For Her Protection: 1 (Personal Protection) (11 page)

Connor finished the fry in his free hand and sucked the salt
off his thumb. Tension coiled in her sex and a moan escaped her. His fingers
swirled firmly, rhythmically against her.

“Sounds like that’s a good steak. Is it a good steak, baby?”

Charlize panted and looked back at the plate. His fingers
slowed, as if he was waiting for her answer.

“Yes, yes it’s good.”

“Give me some,” he said and began rubbing her again.

Her head swirled and she glanced at him.

“Feed me some steak.” His eyes glittered and he wiped the
fingers of his free hand on a napkin.

Feed him
?

She realized he couldn’t cut his own food. But still, even
with his hand on her pussy, bringing her to pleasure in the middle of a
restaurant, the idea of feeding him brought heat to her cheeks. Intimate,
romantic, domestic. Submissive. More frightening than coming in public.

She cut off a large piece of steak and swirled it in the
sauce then swiveled the fork toward his lips. The moment she turned, the moment
her hips shifted she realized his ploy. His hand sank deeper, pushed thick
fingers straight into the entrance that opened to him.

Her hand dipped, almost depositing the fork into his lap.
Her vision hazed and she forced herself to think past the sensation of his
movements inside her—the palm pressed hard against her clitoris. She brought
the fork to his mouth and he opened, then closed his lips over the tines and
drew the meat off slowly. He chewed, his gaze flickering over her face.

“It is good.”

“Can I get you anything to drink?” A voice intruded.

Charlize jumped but couldn’t meet the waitress’ gaze. She
knew the other woman couldn’t see, knew anyone looking would just see a woman
feeding her boyfriend. But Conner’s movements didn’t stop. They grew more
controlled, more deliberate as he ordered two glasses of champagne.

The waitress left and Charlize dropped her hands to the
table. He withdrew from her entrance and pumped firmly over her swollen clit.
Her nails curled into the tablecloth. Her body tensed, muscle by muscle. Fine
motor skills, the kind required to cut, lift, direct movement were long past
gone.

“Look at me.”

Her body obeyed and she gazed at him without focus. He
rubbed harder and faster. She twitched, orgasm rising through her nerves,
cresting along her senses. He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her. Not
the tongue-deep kiss she wanted but something for public. Hot enough and close
enough to swallow the sound she made as she convulsed internally. Excruciating
bliss pulsed out from her core, radiated into her muscles, into her bones until
it felt as if she’d turned to liquid.

She slumped against him and his lips left hers. The hand in
her panties withdrew and his arm surrounded her again. Her breathing regulated,
although her cheeks still burned.

“Champagne?” the waitress asked.

Charlize looked around the room as Connor accepted the
drinks. No one glanced their way, no one had noticed. He handed her a tall
glass of sparkling gold liquid.

“Cheers,” he said and clinked his glass against hers.

Cheers indeed
…

She lifted her glass and drank deeply. Connor’s still full
and cooling plate of food remained untouched. Perhaps feeding him wouldn’t be
such a big deal after all?

They’d done far more intimate things today, hadn’t they?

She picked up the fork she’d dropped and filled it then
turned to Connor. “Here,” she whispered.

Connor’s eyes flared for a moment but he ate the food she
offered him.

She watched him chew. The slow movements of his jaw. As she
filled the fork again another kind of longing rose in her—one she didn’t care
to admit.

We could look after each other
.

A fucking perfect Sunday morning. Connor leaned in the
doorway of Charlize’s en-suite bathroom. She stood at her basin, wearing a
black bra and panties, dragging a brush through the even blacker waves rippling
almost to her elbows. He took advantage of the view—his gaze travelled over her
smooth calves, luscious thighs, the round underside of her ass-cheeks peeking
out from her underwear. He shifted, blood flowing to the exhausted length of
his cock.

You’d think it’d be worn out by now. After the workout he’d
put it through that morning—his dick should’ve been fucking sated. But no…one
look was all it took. There was a chemical reaction between them. Something
instinctive. Something his body recognized the moment he’d clamped eyes on her.
Primitive sexual recognition in his DNA telling him he’d found his match.

Her gaze caught his in the mirror and her movements slowed.
A sheepish smile pressed her lips to the side. Her cheeks glowed pink. How
could she blush after everything she’d let him do to her—or maybe the blush was
because of what she’d let him do…

She picked up a hair-tie and slipped it around her wrist
then scooped her hair to the back of her head. He moved toward her and ran his
palms down the stretch of bare skin at her sides her raised arms exposed. Her
clear laugh filled the bathroom and she leaned into him. He wrapped his arms
around her middle and brushed his lips across the fragrant skin on her
shoulder. She dropped her hands and placed them over his where they rested on
her belly. Soft waves of hair tumbled down and brushed his cheek.

Connor turned his face and nuzzled behind her ear, inhaling
the sweet vanilla scent of her hair. He slid his hands from under hers and
stroked her hair between his fingers. “It’s so beautiful, why do you always put
it up?”

Her cheek sucked in and she shrugged. “It’s practical.”

“I thought we were going to your aunt’s party?”

She didn’t say anything, just watched him in the mirror then
picked up the brush again. Connor moved to stand beside her. He squeezed a
thick line of toothpaste onto his toothbrush and brushed his teeth, watching
her smooth moisturizer over her face with her fingertips then add a blob of
makeup. He spat and rinsed. She swirled something pink on her cheekbones with a
brush.

He wiped his face with a hand towel then smeared cream from
a can over his jaw. She applied color to her eyelids then a line of black that
framed her eyes. Not that she needed it—eyes as striking as hers spoke for
themselves. Connor lifted his chin and scraped his razor from the middle of his
neck to his chin. He frowned. Since when did he give a crap about women’s face paint?

Yet everything she did fascinated him. The way she moved,
the way she spoke, the things she held back, the things she revealed, the
little war she fought between herself and what she wanted to project. Always,
always he just wanted to sink right through the crap and reach the real
Charlize he’d held in his arms—the one who made him lose himself every time
they touched. She stepped back and smacked glossed lips together. Her gaze
flickered to him before she turned and walked out of the bathroom. Her shiny
locks swung behind her—unbound.

He grinned but bit back a chuckle and swiped the remaining
beard off his face with the razor. He slapped on cologne and strode into the
bedroom. Charlize stood near the bed, pulling the straps of a short white dress
over her shoulders. She reached behind her for the hanging sides.

“Let me.” Connor moved behind her and grasped the zipper,
slid it up smoothly.

Her back straightened under his hands and she brushed her
palms down along the sides of the dress, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.

“Thanks,” she said in a hushed tone and turned.

His heart gave a monster of a thud. Gorgeous. Not a prissy
word he threw around but what else could describe her? Yeah the dress had
enough structure to put it in the classy, uptight category she preferred but
this was a little softer. High, scooped neck, then plain white fabric
tightening under her tits, that dark hair resting against the pale material…
Glossed red lips.

White dress, black hair, red lips…

He drank her in, needing to hold the picture as a snapshot
in his mind. He swallowed. “So how should I dress for this anyway?”

“Jeans and a nice shirt will do. That one you wore the other
day to work—the pale-blue one.” She tucked the hair on the left side of her
face behind her ear. “That looked nice, maybe that and your gray jacket.”

His lips twitched. “You liked that, did you?”

She rolled her eyes a little too dramatically, not a very
Charlize-like gesture. “Cocky bastard.”

“Who would’ve guessed that’s your type?”

Her gaze snapped back to his and her feature smoothed, her
eyes took on that open-eyed Disney look. “We’re going to be late.”

He sighed. He’d never been with a girl who was so fucking
intimidated by feelings. Weren’t women supposed to be good with those? The few
relationships he’d been in he’d bowed out gracefully before things got to the
come-meet-my-parents stage. Detective hours hadn’t been conducive to a
relationship and he’d never met a woman who’d been prepared to accept his
dangerous career paths. He liked to make a clean break before anyone got hurt.
Nothing cut him up like a chick crying.

There’d be no clean breaks with Charlize. She’d never try to
change him either. Never try to make him do something safer. He knew that about
her without asking. She just wasn’t that way—she understood that people had to
do what they’re called to do. They both got that.

“I’ll get dressed.”

He tugged the towel from his waist and pretended not to
notice her lingering look at his ass. Looked like he wasn’t the only one with a
healthy appreciation for a nice ass. He tugged on underwear and then went to
the guestroom where he’d hung his clothes. He dressed and then pulled the
sleeves of his gray jacket up his arms and looked in the mirror. Then it hit
him.

She fucking dressed me
.

Charlize might not use words like “girlfriend” out loud
unless they were playing but she sure as hell had started to act like one. He
smoothed the lapels and grinned at his reflection. Yeah…she was three-quarters
thawed and didn’t even know it.

He left the room and found her waiting in the kitchen. She
appraised him with a look that swept over him like a flame. Her lips pouted and
her nostrils gave a tiny flutter. She radiated lust like one of those old
boilermaker heaters. The lady obviously liked the results of her own handiwork.
As long as it yielded this reaction, she could dress him anytime.

She didn’t need to know that though.

He scooped up his keys and led the way to the door, and to
his car parked at the side of the road. Even opened the car door for her like a
gentleman, though all he got back for his trouble was exactly what he’d
expected—an exasperated look that said I-can-open-my-own-damn-door. Her
reactions only made pushing her buttons more fun. They fastened their seatbelts
and Connor started the engine, looking in his side mirror for oncoming traffic.
He pulled out then glanced in the rear-view mirror. A car pulled out from the
curb with timing that sent a prickle right into his spine.

Connor glanced at Charlize. “So this is your aunt’s birthday
right?”

“Yeah, my aunt Bess, Alicia’s mom.”

He looked in the mirror and changed lanes, asked Charlize
more questions, listened just enough to hold the conversation. The urge to
speed up twitched through his system but if he wanted to see if the feeling he’d
gotten when that car back there had pulled out was more than his suspicious
nature, he’d have to stay in control. He stuck to the limit, went a little
slower even. The car moved with them, took the same turns, stayed a few car
lengths’ behind. Not too far but far enough that a less-observant person
probably wouldn’t notice them back there at all.

Connor hit the turn signal at the last minute and swung into
a gas station.

“What are you doing, you have a full tank?”

He sent her a smile meant to reassure her. “Just checking
out the tires, one feels a little soft.”

The air pump sat at the back of the service station but he
got out and made a show of pressing his foot to the Challenger’s tires. Walked
wide around the car, taking everything in using his peripheral vision.

No silver Volvo.

Connor got back behind the wheel then drove back into the
street. Had he imagined it? Was he that goddamn jumpy when it came to Charlize’s
safety? He put his palm on her knee and rubbed. Jumpy yeah, but he had something
precious to be concerned over. His gut unclenched but a tension still rode up
the back of his neck. They might be getting cozy and all, but he had a job to
do. Still, the job wasn’t the only thing making him desperate to protect her.
Had it ever been? The image of her sitting on the hospital bed flashed through
his mind.

Never happening again
…

He’d never for a minute—not even when he’d lost himself
inside her—forgotten that fucker was still out there. And he’d be a paranoid
lunatic until that changed.

“Is everything all right?”

He stared at the road and continued following the GPS
directions. “Yeah why?”

“Because you’re crushing my leg…”

Connor glanced at her. He gripped her just below the knee as
if holding on for dear life. He released her and rubbed the spot briskly. “Must
be nervous about meeting your entire family.”

“Because we’re lying?”

He put both hands on the wheel. “Lying? You mean by telling
them I’m your man?” He twisted his fingers around the wheel. A bitter tang
coated his tongue.

“By not telling them why you’re really with me—why you need
to be. But I guess it’s all tied up together.”

He looked at her. She rubbed her palm over one bare arm and
gazed back at him, an apology in her expression.

“I understand you why want to keep what happened private. It’s
your choice—however you want to handle things.”

They pulled into a tree-lined, residential street with
pretty, old houses. The GPS signaled they’d almost reached their destination.
He checked the mirror and slowed. A flash of silver caught his eye.

Goddammit—he’d let himself be distracted. Exactly why he
never got personally involved with his clients. But then he’d gone into this
job already involved.

The GPS beeped and Charlize pointed to a house. The silver
car pulled into a street just behind them. His pulse raced—adrenaline pumped
through his blood. He’d drop Charlize off, make an excuse and then he was on it
like his fist was about to be on some asshole’s throat.