A Lover's Vow (4 page)

He hoped Jace and Shana hadn't had their first big fight so Jace wanted to sleep on his sofa. That wouldn't be happening, so he might as well take his ass over to Sutton Hills. Dalton would love to be there when his brother explained to their long-time housekeeper, Hannah, why he was back already.

But then, it might not be Jace. It could very well be Caden at his door, Dalton thought, angrily getting out of bed and grabbing his robe. Then Caden's ass could go to Sutton Hills, as well. Nobody told them to get married, and he wasn't running a damned boarding house.

When he reached his front door, he peered through the peephole and blinked. Jules Bradford? Shit, he must be seeing things. There was no way the very woman he'd been dreaming about moments earlier was standing outside on his doorstep. He looked through the peephole again. Miss Whirlwind? She wasn't an illusion. His porch light was clearly shining on her.

He cautiously opened the door, and the moment he did, she threw herself in his arms and whispered, “Pretend you're kissing me.”

That request earned a brazen chuckle from deep in his throat.
Why pretend?
Unable to resist, he pulled her into his arms, lowered his mouth to hers and used his foot to slam the door shut behind her.

Four

J
ules heard a throaty growl just seconds before Dalton's mouth connected with hers. She had been about to push him away, but that was before his tongue had tangled with hers, before his scent had filled her nostrils, before she could feel the brush of his fingertips across the side of her neck.

This kiss was only supposed to be pretend. So why were they locking lips? Why had that greedy sigh slid from her throat, and why on Earth was she kissing him back? It might have everything to do with the way his tongue was dominating hers, stroking it into submission while sending erogenous shivers through her body. What kind of kiss had the ability to do that?

Before she could answer, he shifted his body and she felt him, even through her leather coat. His hard thighs definitely had an erection between them, and that erection was sending one hell of a need spiraling through every part of her body, making their mouths devour each other even more greedily.

Pangs of sensual hunger shot through her at the same time a powerful rush of emotions thrust her into deeper submission. It would not have been so bad if she hadn't spent the past three months dreaming about kissing him, fantasizing about how he tasted, how he would use his tongue. She'd imagined his manly scent was imbued into his skin, and she knew the only way to find out would be to taste him. The thought of her tongue coming into contact with his flesh sent sensuous shivers escalating all through her. This was her punishment for allowing him to invade her dreams at night. Now that she was sampling what she'd fantasized about, she was finding it hard to regain control.

He sank his mouth deeper into hers, and before she could wonder how he'd managed to do such a thing, she heard herself purr.
Purr?
No man had ever made her purr.

The kiss suddenly ended, and she felt herself swept off her feet into strong arms. He stared down at her with eyes glistening with lust, and his mouth curved into a sexy smile. “I figured you'd come to me sooner or later, when horniness got the best of you,” he said before leaning down to take her mouth again.

This time she did have the sense to push him away and quickly scrambled out of his arms. “I told you to
pretend
to kiss me, you ass.” She was tempted to lick her lips but refused to give him the satisfaction.

Before she could blink, he had her body pinned to the door, holding her arms above her head. How had that happened? Her reflexes were normally good, right on point. His move had been too swift and had caught her off guard. She could lift her leg and knee him in the balls but, for some reason, damaging him there was something she just couldn't make herself do, especially after coming into contact with such a robust erection.

He was glaring down at her with eyes filled with anger. “I don't know why you showed up here at this hour, Jules, with a fucking request about pretending to kiss you, but I'm warning you of two things. Never call me an ass again, and never ever tell me to go fuck myself.”

She glared back. “And if I do?”

He leaned in, his face just inches from hers. “It would be a real shame, since that beautiful mouth should be used in far more interesting ways than saying unladylike things. I'd love to let you try it out on me.” He grinned, a little of the predator showing through, but well in check.

She drew in a deep breath while slowly raising her knee, deciding maybe she should shove him in the balls, after all. “And I wouldn't do that, if I were you,” he warned. “I happen to like my jewels and would retaliate if any harm came to them.”

However, to be on the safe side, he released her and took a step back as piercing dark eyes stared up at him. “So if you aren't here to give me the one thing I want from you, then why are you here?”

His question made her remember why she was here, and she pulled the Glock from inside her coat.

“Damn! Why do you have a gun?” he asked, backing up even more. “This anomisity between us isn't that serious. Let's talk about it.”

“I don't have a lot of time to explain things, Dalton. I need to use the back entrance to your place and—”

“What the hell is going on?”

Already, her eyes were scanning his condo. It was as elegant on the inside as it was on the outside. She spotted the kitchen and moved toward it. “Can't talk now. I'll fill you in later.”

He blocked her path. “Like hell you will. You can't show up at my place at almost midnight, ask me to pretend to kiss you, pull out a gun and then ask to see my back door.”

She had to agree the situation did seem weird. “You've been followed.”

“What?”

“I said, you were followed tonight.”

Penetrating eyes stared down at her, and she had to fight against just how achingly handsome he was standing there in his silk bathrobe. She couldn't help wondering if he had any clothing on underneath it.

“I was followed?”

“Yes.”

“And you know this how?” he asked, crossing powerful arms over his chest, making his robe rise a little, exposing powerful legs, hard thighs and an erection that hadn't gone down.

“I was parked outside, waiting for you to come home.” When she saw a semblance of heat flare in his eyes, she decided to explain herself before he thought the wrong thing. “Shana mentioned earlier today that you weren't coming to her dinner party Saturday night. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why. So I felt the two of us needed to discuss it.”

“There's nothing to discuss. If you were going to be there, then I wasn't. Now back to the part about why you thought I was followed.”

She was about to call him an ass again but remembered his warning. “I'm a PI, Dalton. I can recognize a tail. In fact, the person is still parked out there. I plan to go out through your back door and catch him by surprise.”

Her story sounded too far-fetched to have been made up.
He'd been followed?
Hadn't he been getting an eerie feeling about that lately? He stared at her. “You sure?”

“Positive. Now I need to—”

“Wait.”

“Like hell I'll wait, and don't suggest we call the police,” she said. “I used to be a cop. I can handle this.”

From the way she was handling that Glock, he believed her. But still, if someone was out there, it might be a foe of the USN, the United Security Network. A few years ago, he'd worked as an agent for the United States Government while living in Europe. No one knew...except for Lady Victoria Bowman, one of his former lovers, but his secret was safe with her. His brothers didn't even know of his involvement with the USN, and his identity and role in the agency was never to be revealed. But what if it had been?

“I need to get dressed,” he said, moving toward his bedroom. “Your assumption that I was followed might be a misunderstanding.”

“Why?”

Jules was asking too many damned questions. “Just sit tight for a second. If the person is just sitting there, that means he won't be going anywhere.” He closed his bedroom door behind him and quickly began dialing a number he'd hoped he had no reason to ever call again.

A gruff voice came on the line. “It's late, Granger.”

“That's too fucking bad. I was followed tonight,” Dalton said, tossing off his robe and grabbing a pair of jeans and shirt from his closet.

There was a pause, and the voice that asked the next question was now alert, attentive. “You're sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

“Okay. Give me less than five and I'll call you back.”

“All right.” Dalton hung up the phone. He finished dressing and was slipping into his shoes when he got a call back...in less than five. “Okay, what's the deal?” he asked.

“Nothing on our end. If you're being followed, it has nothing to do with us.”

Dalton wasn't sure whether he should feel relieved or exasperated.

“You must have pissed someone off, Granger.”

The only person he knew he'd pissed off was presently standing in his living room. “Possibly.”

“Take my advice. Find out what's going on and deal with it before it deals with you. If you need me for anything, let me know.”

He nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He then opened the drawer to his nightstand and pulled out his own pistol. A Glock that was just as impressive as the one Jules had. He tucked it inside his jeans as he left his bedroom. Entering the living room, he found her pacing the floor. Even when pacing she had that sexy walk that could make his entire body go hard. He tried not to focus on how good she looked in her black leather trench coat and matching boots. The belt enhanced her small waistline. It didn't take much to remember how she'd looked the two times he'd seen her at that nightclub. He knew how her clothes fit beneath that coat and was tempted to forget whoever was following him, cross the room and strip every stitch of clothing off her body.

She turned around and glared when she saw his gun. “What do you think you're doing?”

“What does it look like? You got your gun, I got mine.”

She rolled her eyes. “This is not show and tell. Do you even know how to use that thing?”

“Probably just as well as you.”

He could tell that his boast had her curious. “If that's true, then you have some explaining to do.”

Thinking he'd said enough, possibly too much, he turned toward the kitchen. “Let's go. I hope you're not making this shit up.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Just to find an excuse to make a booty call. You did let me kiss you.”

“I told you to pretend. You took advantage of me,” she snapped.

“And at what point did you tell me to stop? You could have pushed me away. Bitten my tongue. Scratched my face. But you did none of those things, which leads me to believe you wanted to be kissed.”

“Like hell.”

“I'd like to think I gave you a little bit of heaven, instead.”

Ignoring her curse words, he moved toward his back door. Instead of concentrating on the potential danger outside, he was thinking about their kiss. Why had she tasted so damned good? And her womanly scent had only intensified his desire for her.

“Look, Dalton. Just stay back and let me handle this,” she said, quickly moving in front of him.

“If the person was following me, then I want to know who it is and why. We expose him together or not at all.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “We've wasted enough time already. Just follow my lead.”

“Whatever,” he drawled, holding the door open.

She slid out the door into the darkness. A quick glance over her shoulder indicated he was right there, close behind. A little too close for comfort, especially when she could feel his heat through her coat.

And like hers, his gun was drawn and ready.

* * *

“Stonewall, I told you that Bobby is handling things, so relax.”

Stonewall Courson paused from pacing in front of Roland Summers's desk. Roland was the owner of Summers Security Firm where Stonewall had worked off and on for the past ten years. Although Roland was his boss, he was also a good friend. “I just have a gut feeling that something isn't right.”

Almost a month ago, Stonewall and his friends Quasar Patterson and Striker Jennings had taken on the duties of undercover bodyguards for the sons of Sheppard Granger, a man whom they'd met while serving time in prison. Shep had quickly become more than just a fellow inmate to the three of them. He had become the father they'd never had, a role model they could look up to and a mentor they admired. So when word got out that his sons needed protection, Stonewall, Quasar and Striker had volunteered for the job. The hard part was making sure no one knew, not even the sons themselves.

Quasar Patterson, who was in charge of protecting Jace, the oldest Granger son, was still bragging about the two weeks he'd spent in South Africa, although he did say Jace and his wife stayed inside their hotel room most of the time. After all, they had been on their honeymoon. And Striker Jennings was protecting Caden, although nothing was happening there, either. At least not since the attempt on Caden's life last month. According to Striker, Caden had settled into his wife's place over her wine boutique, and when they weren't working, the couple preferred staying inside most of the time.

Stonewall had been assigned to Shep's youngest son, Dalton. He was the real challenge, since Dalton was a party animal who liked frequenting the clubs. He liked women. At times had a restless soul and would eliminate fidgeting by driving that sports car, sometimes breaking the speed limit, on the interstate during the middle of the night when most police officers were somewhere getting their fill of donuts and coffee.

Tonight had been Stonewall's grandmother's seventieth birthday, and his sister had thrown a private party at a local restaurant. She'd threatened to do him bodily harm if he didn't show up. He'd been replaced tonight with Bobby Turner. It wasn't that Bobby wasn't good or dependable, but he was young and not as experienced.

“Your gut feeling is probably nothing more than exhaustion, Stonewall. You, Quasar and Striker have been protecting Shep's sons for over a month now with barely a break.”

Stonewall remembered when they'd begun. It was right after Sheppard Granger had received a mysterious email on the prison computer, warning him that his three sons' lives were in danger. He'd told his attorney, Carson Boyett, to hire bodyguards, and she'd called Roland. Since Roland, who'd also been an inmate in jail with them at one time, had known of their relationship with Shep, he had mentioned it to them, and they'd readily taken the job.

“You could be right,” Stonewall said, sliding into the chair across from Roland's desk. “But I'd rather not leave just yet. Think I'll grab a few hours of sleep downstairs.”

Roland had a cot room for any of his men who needed power naps between jobs. “Okay. You aren't scheduled to switch off with Bobby until the morning. But if it makes you feel better, I'll check with Bobby to see how things are going,” Roland said, picking up the phone.