wearing a thigh-length pink T-shirt over what he presumed was a swimsuit. Damn, the thought of all those curves of hers exposed in the light of day only made an already painful hard-on even harder. “Please, let’s not start this again,” she said softly, her expression genuinely distressed. “Start…?” “You ogling me.” “Ogling?” He tried to choke back a laugh, but didn’t quite pull it off. “Listen, babe, with a body like yours and a spirit to match, there isn’t a man on the planet who wouldn’t gladly ogle you, along with a lot of other things.” “Why is it men never think about anything but sex?” She rested her chin in her hand and studied him as if she were genuinely interested in a straight answer. He tossed his sunglasses on the table, stretched his legs out in front of him near the edge of the pool, and crossed his bare ankles. Too bad the elaborate metal work of the table blocked her view of his groin. He’d love to see her reaction to his most recent “thoughts.” With a barely restrained grin, he said, “Well, because God put man and woman on the earth to procreate, so obviously it helped things along if they were hot and horny for each other.” “Oh, puh-leeze! That’s pathetic. I’m serious. Why is it that men think of sex like two hundred times a day and women don’t?” “I’d say you’ve thought about it at least two hundred times in the past twenty-four hours, babe. Thought about it, dreamed about it…yearned for it.” He purposely let his voice go low and husky as he spoke to her. He’d learned yesterday that when he did that, her breath got all fluttery and those rich toffee-colored eyes glazed over. She didn’t disappoint him this morning. “Tell me about last night, Sheila…did you dream about it? About the feel of hot hands on your skin, about slick flesh rippling over slick 18
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flesh, about—” “Stop!” She set her mug down with a thump and almost knocked her chair over, she stood so fast. “Just…just…” she held up a hand as if to ward him off. Then she shook her head, pulled off her T-shirt, and dove into the pool. He laughed as she furiously swam to the other end with a clean, neat stroke. In the Nevada desert heat, he doubted her plunge had the same affect as a cold shower, but she was getting desperate. And he liked that. It had been a long time since a woman had responded to him this way. Since he’d had any desire to want a response. An ache centered briefly in his chest, but one look at Sheila’s lush body, more magnificent than he’d even imagined, covered in nothing but a black bikini and crystal clear water, sent the old pain fleeing back to its hiding place. She swam several laps and he could almost see her trying to work out her sexual frustration with every stroke. His control stretched taut with his own barely restrained needs as he watched her. He was tempted to dive in and put them both out of their agony. But before he could act, she did a neat breast stroke to the side of the pool and pulled herself out. Water rolled off her body in beads of liquid gold, coursing over the barely covered swell of her full breasts, the sexy hourglass of her waist and hips, and down the long, luscious length of her legs. She looked like a movie star. Not one of the dime-a-dozen, rail-thin women on the screen now, but one of the old-fashioned stars of the forties and fifties, back when women were elegant and curvy. “Feel better?” he asked as she grabbed the fluffy white towel off her chair and drew it over her body. “Yes, I do, thanks. You should try it. It might do wonders for your overactive libido.” “Watching you glide through the water like a nymph already has done wonders for my libido, babe. Damn, you’re beautiful. Sexy. I got 19
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hard as hell watching you.” She avoided his gaze and concentrated on scrubbing her arms with the towel. But he saw her pale skin—all of her skin—blush a delicate shade of rose. He stood and sauntered closer. She scurried sideways, obviously trying to get out of his way, probably hoping he’d disappear. But he had no intention of disappearing. He stopped just a foot from her. “You missed some.” “Missed what?” She took another step back, and continued to look everywhere but at him. “Water that needs to be wiped off. Right there.” He pointed, letting his finger pause only a millimeter from the deep valley between her breasts, where a small trickle of moisture slid into the beckoning crevice. Her breathing caught, as if in anticipation of his touch, but when he let his hand fall back to his side, air hissed out between her parted lips in an unmistakable frustrated sigh. He smiled. “How’s that towel? I love the feel of a thick, nubby towel.” He dropped his voice to a gravelly whisper. “Especially against the sensitive parts of my body. The texture is just enough to…stimulate me. It’s rough but exciting all at the same time. I bet you like it, too. God, I bet the thought of putting that towel between your legs, grating it against the soft skin of your inner thigh and across your pulsing clit is making you wet right now.” “Arrgghhh!” she cried. “What’s the matter, babe?” She clutched the towel to her chest and glared at him like she wanted to cut off his balls. “You know exactly what’s the matter,” she ground out. “Do you sit around all day thinking up new ways to torture me?” “I told you before, there’s a simple cure for what ails you. Go 20
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ahead, Sheila. No reason to be a prude around me.” “I am not a prude!” “Prove it.” “I don’t have to prove anything to you.” “Prove it to yourself then.” “Fuck you!” “Oh, I love watching you get riled. You’re so damn hot this way, babe. Go ahead, rip your swimsuit off, feel the sun on your skin, and for God’s sake, touch yourself. I want to watch you give in to all that passion you have pent up inside you. Want to watch your eyes glaze over as you come. Want to hear you scream because it’s so fucking good.” “I—don’t—want to touch myself!” “Well, I’d love to help you out, but you told me I could never touch you again. A pity.” He took another step forward. She took another step back. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized he’d backed her against the warmth of the stucco wall. Her chest heaved. “Get out of my way. I want to go in the house.” He rested a hand on the wall to one side of her head. “No you don’t. Just say it, babe.” “Say what?” “That you want me to touch you. You’ve been thinking about it since yesterday. Since I first held you in my arms and kissed that hot, pouty little mouth of yours. Since you trembled against me and our tongues screwed. Just say the words, Sheila. Let me show you paradise, babe. You know you want it,” he breathed against her ear. Her body shuddered in response. “Don’t you think it’s time to throw those nasty old rules of yours out the window?” “C—can’t.” “Why?” “B—because…” 21
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He arched an eyebrow, waiting. “Because I have a jo—b…” Her voice trailed off as he slid one of his hands slowly down the front of his tight-fitting T-shirt, over the band of his cotton pants, and palmed his erection, which strained to escape its prison. “Oh, God!” she groaned, her gaze locked on the sight. “You like that, babe?” She shook her head. “Yeah, I think you do. I think you like it a lot.” He untied the drawstring on his pants and pushed the fabric down a few inches. He could see her pulse pounding below the delicate skin of her neck as his cock sprang free. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, and as he watched, she flicked the pink tip of her tongue out and moistened her lower lip. Cupping his hand around his balls, he lifted them and his swollen dick so they were completely free of the confining fabric. Then his fingers curled around the hefty length and slowly pumped. “Ahhh, Christ, that feels good,” he groaned. A spasm rocked Sheila’s body. He could almost smell her sex, and it nearly unmanned him. He didn’t know how much longer he could play this game with her. Didn’t know if it even was a game anymore, or if it ever had been. Somehow when he looked at her, at her big, wide eyes, and the rise and fall of her heaving breasts, he no longer saw a pain-in-the-ass obstacle to his investigation. He saw a fascinating woman he suddenly needed more than he needed to breathe. He closed his eyes and tipped back his head. The rays of the sun beat into his skin. But it was nothing compared to Sheila’s gaze on him, which he knew burned with a stronger heat. His right hand, still curled around his cock, pumped it again. Then again. “Ahhh, God.” When he opened his eyes and looked down, he wasn’t surprised to find a bead of pre-cum sparkling in the sunlight on the head of his penis. 22
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Sheila still stared in abject fascination. Her body shook. Her nipples stood rock hard against her bikini top. He saw her hand creep toward the still-damp bikini bottoms she wore, but then jerk back in shock as she realized what she was doing. He didn’t doubt for a second that her hot, wet folds were sweltering for attention in there. “Come here, baby.” He beckoned her with one hand, continuing to fondle his cock with the other. “Let me make it all better. Just say the words.” “I hate you,” she moaned. He laughed softly, feeling her pain, sympathizing with it, and knowing there was only one cure for it. “No you don’t. Say it, Sheila. It won’t kill you to give up a little control.” “Can’t you just…?” “No. You told me not to touch and I damn well don’t plan to until you ask.” “You don’t want me to ask,” she panted. “You want me to beg.” “Okay, babe, I want you to beg. I want you so out of your mind with desire that you beg me to put my hands and my mouth on you. That you beg me to be inside you.” “Never happen.” “Oh yeah it will.” He went back to work on himself, more turned on by her watching him than he was by his own actions. Shit, he’d never done this in front of a woman before, but she was making him feel and do all sorts of things he never would have imagined in his normally conservative existence as a hard-assed fed. “This is insane,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “This is freaking insane. Oh, God. Oh, God.” Out of half-closed eyes, he watched her hands tease over her chest. “That’s it, babe. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Her eyes fluttered closed, her head fell back against the wall. Slowly, she tugged down the nylon fabric of her top and the swell of 23
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her ample breasts bounced into view. Fuck. His mouth went dry at the sight. Her full white globes, given added lift from the swimsuit wadded underneath them, jutted firmly forward. Her areola and nipples, the color of rich terra cotta, puckered, then slowly, as he watched, grew firm and engorged. Her long fingers curved underneath her tits and lifted them higher still, while her thumbs and forefingers squeezed the pert nubs he’d been thinking about from the moment he saw them spring to life under her shirt yesterday. “Christ, baby, you’re killing me,” he groaned, and meant every word of it. Her eyes fluttered open again, glazed, but contrite. She gasped in a shaky breath. “I—I don’t understand. I don’t do things like this.” The innocent look in her eyes sent a warm pulse coursing straight to his heart. Not his frigging dick, but his heart. “You’re a beautiful, independent, hot-blooded woman. There’s no reason you shouldn’t always do things like this if it makes you feel good.” “But…” her fingers continued to pinch and pull at her nipples, and her voice was a warm, husky whisper. “But I’m a professional. I’m— I’m an ice bitch, for God’s sake!” “You couldn’t be ice if you tried. Where the hell did you ever get that idea?” “Fr—from my ex-husband,” she said in a small voice. “And from the men I worked with on the police force.” He immediately stopped whacking himself and stared Sheila in the eyes. An unexplainable rage surged through him. “You listen to me, babe. They’re all assholes. Every one of them!” She swallowed hard and bit her lip. “Sheila, say the words and let me show you just how wrong they all are. Let me show you that there’s not a woman who can compare to you.” “You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she whispered. 24
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“You have sex with a hundred women every week. I’m just another mare in your stable. Just another conquest for you. You’ll say whatever you need to, to get me in bed.” Tears glittered in her eyes, and the sight ripped at his insides. “No, baby,” he said softly. He gently tilted her chin upward, her dictate to not touch and his teasing game bedamned. “It’s not like that. I’m not like that.” She twisted away from his touch and laughed grimly. “It’s exactly like that. I was a cop for seven years, the only woman in a squad of men, so I’ve seen and heard it all. The one man I thought was sincere, I married, only to find out it was all just a game of conquest to him, too. ‘Be the first one to bring down the Ice Bitch.’ Well he did, he won the fucking prize, much to the glee of his buddies, I’m sure, and then he went right back to his business of fucking other women in spite of the ring on his finger. So you don’t have any tricks I haven’t seen, Mr. Knight. It’s all a game to you, and if you have to lie to get what you want, well, that just makes you an even bigger hot shit in the eyes of your friends, doesn’t it?” Guilt, like the cold steel of a blade, bit through his chest. Along with a wave of empathetic understanding. He knew exactly what it was like to be lied to and betrayed by the person you trusted most. “Listen to me, Sheila. Not all men are misogynistic assholes. Not all of them are betrayers. And you are not just another conquest to me. I have teased you, I admit, but I’m not what you think I am. I swear to you on my life that I haven’t been with another woman in over three years, haven’t wanted to be with another one until I met you.” Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “You expect me to believe that? I saw the pictures all over your house in Malibu. And I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, for God’s sake. I’ve seen hardcore porn movies, and there’s no way in hell you’re telling me that stuff is faked.” He was sinking in deeper and deeper here. He was damned if he confessed the truth to her at this point, and damned if he didn’t. 25
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“Look, think of them like any other movie. What you see on the screen isn’t always what’s really happening when it’s filmed. The people aren’t always who you think they are.” There, that was completely true. Taylor hadn’t done his own “stunts”—if that’s what you wanted to call them—for two years now. He was always very careful to have his contracts drawn up so all the full-body shots and facial shots were of him, but that anything involving actual intercourse would be done by a double. Sheila’s forehead wrinkled as if she hadn’t ever considered that possibility. Hell, he wouldn’t have considered it himself if his brother didn’t work in the industry and hadn’t developed a sudden sense of moral dignity. “So…you mean you don’t actually bang those women?” “No. I can swear to you with complete and utter honesty that I don’t bang any of those women.” “So why have you been teasing me and playing this sexual cat-andmouse game with me?” Her gaze and her tone were dead serious, and he suddenly knew his answer would determine whether or not he had a snowball’s chance in hell of ever seeing her again, much less ever touching her. And he realized with a humbling certainty that he wasn’t at all ready to say goodbye. “I was completely fascinated by you when I walked into the room at the mansion and you turned around with your mouth open in shock— like you expected me to come strutting through the door in the nude. Yet there was also a little glitter of disappointment in your eyes that I wasn’t—” “I was not disappointed!” “Yes you were. Then you got all tough and bossy and gave me the ultimatum about not touching you. It just made you that much more interesting. So I couldn’t help but tease you. You’re such an intriguing mix of hard and soft, babe.” He brushed the back of his knuckles down 26
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her cheek. When her body quivered in response, he felt his own heat surge back to life. “Christ, Sheila,” he said in a gritty voice. “I could never hurt you. You make me feel things I haven’t felt in a very long time. Both here,” he fisted his cock, “and here.” He pressed his palm against his heart. Her mouth parted slightly and her eyes grew dewy, like rich earth, freshly tilled and fertile. “Touch me,” she whispered. His heart stopped beating, then resumed with a throb. “Touch me. Do it now, before I die in agony.” A slow smile spread over his face. “Say please.” * * * “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” Her voice shook, but she didn’t care. “Please touch me.” “And…?” “P—please k—kiss me.” He put his hands on either side of the wall next to her head and traced his hot tongue across her lower lip. Then he looked deeply into her eyes. “And…?” The raw honesty she saw in his gaze sent a shudder of pure, fiery desire coursing through her body. But what really shocked her was the tender feeling that seemed to have settled in her chest in the general area of her heart. “And…” he said again, more forcefully, his gaze still probing her. “And…” She let her head fall back against the wall once more, suddenly too light-headed from adrenaline and lust to give a damn about her professional appearance. The rough pad of his thumb brushed across her nipple, and her knees practically fell out from under her. “And I want you to fuck me,” she gasped, then rattled, “Oh, my God, I can’t believe I just said that.” The heat of his mouth was suddenly on hers, and she met it like a sex-starved maniac—well, okay, she was a sex-starved maniac. His 27
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tongue found hers and began the game it had only hinted at yesterday, thrusting and swirling against hers, “screwing,” as Taylor had put it. Both his big hands cupped her breasts, while his thumbs created a hot friction against her nipples, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing until she thought she’d scream with need. Her hips arched against him, and finally, he leaned closer and she felt the hot length of his hard penis pressed against her bare belly. She nearly sobbed at the contact. His hands stroked down her waist, then they tugged at her bikini bottoms. She squirmed and wiggled, trying to help get them off, but they were stuck to her skin, still damp from the pool. “Sorry, babe,” he growled, and with a jerk and a tearing sound, he ripped them from her. As his mouth went back to work on hers, sucking, biting, stroking every nook and cranny, he lifted one of her legs, wrapped it around his waist, and plunged his fingers deep into her aching core. “Ohhhh, God!” “Feel good, baby?” he rumbled. She whimpered something that sounded like a “yes.” She meant it to be a yes, anyway. “Damn, you’re hot…and slick…and wet. I can feel your silky hole sucking at my fingers. His thumb slid in a slow circle over her clit, causing her whole body to vibrate like a tightly strung harp. “Oh yeah, babe, you like that, too.” His cock brushed against her inner thigh and she nearly exploded. “Do you want more, Sheila?” he whispered, his voice a husky dare. “Yes! Now. I want more now.” She managed to open her eyes enough to see the sexy curve of his smile. “Don’t smile at me!” she demanded. “You started this, so no more games. Give me all you’ve got! I want it all!” His gray eyes darkened with primitive lust. And before she could catch her breath, he lifted her in the air, and in less than a second, she 28
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felt the warm glass of the table against her back. “Spread your legs,” he ordered. She did. He pushed her knees up and propped her feet on the table. And then, exactly the way she’d felt in her dreams all of last night, his hot mouth found her. She bucked against him, but he held her in place, spread open for God and everyone to see, and his tongue proceeded to probe every inch of her most intimate places. Her head rolled from side to side on the table, and low moans she’d never heard before came out of her mouth. A storm built inside her, tingling through her body, and finally settling with a deep pull at the very center of her womb. Then…his mouth was gone. “No, please!” She heard him chuckle, and it was back. More insistent than before, his tongue sliding over her, thrusting in and out, his lips closing around her heat and sucking until her hands tunneled into his thick soft hair, pulling him closer, and sobs tore out of her throat. “Oh, God, Taylor!” The pleasure stopped again suddenly. No laugh this time. She felt only the heat of the sun pounding down on her and the light breeze rasping against her wet folds. “Please don’t stop. Please, Taylor,” she cried, lifting her head and trying to see him through her lust-hazed vision. She felt his hands tighten against her inner thighs. “Don’t—call me that,” he said in a hard, hoarse voice. “O—okay,” she sobbed, confused by his sudden withdrawal. “Call me Tuck.” His voice was insistent, but soft now where it had been hard before. “Tuck?” “It’s…my family name.” Tuck. She rolled the sound of it through her half-conscious mind and felt another little shimmer of warmth settle around her heart. It fit him. Much better than Taylor. 29
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“Say it, Sheila,” he urged. “Say my name.” “Tuck,” she whispered. One firm finger slid across her hot button in reward. Her entire body spasmed, almost lifting off the table, and she groaned her relief to have him touching her once more. His finger and thumb lightly squeezed her sensitive clit. “Say it again. Beg me again using my name.” His fingers tightened to the point of pleasure/pain, and nearly sent her over the edge “Please, Tuck, please don’t stop.” “Christ you’re beautiful when you thrash around on that table like that,” he rasped, his voice hoarse with desire once more. “Tell me what you want, babe.” “I want you! I want you to make me come, Tuck, then I want you to take me again, I want to feel you inside me, I want…God, I want…unnhhh!” His fingers slid into her. And his mouth was back, hot and urgent against her. In one brilliant burst, her back arched off the table, her thighs squeezed against Tuck’s head, and the world exploded around her in a million sparkling shards of light.
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CHAPTER 3
“Damn it, Sheila,” she heard him say in an almost worshipful voice as he rose from between her legs. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” She was barely half-conscious when she felt herself being lifted and draped face down, bottom-up over one of his broad shoulders. Heat flooded her cheeks at the image she must make with her round backside in the air right next to his face. “What are you doing?” she protested, banging her hands against his back and trying to squirm free. “Taking you to bed to finish what we started.” With purposeful strides, he entered the cool interior of the house, pausing only to shut and lock the sliding glass door. He moved through the living room and down the hall toward the bedrooms. “Put me down,” she begged, her face rubbing against the warm cotton of his black T-shirt as she stared down the back of his legs, still covered in lightweight white lounge pants. His callused palm settled over her bottom and boldly stroked it. 31
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“And give up this view? No way in hell. I’ve wanted to get my hands on your beautiful ass since I first met you.” “Y—you have?” “Oh, baby, you have no idea. The sight of your ass swishing from side to side when you walk…fuck, it’d give a monk a hard-on. Sure as hell gives me one.” She was still trying to get that comment through her stunned mind when they entered his bedroom and he tugged on her legs. She slid downward, the curls of her mound grating pleasantly against his shirt, then coming into startling contact with his still-bare and very hot erection. He held her there a moment, his cock burning against the slippery heat between her legs, her breasts squashed against his solid chest, his gaze locked with hers. “Say my name again while you’re looking at me,” he whispered. Not a demand this time. A request. With a shaking hand and a strangely full heart, she pressed a palm against his slightly roughened cheek. His breath hitched at the contact, and she realized it was the first time she’d ever touched him of her own free will. She’d responded to his physical attention before, but never spontaneously. What he didn’t know was it surprised her as much as it did him, because she hadn’t reached out in tenderness to anyone, not even her ex, since long before the divorce. “Thank you, Tuck,” she said quietly. He swallowed hard and she watched with fascination as his Adam’s apple worked up and down. “For what?” His voice sounded slightly thick, as if he were having a hard time speaking past his emotion. “For what you did outside. For what you’ve done since you met me.” “Teased the hell out of you and given you shit?” “Teased the hell out of me and given me life.” She wasn’t sure exactly where the words came from, but there they were, with an honesty she couldn’t deny. 32
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His eyes turned a warm blue-gray, the color of the summer sky at dawn. “Oh, babe,” he whispered. Then his lips were on hers. Not demanding this time, but tender. And that sparked a flame deep inside her, even hotter and more satisfying than the one she’d experienced outside. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burrowed her fingers into his hair and sighed against his mouth. He laid her on the bed with a gentleness that twisted her heart and unfastened her swimsuit top still bunched under her breasts. After pressing the two full mounds together with a look of sheer bliss in his gaze, he buried his face in them. Sheila closed her eyes and shuddered with pleasure as he sucked and feasted on first one, then the other. She felt on display and a little vulnerable, to be lying on the bed completely naked while he still wore clothes, yet it was an incredible turn-on at the same time. Tuck explored her body with his mouth, teasing her belly button with his tongue, laving the inside of her thighs, sucking on her toes while his fingers worked their magic on her once more. When he had her balanced at the edge of a precipice again, he paused. “Oh, God, please don’t do this again,” she sobbed. “Patience, babe. Waiting only makes the highs higher.” “Damn it, Tuck!” “Look at me.” She did. Tried to anyway, as her body shook with unsated agony. “I want you to do something for yourself.” “Okay,” she panted. “What?” “When you come this time, scream. Don’t hold back. Let go. And scream.” So she did. With his fingers doing God knows what down there, touching, probing, pulling, tugging, sliding in and over and around every erotic nerve ending she possessed, and his mouth working her sensitive bud 33
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with an exquisite heat, when the orgasm hit her, she screamed like a frigging banshee. And screamed. And screamed. Until the very last tremor shook her. She collapsed back into the pillows, gasping for air, her body limp. With a satisfied smile, Tuck rose off the bed, and in a smooth motion, pulled off his pants. His long, tanned legs covered in rough blond hair were enough to make any woman swoon. But the sight of his penis, jutting out from the dark blond curls between his legs…well, that was a sight worthy of nothing less than hallelujah choruses. Of course she’d seen it earlier— oh, my, my, my, my, my, her stomach quivered at the memory of him holding and stroking himself outside—but even that wasn’t the same as seeing the whole package au naturel, like she was now. The photographs at his house hadn’t done him justice. He was thicker, a little straighter…oh, God… better. He opened the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a square package. She watched, her pulse racing, as he slowly rolled the condom onto his thick, bobbing shaft. His intense, needy gaze then locked with hers, sending hot surges of liquid desire through her all over again. “Jesus, what are you doing to me?” she breathed, staring in awe at the gorgeous man who had suddenly turned her world upside down. He smiled again, and her breasts ached in response. With a firm but gentle touch, he rolled her onto her stomach, then lifted her so her elbows and knees rested on the bed and her bottom was in the air. She quivered in anticipation, feeling exposed, but finding it hugely erotic because of what Tuck had said about her “beautiful” ass. She heard him peel off his shirt behind her. Then he was touching her. “What am I doing to you? I’m making love to you,” he said softly. With a powerful thrust, he drove home. Sheila’s body shook to the very core at his words and at the feel of 34
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him stretching her, filling her as nothing else ever had, ever could again. Tears welled in her eyes, ran down her cheeks. Tuck’s warm hands caressed her bottom as he slid out of her, slowly, slowly, until just the very head of his penis rubbed against her tender folds. “Damn, baby, you are…” His voice cracked and for the first time ever he seemed at a loss for words. Aching and empty without him, she thrust her hips back and impaled him once more. “Oh, Christ,” he groaned. She felt him pulsing deep within her, felt his hands begin to shake as they held her hips. Once more he slowly slid out of her, but this time he didn’t waste any time on the return. He stroked into her even harder and deeper than before. They both gasped at the joining. His hand slid around and teased her clit as he drove into her again, and again. Sheila closed her eyes and like a woman possessed, she met Tuck thrust for thrust, groan for groan, until her body shook and her throat grew raw. Until that pulsing point deep in her womb was the focus of her entire existence. Time ceased. The world slowed. The very air felt tumescent with expectation. “Now, baby,” came Tuck’s hoarse demand. “I want you to come for me and only me.” And just like that, as if it had been waiting for his word all along, her body convulsed in hard, wracking throbs. Pleasure ripped through her like a lightning storm, sending jolts from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. At her writhing, and throaty cries, Tuck’s strokes become more focused, more intense. Suddenly, he pounded into her once and paused, twice and paused, then with powerful groaning spasms, he took his 35
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own release. When the last rippling vibrations faded from their bodies, he pressed a kiss against the nape of her neck and smoothed his warm hands gently over her back and the cheeks of her bottom. “Jesus, Sheila.” His voice shook. “I’m never going to let you go.” Somewhere deep in her heart, long-closed petals began to furl open. Sated and exhausted, they fell onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and slick bodies. “I quit,” she mumbled “Quit?” “My job. Working for you.” His soft laughter sent a flood of warmth through her chest. “No, you don’t. You like your job.” “Yes, I do. But how am I supposed to protect you when I don’t know where I end and you begin anymore?” He pulled the covers up over them, and curved his big body spoonstyle around hers, with her rear snuggled against his groin and his hand cupping one of her breasts. “Maybe,” he said softly, “what you need for a change, is someone to protect you, babe.” Someone to protect her? “That’s a nice thought,” she murmured with a smile. * * * Tuck startled awake, his senses on full alert. Late evening shadows stretched thin fingers across the room. Silence surrounded him except for Sheila’s gentle breathing. Had they slept all day? He tried to look at his watch, but with his arm around Sheila, he couldn’t see it without disturbing her. He lay on his back and at the sight of her soft, tangled hair spread across his chest like rich silk, and the feel of her warm body snuggled against his side, a surge of heat spread through him. How in the hell had he ever lived without her? he wondered, pressing a kiss to the top 36
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of her head. Christ, how had this happened? A little more than twenty-four hours and what had started as a teasing game with a beautiful woman had become the most intense experience of his life. He didn’t know whether to thank his lucky stars, or run like hell. But one look at her sweet lips curved in a smile in her sleep, and he knew the only place he’d ever run was straight into her arms. A soft rattling sound somewhere in the house, or maybe it was outside, caused his muscles to tense again. Softer, fainter, he heard it once more. What the hell…? He eased Sheila off him, slid from the bed, and pulled his gun out of the drawer in the side table. He did a double-take at the digital clock. The normally red glowing letters were dark. With an intuitive tingle at the nape of his neck, he dragged on his pants, padded across the room, and flipped the light switch. Nothing. “Damn!” He backed against the wall and peered around the doorway. Nothing moved in the pale gray shadows of evening. Silence echoed through the hallway. With the electricity out, not even the whir of the air conditioner broke the stillness. “Tuck?” Sheila said softly from behind him. He held a hand up to silence her. A soft gasp sounded from the bed, then he heard her scrambling around as she pulled the sheet around her. “What are you doing? What’s going on?” She stood next to him, her curves spilling out of the sheet, her hair tousled in a wild display. “That,” she gritted out, her stare fixed on his gun, “is not my weapon.” Then her gaze moved to his abdomen. With shaking fingers, she 37
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reached out and smoothed the puckered scar tissue just under his ribcage, remnants of a gunshot wound he’d received years ago during a drug raid gone awry. Her hand jerked back as if she’d been burned. He could almost see her analytical cop mind putting together the pieces of the puzzle—his gun, how he hadn’t taken off his shirt this morning until she’d been on her knees in front of him, and how he’d purposely held her with her back to him after they’d made love. Shit. She wasn’t supposed to find out this way. He should have told her sooner. She took a step backward. “Baby—” “You’re not Taylor Knight,” she whispered in a shaking voice. Suddenly, her eyes flew open wide. “Oh, crap! You’re one of them, aren’t you? They sent you to get rid of me!” What the hell was she talking about? Who wanted to get rid of her? She dodged past him, but he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back before she could get to the hallway. “Shh!” A deep protective instinct in him wanted to fold her in his arms and soothe her fears. But right now, he needed to be able to hear what was going on around the house. Her arms and legs flailed against him. “You bastar—” Tuck pressed his hand over her mouth and tugged her back against him so her soft ass was pressed against his thighs. “Sheila, damn it, listen to me!” he hissed. “The electricity’s out and I think there’s someone prowling around outside. I am not going to hurt you. For God’s sake, I would never hurt you!” She stilled, but her body continued to shudder, and he felt the damp trickle of tears against the hand that was over her mouth. “Jesus, babe,” he said hoarsely, his chest tightening. He feathered a kiss against her temple. “I’m sorry. It’s okay. My name is Tuck, just like I told you. Tucker Grayson. And Taylor Grayson—Taylor Knight—is my brother. After he was shot at last week, I hid him to keep him safe, and I pretended be Taylor so I could catch his stalker. 38
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And right now, that stalker might be outside the house, or could have found a way into the house. I’ll explain everything to you later, but right now I need your cooperation. Okay?” After a pregnant pause, she nodded. “I’m going to take my hand away now. Please, babe, don’t yell or scream. Surprise might be the only thing we have going for us at the moment.” He peeled his hand off her mouth, and she immediately spun around to face him. The expression in those beautiful big eyes was hatred so pure he flinched. “You’re a scheming filthy cop, aren’t you?” she spat out. “No, I’m FBI. But I’m not on duty now. I live in Denver and I took vacation time to come out and help Taylor. Sheila, I was going to tell you the truth, I swear.” “Yeah, right. But obviously not before you fucked me. Otherwise you might not have gotten what you wanted.” “Listen to me!” he growled, pulling her against his chest. “I am not your ex-husband or any of the other pricks you may have known. I meant what I said earlier—” Another rattle sounded, this time louder. She jumped and glanced toward the window, where the last remnants of daylight lingered. “Come on,” he said gruffly, taking her hand and leading her into the hallway. “I need my weapon.” Before he could respond or caution her, she darted into her bedroom. She was back in less than thirty seconds, barefoot, but dressed in sweats, and a tank top that hugged her full breasts like a lover’s embrace. She held her gun against her chest, and had shifted with chilling precision into her no-nonsense, tough-woman mode. Christ, she was a sight to behold. Even with her furious at him and an imminent threat nearby, he couldn’t look at her without wanting to put 39
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his hands all over her. They had just entered the foyer when an explosion shook the house. Sheila ran to the front door and peered out through a slit in the blinds. “It’s the shed. We have to put out the fire before it spreads.” Her hand curled around the doorknob. “No! Babe, if it’s the stalker, that’s exactly what he wants. You told me last night that the security system runs on a generator, so even with the electricity off, the system is armed. He can’t get in here, so he’s trying to lure us out.” She watched out the window at the flames that licked into the sky. “If that spreads, this whole place will go up in a matter of minutes.” He saw her swallow and focus her calm. She tucked her gun into the front waistband of her sweats. “Look, the stalker doesn’t want me. He wants you. So you stay inside and call the fire department—my cell phone’s in my room if the regular phone’s not working. I’ll go out and get the hose and do what I can for the shed.” “No, Sheila!” He pulled her into his arms, feeling every inch of her generous curves pressed against him, and gazed down into her tight, tear-streaked face. “Baby, I’m not letting you go out there. It isn’t worth risking your life to save this place. It’s a safe house; I’m sure it’s well-insured.” “No, Tuck, it’s not just a safe house. It’s my house! It’s the only thing I’ve ever had that I got all on my own. The only thing no man can ever take away from me…” Her voice broke. “Arm the security system behind me and call the fire department. I’m going.” She jerked away from him with the agility of a sprinter and was through the door before he could stop her. “Sheila!” Damn it! No way was he losing her. No way. Raising his gun, he stepped through the door. But a sharp pain split his skull. The world went black. * * * 40
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Sheila dragged the hose off the house, turned the spigot to full pressure, and ran toward the shed. The water suddenly stopped flowing. As she turned to see what was preventing it, she tripped. The hose flew out of her hands, and she sprawled on her stomach on the dry grit of the driveway. The heat from the burning shed seared into her. She was still a good thirty feet away from it, but it was like being next to a furnace. Fighting off tears at the pain from her gravel-torn hands and her stomach where the gun had almost knocked the breath out of her, she started to push herself back up. A heavy foot pressed on her back, returning her to the ground with an “Oomph!” “Well, well, well, look at what I found. A little Sheila bird rushing to save her beloved home.” Oh, God. An icy knot filled her chest. That voice. She knew that voice from her nightmares. Her hand itched to go for her gun, but she couldn’t see him from where she lay. Without knowing where he was, she’d be reaching blind. He could easily hurt or kill her before she ever got her hand on her piece. “Going to play the ice bitch as usual, and not talk to me, Sheila?” He straddled her, jerked her arms behind her back, and snapped on a pair of handcuffs, tightening them with a vicious jerk. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to blot out the pain as they dug into her tender flesh. No hope of getting her gun now. “What do you want, Kurt?” she managed to grate out. “What do you think I want, bitch? I lost my badge and spent twelve long months in jail thanks to you. I had plenty of time to think about how I was going pay you back for your loving support, wife.” “I’m not your wife anymore, and you went to jail because you committed crimes that had nothing to do with me. You’re still supposed to be in jail.” 41
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“No, honey,” he jerked at her arms again, causing her to cry out, “I’m not supposed to be in jail. I worked myself a little deal, thanks to the help of some powerful friends. And as for why I went to jail? I ended up there because you didn’t have any respect for the brotherhood in blue. Because even being married to me didn’t secure your loyalty. I went to jail because instead of supporting your husband and those you worked with, you chose to turn back-stabber. And you know how the brotherhood feels about those who turn against their own.” “Fuck you.” “Been there.” He pushed her arms upward. “Done that.” He pushed again, and she sobbed as her shoulder dislocated. Agony shot through her in deep waves. Concentrate on something else! Don’t feel. Just think. Where was Tuck? Had he stayed in the house like she’d told him? Was he watching this? Oh, crud. A sick thought struck her. Was he involved in this somehow? She’d been furious with him, felt so damned used and betrayed, just like she always felt in her dealings with men. But the vision of Tuck’s face right before she left the house filled her mind. He’d looked genuinely concerned for her; his eyes had been so tender, so…protective. She couldn’t deny that in spite of the fact he’d led her on about his identity, had played her for a fool, there was something gentle and dependable about Tuck. Even during their incredible sex, she’d never seen such qualities in another man. “Oh, and if you’re wondering about that fuck-flick wonder boy of yours, he ran into a little accident when he came out of the house.” Oh, God, noooo! What had she done? Her hope flickered away; the pounding pain crushed her once more, making her light-headed. “Don’t worry, I didn’t kill your precious client, just gave him a good hard knock on the head and kicked him around a little. He has to 42
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stay alive so he can tell the press and the world how his stalker tracked him down, how he was brutally attacked, and how his brave bodyguard, Sheila Quinn, went after the attacker and tragically lost her life.” “You bastard,” she whispered thickly. “You set this whole thing up?” “Of course. You never did appreciate my skill at handling complex situations. All it took was a little pretend shooting to set the stage and a little phone call to you from the captain asking you to pretty-pleasethere’s-no-one-else-who-could-possibly-do-it-better-than-you-Sheila look after his friend.” Her stomach churned with a nauseous twist. Jesus, she’d trusted Captain Lewiston. He’d acted like he was on her side when she’d turned in and testified against Kurt and two other men in their unit for reselling drugs they’d confiscated during raids. “I’d hoped to have the grand finale of this little show in a more public place, with more witnesses,” Kurt continued. “But you’ve always been too cautious for your own good. I should have known you’d try to isolate the guy, limit access to him. Still, that was just a minor bump in the road. As soon as you left L.A., I knew you’d come here, to your precious homestead. It’s the one place you’ve always felt safe.” He laughed. “God, you’re so predictable. But now it’s time to say bye-bye.” The cold muzzle of a gun pressed against her neck. “The pièce de résistance, Sheila, is that you’re going to be killed by Mr. Fuck Star’s gun. I almost died laughing when he came running out of the house with a gun of his own. Guess he thought having a piece made him a macho man. But it will come in handy, because his personal guilt will only add realism to the story. The press will love it: ‘Brave bodyguard killed by porn star’s own gun, stolen from him during the attack.’” “Yeah, you’ve thought of everything. You’re a real big man, aren’t you?” she spat through her dry lips. 43
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“Shut up, bitch!” He moved off her and jerked her up by the hair. She bit back a scream, and tried to hold off the dark threatening to engulf her, tried to keep the godawful agony in her shoulder under control. She couldn’t give in. Couldn’t stop fighting. Damn it! Stay alive! This would probably be her only chance to run or attack him. But before she could summon the strength to move, she heard a dull thud and a grunt. Kurt released her hair, and she stumbled back to the ground onto her stomach. “Get off her, you son of a bitch!” Tuck! Giddy tears of relief filled her eyes. But they were quickly followed by cold dread. Tuck was unarmed against a sick man who’d never had any qualms about fighting dirty. “Oh, look here. Pussy boy’s awake. Too bad for you, because now you just signed your own death warrant. Can’t have you telling the world a different version of the story than I had planned.” “Yeah, you’re a real good planner,” Tuck growled somewhere nearby. “Too bad you didn’t plan for this.” Another grunt, then feet scuffling as the two men presumably faced off. Like a flood of ice through her veins, Sheila heard the slide pull back on the gun to chamber a round. Her heart raced. Her gun! There had to be a way to get it from where it gouged into her waist over to Tuck. She clawed her mind clear of the fuzzy web of pain and began to wiggle her sweats down from the back where her hands were locked together. Shards of agony spread through her like fire, but she kept at it, able to grasp little fingerholds on the fabric and tug inch by inch. She heard footsteps come close and didn’t know whose they were. 44
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Twisting herself around, she saw that Kurt’s back was to her, and caught sight of Tuck for the first time. He stood silhouetted against the flames of the burning shed, looking like an avenging angel. His gaze locked briefly with hers. She saw concern for her, but also a hard determination that hinted at the driven, relentless agent he probably was on the job. The short-lived eye contact, no matter how tenuous, gave her strength. She nodded her head downward and mouthed the word, “Gun.” The lines at the edges of his eyes crinkled for just a fraction of a second. He’d understood. She began to work her stomach along the ground, and felt the gun slipping upward. Almost there… “Why don’t you talk to me some more,” Tuck said to Kurt. “Tell me all about what a brilliant guy you are.” Keep him talking, she willed him. Buy just a little more time. Kurt laughed. “Talking time’s over. Say goodbye, lover boy.” No! Sheila squirmed harder, fighting off the waves of nausea that pounded through her from her injured shoulder. Almost there… Her gun slid free. She rolled to her side, nearly blacking out from the pain. “Tuck!” she screamed. With the last of her energy, she brought her knees to her chest and kicked the gun in his direction. As if in slow motion, she saw him dive for it. Saw his hand close around it. Kurt fired his weapon. Then Tuck fired. Behind them, the remains of the shed crashed to the ground with a fiery explosion, and the flames began to lick at palm trees near the house. Kurt fell to the ground and Tuck collapsed as well. Oh, my God, they’d shot each other! “Tuck! Noooo!” She watched in horror as Kurt’s hand moved again. His gun raised. 45
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Another shot fired. “Noooo!” she cried again, hating her helplessness, hating the universe for letting this happen. But slowly, the weapon slid out of Kurt’s hand and fell to the dirt with a thud. Before she could register why that might possibly be, Tuck rose like a phoenix from the ashes. He was alive! A siren screamed in the distance. Sheila’s pain-fogged mind wondered if Tuck had actually called the fire department, or if someone from the highway had seen the flames in the dark and called 911. A second later, Tuck was with her. His husky voice crooned in her ear. His gentle hands unfastened the handcuffs from behind her back with the key he’d obviously found on Kurt. She whimpered as blood rushed to her hands and fingers. Her shoulder, now unsupported, throbbed in torture. “Easy, babe.” Tuck helped her sit up. “Is he dead?” she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed against the agony. “No, he’ll make it. But he’s not going anywhere right now.” “The fire. The house…” “He cut the hose, so there’s nothing we can do, but the fire department is coming up the road right now. They’ll get here in time. Sheila, look at me” She opened her eyes and stared into his. “I know we’ve had an intense thirty-six hours, and I know you’re mad at me. But do you trust me, babe?” Her heart throbbed and tears stung in her eyes at the open worry and gentle honesty on his sexy face. My God, this man had selflessly saved her life tonight. She hated that he’d even asked the question, but knew it was her own fault. “Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, Tuck, yes. I’m so sorry.” He smiled, and the joy that creased his eyes and lips sparked a light 46
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in the darkest corners of her heart. “No, babe, no sorrys. That’s my line.” He cupped her chin tenderly in his palm and pressed a warm kiss against her lips. But his expression turned serious once again. “Your shoulder’s dislocated, Sheila. I know it hurts like hell, but once it’s popped back into place the relief will be almost instant. I can fix it. If you trust me to.” “How?” she whispered. It was getting harder to talk, harder to stay awake and fight off the blessed relief of darkness. “Stay with me, babe. Don’t pass out. My dad had this happen several times. It was an old injury he got on the police force that recurred every now and then. I learned how to slide it back into place for him, but if you don’t want me to do it, I understand. The fire department’s almost here and they can get you to the hospital in Vegas.” “No.” She pressed a finger against his lips. “I want you.” “It’s going to hurt.” “Just do it.” He stroked her hand, almost as if lulling her into a sense of comfort. Then with a gentle but firm maneuver, and in spite of her sobbing groans, he slid her shoulder back into place with a quiet pop. As he’d said, the relief was immediate. “Thank you,” she gasped. “Oh, God, thank you for so many things, Tuck. You saved my life tonight.” “And you saved mine.” He pulled her onto his lap and folded her in his embrace. “Christ, babe,” he breathed against her hair. “I was scared as hell I was going to lose you.” The fire department chose that moment to tear into the yard, followed by two sheriff’s cars. For the next three hours, chaos reigned. But Tuck never left her side. When it was all over, he carried her to bed and snuggled under the covers with her. The electricity was back on and the small lamp beside her bed glowed softly, highlighting the golden streaks in his hair. 47
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Only a dull ache remained of the pain that had wracked her shoulder earlier, although she’d been given a sling to wear to keep it immobile for a few days. Her wrists were tender from the handcuffs, and the paramedics had given her a shot of mild pain medication, which made her feel a little tipsy. But overall, she felt more alive, stronger, than she ever had in her life. “So you’re an FBI agent, huh?” “Yes.” Little worry lines creased his forehead as if he feared where she might be going with her question. A warm heat began deep in her belly, and she had the sudden urge to laugh out loud for no reason at all. “I see. Is there anything else you need to tell me? Any other secret identities? Skeletons in your closet? Bad habits, I should know about?” He stared at her for a long moment, then a little smiled quirked the corner of his mouth. “Well, I should probably tell you that in real life I’m a fairly conservative, suit-wearing, serious kind of guy.” “Hmm…” She nodded as if considering his admission carefully. “I’ve also been thinking of making a move.” He curved a hand around her waist and caressed her ribs with his long fingers. She nearly moaned with joy at the contact. “Really? Where?” “I was thinking maybe L.A. or Las Vegas.” “I hear Las Vegas is a nice place to live.” Her breath hitched as she felt his fingers brush the underside of her breast. “I—I’ve been thinking of moving back myself. Um…anything else?” “Yes. I’ve also developed an affinity for patios with wrought-iron furniture.” A slow heat stole up her cheeks and down to the moist V between her thighs. All at the same time. “You’re blushing babe. Surely a strong woman like you doesn’t get embarrassed over a little patio furniture,” he said in a throaty whisper, with a twinkle in his eye. “I find it imminently useful for…laying things on, and for…eating on.” 48
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Oh—my—God. That little heat problem between her legs become a volcano. A huge, pulsing ready-to-erupt-at-any-moment volcano. Tuck smiled, that slow, sexy half-smile that made her insane. “Oh, baby, I love it when your eyes glaze over like that.” “Tuck,” she breathed. “Shut up and touch me.” “Say please,” he rumbled, just before his mouth devoured hers.
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M. L. R HODES
Award-winning author M. L. Rhodes has been writing for nearly ten years. She’s published everything from poetry, to short stories, to steamy paranormal and romantic suspense novels under other pseudonyms. Her characterization and emotional storytelling have received high critical acclaim from such places as Romantic Times and WordWeaving, and have garnered her numerous awards in the writing industry. Intelligent, empowered heroines and larger-than-life heroes are her favorites. Throw in a little—or a lot—of danger, and you’ll discover the world of M. L. Rhodes. “There’s nothing more exciting than putting two strong people on the page together and watching them navigate the pitfalls and the emotional and sensual delights of falling in love. That is, after all, what romance is all about.” M. L. enjoys hearing from readers. She can be reached at:
[email protected] Or you can visit her on the web at: http://www.mlrhodeswriting.com
AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC THE GOLD STANDARD IN P UBLISHING
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