For Her Protection: 1 (Personal Protection) (8 page)

“I’ve done some digging and nothing adds up. Craig had money
coming in from everywhere. He’s involved with something, I just don’t know
what.”

Connor paused his pacing. “What’s your gut telling you?”

“How much do you know about Halifax Communications?”

“Enough to know its hemorrhaging and the climate is fucking
atrocious.”

“I think there might be more going on there than we know.
And listen to this.” Mark paused for a moment. “I looked into all his records
and found something. Three years ago a woman made an assault allegation against
him. A week later she was gone, never seen again. I spoke to the investigating
detective. They looked into Craig but they couldn’t connect him to the
disappearance. Apparently he had a rock-solid alibi.”

Every cell in his body contracted. Fuck, what kind of creep
had she been working with all that time? He’d make damn sure Gregory never got
within screaming distance of Charlize again. That is, not without getting his
spine snapped.

“But it gets better—last year another woman came forward.
Except it never got to court.”

“Why?”

“The woman was found dead in her apartment. Natural causes
apparently—a stroke.”

None of this felt right. Connor glanced at the closed door. “Thanks
for letting me know, partner. I need you to do one thing for me.”

“What?”

“Not a word of this to Charlize. She’s got enough to worry
about and I don’t want her getting more worked up.”

“Jesus, Connor, what are you doing to me? I’ll tell you
what, I won’t volunteer anything but I can’t lie if she starts asking
questions.”

“Good enough, let’s get him caught before she has the
chance.” Connor’s fingers curled. Gregory Craig was going down.

“Be careful.”

“Always,” Connor replied and hung up the phone.

Connor stuffed the phone back into his pocket and went to
the sink and scrubbed his face with cold water, then looked in the mirror. Too
bad he looked like shit. Tomorrow he’d collect some more things, like a razor
from his apartment. The bristles on his face needed removing before they took a
layer off Charlize’s delicate skin.

The image of her chest, reddened with the marks of his face
moving over her, conjured in his mind. Blood rushed back to his cock. Shit. His
dick ached as if it’d been bitten by something. He’d just about given himself
some kind of repressive cock injury over the last few days. There was a good chance
it was plotting a way to twitch off his body and stab him. The only solution
was to give it what it wanted. Hell, just being near Charlize drove him crazy
but watching her come earlier had nearly killed him.

The way her neck arched, her lips parted, the look of
complete ecstasy that softened her features as he pushed her over the edge.
They needed to finish things. Fucking Charlize would be the most ruthless sex
of his life. He had no doubt. And she could handle him too. She made him lose
control. He needed to give her everything. Do all the things to her he’d
stopped himself from doing in the past.

No barriers between them, nothing but raw, naked sex.

His cock continued to throb and he stalked back into
Charlize’s room. She lay curled on her side, hands tucked under her cheek.

Sleeping like a freaking angel.

Glorious black hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her
back. The throbbing sensation moved from his cock to his chest. He’d never seen
her hair loose but never in his wettest dreams could he have pictured her like
this—surrounded by a halo of soft, dark waves. Wearing a pale-pink nightgown,
her fucking magnificent breasts filling the front like a goddamn fantasy. He
could slide up that gown, wake her with his cock. He would, if she didn’t need
her rest so badly. He’d have to wait but she’d pay for that later.

Connor drew the abandoned quilt over her. A small bottle
rested on her side table. He picked it up and studied the label, squinted to
make out the words in the dark. He moved to the open doorway and read it in the
filtering light.

Fucking
hell
.

Sleeping medication. He put the bottle back where it had
been. She didn’t need to know he’d seen it. Starting tomorrow, he was fixing
this shit. She wouldn’t need a drug again to relax. He’d show her exactly what
she needed.

By tomorrow evening she’d be so fucking relaxed she’d have
trouble walking.

* * * * *

Charlize woke to the smell of bacon. Its smoky
scrumptiousness wafted into her room and summoned her. The aroma also reminded
her she was not alone in her home—and she’d fallen asleep with Connor’s promise
of “serious trouble” still ringing in her ears.

She washed and dressed in gym gear. Then took care of the
glass on the floor with the portable vacuum from her closet. The throw she
tossed in the trash. Still, it took her a full two minutes to summon the nerve
to open her bedroom door and walk through it. The smell got better the closer
she got to the kitchen but the view—now that was freaking delicious.

Connor owned her kitchen like a rock star owned a stage—even
in track pants and a plain white T-shirt. His back rippled as he shifted pans
across the stove. He threw a handful of something into a pan and the contents
sizzled with sound as if he were playing an instrument. Her mouth watered but not
for food.

She’d gobble up just about anything he dished up.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Sit down.”

Connor ducked his head toward the kitchen stools and she
plopped onto one. Plates, cutlery, even coffee waited on the counter.

What the hell was happening? Had she stepped into an
alternate universe where hot, bossy men waited on women? She picked up the
coffee and took a gulp and tried not to choke on her overeager swallow. Connor
carried a pan from the stove and slid two eggs onto her plate and four onto his
own. She stared at the perfectly cooked eggs. Yep, alternate universe all right.

Simon hadn’t known how the kettle worked let alone ever
lowered himself to cook for her. Pity for him she couldn’t cook for shit. He’d
gotten to bitch about a whole heap of undercooked pasta and burned sausages in
their time together.

Connor returned with more pans and loaded her plate with
bacon, mushrooms, and beans in a thick sauce. “Homemade baked beans. Eat up,
they’re good for you.” He put the pan into the sink and slid onto the stool
next to her.

“I’m surprised you could find what you needed in my pantry
to make them.”

Her plate could barely hold the food piled onto it. She
glanced at his plate. He may as well have dished it up in a serving platter. He
scooped up a forkful of steaming beans.

“I’m resourceful. Don’t be shy—you’re going to need your
energy for what I have planned.”

Her cheeks warmed. Why was it everything he said sounded
dirty? Obviously they were going to work out again. Charlize picked up her
knife and fork and cut a chunk of bacon. “More kick-boxing?”

Connor chewed then gulped coffee. “Not today, just
self-defense training.” He set down his cup and gazed at her. “It’ll be intense
but by the end you’ll be surprised at what you can do.”

Charlize nodded.
About freaking time
. She was looking
forward to learning to kick some ass. She took a small scoop of baked beans,
not really her thing but hey, he’d bothered to make them and they had to be
better than anything she could make.

Flavor exploded across her tongue. Garlic with smoky
undertones and a hint of sweetness. Scratch that—she freaking loved baked
beans. Her eyes shut and she chewed slowly.

“But it’s the fucking you’re going to need your energy for.”

Her eyes flew open and she coughed up a bean. She grabbed a
napkin and wiped her mouth, her fingers shaking. “What?”

He held his fork in front of him and it kind of looked as if
maybe he was going to scoop her up with it. “If you’re going to eat my food
like that, I’ll be forced to feed you something else. So behave or the fucking
will come first.”

Her clothes seemed to shrink around her. Either that or her
accelerating blood flow was expanding her skin. “I hope you’re joking. Is that
supposed to be some kind of caveman sweet-talk?”

Connor’s stormy blue eyes shifted across her
face—lips—eyes—lips. She had to fight the urge to touch her mouth.

“Have you forgotten what you asked me to do last night?” He
leaned closer. “I haven’t.”

She leaned into the warmth of him, drawn to the way his
bottom lip glistened. He straightened and returned to his breakfast.

“Now eat.”

Charlize studied her plate. How in the heck was she supposed
to eat another bite? She’d seen this coming—hell, she’d asked for it the night
before. But in the clarity of morning the idea made her heart want to crash its
way out of her body.

Why should what she wanted be so completely damn terrifying?

* * * * *

They finished breakfast and did the dishes like a real
couple. He washed and she dried and put away. They made use of her mostly empty
living room for training, standing barefoot in the middle of the room. Charlize
glanced at the hardwood floor.

“Wouldn’t this be safer on the rug?”

“We won’t be doing throws today,” he said and circled her,
walked around her three times.

She refused to turn her head and follow him.

“Here’s how it’s going to work. I’m going to show you a
dozen simple techniques. At the end I’m going to test you.”

She frowned. “Like a quiz?”

“No, like a challenge. We see what you’ve remembered. Get
you to think on your feet, force you to think quickly and react fast.” He
stopped in front of her. “If you pass the challenge, you win—and trust me, you
want to win.”

Charlize folded her arms and tried not to look as if she
caught the suggestion in his tone. “We’ve played this game before. If you want
to prove you’re bigger, stronger and better at this Karate crap than I am, then
I concede—you’re better.”

He grinned a devilish smile that reminded her just how
quickly he could make her heart race. “This is a new game. All you have to do
is prove you were paying attention. It’s not a contest, it’s a challenge—and
the stakes are higher.”

She uncrossed her arms. “How high?”

“At the end of this I’m going to fuck you.” He slinked
closer in his prowling-panther way of moving. “How I do that is up to you.
Either you get to fight me off, put up your best resistance, or I own you and
you do exactly as I say. If you win, you get to choose how it happens.”

Charlize took a breath then reminded herself to breathe out.
Told her hands not to shake at her sides.

“But if you fail, I’ll take you how I want.”

How he wants
? Her body rushed with adrenaline. Part
of her wanted to lose just to see which option turned him on. She wanted him
rough. As impolite as that might be, as much as it fell outside what she’d done
before, she acknowledged the desire—but this was different. This was saying it
out loud. This was conscious choice, deliberate. This was agreeing to some kind
of kinky role-play. None of which she could bring herself to accept.

“How the fuck is there a win for me in that?”

He closed the distance, made her look up at him, made her
breathe in the scent of his clean body. “Because it’s what you want, kitten.
But you’ve got to admit it.”

Her tongue fumbled in her mouth, which had apparently found
new saliva glands. The idea of fighting him off sounded hot all right, but she
couldn’t do that. Not with memories of the parking lot so raw.

But if he wanted to challenge her, then he could be
challenged too. With something equally as hot. “Instead of the fighting, the
other option is you do as I say.”

“You want to bargain for that? Sounds less fun to me.” He
stepped back and positioned himself two feet in front of her. “Let’s get
started.”

He ran her through exercise after exercise. Showed her the
vulnerable places on the body to target, how to sneak a hit to the throat
before an attacker saw it coming. How to break every kind of hold, but more
importantly he showed her how to look around. How to stop the world from
closing in and see the things around her, things she could use to protect
herself.

Her muscles ached by the end but she knew she had this.

“You been paying attention, kitten?” Connor asked.

“Does it look as if I’ve fallen asleep?”

He grasped her wrists. “You mean like you did last night?
You’re going to pay for that you know. I’m still aching.”

“Only if I fail,” she whispered and twisted her arms free. “So
was that score one for me?”

He chuckled and laugh lines dimpled his cheeks. “Sure. Are
you ready for the next one?”

She nodded and stepped from foot to foot. He had her
ducking, twisting and even landing a hit to his “vulnerable” place. Not that he
reacted—the bastard. She was ready to savor the sweetness of victory when he
caught her from behind, twisted his fist in her hair.

Breath evaporated from her chest. Fear streaked through her
limbs. The imagined smell of tobacco tingled in her nose.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered and air rushed back into her
lungs.

Charlize slammed her heel into his foot, her elbow into his
stomach and twisted—breaking the grip on her hair. She dropped to the floor and
rolled out of reach.

Connor pursued with his slow, confident swagger. “Congratulations,
you did well. So what is it, baby? Am I yours to command?” He tucked up the
legs of his sweatpants and crouched in front of her. “Or are you mine?”

Her heart leaped into its exit strategy the same way a
toddler tries to beat his way through the floor with his fists—by having a full
tantrum against her ribs. Connor hovered above her sprawled body. His hungry
gaze reminded her of what would come next.

Something told her she might not ever recover.

But the choice was hers wasn’t it? He might be acting like a
boss now but she could have him crawling if she made the choice. She could have
him do anything—anything she wanted.

Oh fuck there were some things she wanted.

She’d never considered herself a dirty girl yet the ideas
slinking through her head would turn a porn star’s cheeks crimson. He did that
to her, made her base. Turned her primal.

His eyebrow twitched. “So what do you say? Should I get on
my knees now?” he whispered, his voice husky and raw. He leaned over her.

She dropped from her hands to her elbows. His words might
say he’d fulfill the bargain, would do as she said. His body said he’d always
be the one in control. The possibilities sent shivers deep into her core, made
her hips ache to have him hold them. And dammit, that’s what she wanted. Him
above her. Him in charge.

To not have to think—just to freaking feel.

She wanted to do what he said, wanted to get lost in the
incredible sensations he drew from her. Nothing would ever be as hot as him
doing it his way.

Charlize moistened her lips then sank back against the cool
floor. “I guess I’m yours.”

His eyes flashed, his nostrils flared. He covered her like a
blanket of muscle.

“Good choice,” he growled and planted his mouth on hers.

He kissed her deep, gave her enough tongue to make her want
more, withheld giving her everything. She wound her arms around him, tried to
draw him closer.

He pulled back. “Remember who’s in charge. You do what I
tell you.”

His fingers hooked in the top of her gym pants and tugged.
She gasped. He stripped her bare from the waist down in one movement. She tried
to press her legs shut at the shock of sudden exposure.

He grasped her ankles, his face fierce but not cold. “You
shut them if I say shut them. You open them if I say open them.”

The grip on her ankles made her want to test him. Made her
want to see just how rough things could get. Yet something else said yes.

Yes she’d do what he said, open everything to him.

He released her and sat back. She bit back the protest that
rose to her lips.
No! Come
back
,
tear
my legs open
.

“Get on the couch.”

She rolled to her side then stepped on boneless legs to the sofa.

“Sit on the end.”

Charlize turned and sat, the cool leather startling her bare
bottom. She rested her hand on the arm instead of using it to cover herself.
She didn’t tug her top down and hide the strip of dark hair that disappeared
between her legs. As disconcerting as being only half-naked might be, she knew
better.

Connor followed her, leaned over her, tempted her with his
closeness but only reached around her, grabbed the handle below the armrest and
reclined the end of the sofa. She didn’t move, just let herself sink backward
until the upper half of her body lay almost straight.

He stood, his hands moved to the hem of his shirt. Her gaze
homed in on the patch of skin revealed at his waist. He swooped up the shirt
and pulled it over his head.

Charlize clamped her thighs together and gripped the
armrest. Dammit, he’d just ruined her for life. No shirtless man could ever
compete with this. He looked as hard and masculine as he’d felt. His pecs were
defined under a spattering of neat, dark hair that thinned and trailed
beckoningly down his chest, over the ridges of his stomach then disappeared
into the top of his sweatpants.

God, it was all she could do not to rocket forward and
attack his pants, reveal the trail’s destination. His hip flexors tightened
when he moved, made her want to press her tongue to the hollow they created.
Her thighs slickened.

“Legs open.”

She blinked. An instruction, he wanted her legs open. If she’d
been more in control, she may have resisted but she wanted to prove she could
do what he asked. She shifted, parting her thighs slightly but not enough to
let him see what he’d done to her.

Connor grabbed her ankle and tugged her leg wider, exposing
her dewy center. She gasped and watched him kneel on the edge of the sofa in
the space he’d made between her thighs—watched his gaze trace her exposed sex.
Her pussy responded to him as if it were an eager pet, glistening anew for his
attention.

“When I tell you to do something there will be no half doing
it. Understand?”

Charlize closed her eyes and nodded.

“Eyes on me, baby. Eyes always on me.”

She opened them. He adjusted her thighs wider, bending her
knees and resting her ankles on his hips. She reached to grab the hem of her
shirt.

“Don’t,” he growled. “One look at those tits and this will
be over hard and fast. I plan to have fun first.”

Fun
. Heat dripped over her skin. Fun for whom? For
him or her? Because hard and fast sounded pretty freaking good right about now.
She dropped her shirt and planted her hand back on the armrest.

He touched her but not like she expected. With her knees
high and open he spread her lips with his thumbs.

“What a pretty pussy you have, kitten. You have no idea what
I’m going to do to it do you?”

She balled her fists as a tremor rolled through her. He
opened her wider, eating her out with his gaze. Air caressed her pussy. It
quivered, silently begging him to show her exactly what he planned to do. He
moved, spreading her with one hand and sinking a finger deep into her with the
other, his palm up.

Tension shot through her limbs, and that tight, achy desire
for more intensified. He stroked her gently then pushed in another, stretched
her with the girth of his fingers. She shifted her hips, torn between a moment
of pleasure and of something else.

“Get used to it, baby, because this is nothing compared to
what you’ve got coming.”

He pressed up and she nearly flew off the couch. Raw
sensation racked her. She panted, hands moving to her hair.

“Easy,” he whispered and rested his other hand on her
abdomen, holding her in place. Then he moved again, moved with deliberate
strokes, caressed her more intimately than should be possible. He started out
slowly, pushing into her firmly then sliding back out. Bone-deep pleasure
mounted with every movement. Then he changed tactics, as if what he’d just done
to her had been only a warm-up.

He pressed down on her pubic bone and stroked her bud with
his thumb then pushed higher and harder inside her. She grasped at her hair,
arching her back, her chest heaving, body humming. He thrust deep—fast—on a
mission to destroy her with sex.

Exquisite agony. The only words for it. Pleasure so bad it
hurt. Like nothing she’d ever felt had been real until now.

His thumb slid over and around her, intensifying every
tightening pulse in her core. She tossed her head.
Too
much
… Too
much to process, too much to bear. She’d break. He jutted against that place,
that place she hadn’t believed in but could not now deny.

“Fuck, Connor, please.” Her voice sounded strange and high
pitched. She shook, her shoulders trembled against leather.

The fingers inside her gentled. No that’s not what she
needed. She wanted more, harder, his thumb moving faster—that’s what she
needed.

“No, baby, no coming yet. You got to earn that.”

His words were husky, almost as raw as she felt. He withdrew
from her slowly. She cried out and tried to grasp his arm. He moved out of
reach.

She sagged against the sofa, fighting the urge to sob with
need. Sweat gathered at her hairline.

Then he did the one thing that could distract her from her
own body.

He revealed the rest of his.

Connor removed his pants, kicked the pile of black fabric
across the floor. Her labored breathing stilled and she snapped up straight.
His hands rested by his sides. Next to…the hottest cock she’d ever seen. Her wet,
aching pussy clenched.

“Kneel,” he instructed.

The only word he needed to say and she was on her knees in
front of him. Reaching for that smooth pink cock.

He grasped the back of her hair, halting her. “No, baby, you
get what I give you.” He gripped the base of his cock—so freaking perfect in
its symmetry it should be patented. Thick shaft—thick enough it might just push
the boundaries of comfort—and swollen pink head. His cock called to her, made
her want to take it into her body any way she could.

“Mouth open.”

She opened her lips and looked up at him. Dark blue veins
corded their way up his arms. His jaw ticked. He couldn’t hide his arousal any
more than he could hide the strength of his erection. He wanted her. She made
him this way.

His gaze locked on hers. “You’ll need to do better if you
want me to feed you this cock.”

She opened wider, stretched her tongue out. He groaned and
guided the mushroomed head of his cock into her mouth. The silky skin of his
crown slid across her tongue. The earthy taste of him made her tremble. He
filled her mouth, made her stretch her jaw as he pushed deeper. He overwhelmed
her. Hard flesh in her mouth, his taste, his scent—the intimate, musky scent of
a man.

She wrapped her lips around him and sucked hard. The grip in
her hair became a caress but he maintained control with his cock. Forced a
little more of himself on her each time then took it away—only to give
more—more cock, more of his salty skin and the distinct smell of him that
enslaved her.

Her hands roamed to his thighs, touching, stroking, kneading
her way closer to the hand he still used to hold himself. She wanted to be the
one to hold him—to devour him—to make him feel. His fingers massaged her scalp.

“That’s it, baby, suck me.”

His heavy sac brushed her hand and she moved to it, cupping
and measuring its weight in her palm. He groaned and thrust into her mouth, far
enough to challenge her gag reflex. But she took him in, didn’t gag, forced her
muscles to comply, take whatever he chose to give her. He grasped her hand and
let it replace the one he’d used to hold his shaft, let her fingers curl around
his girth then covered her hand with his. She stroked him with her fist while
taking him with her mouth.

Her fingers only held half of him. She squeezed her thighs
and rocked her hips, her body responding to the idea of this great big thing
inside her. It made sense he’d be big. No man strutted like he did without
having the goods to back it up. And he had them, had enough to justify his
arrogance and then some.

She gasped when his cock left her lips, let air fill her
lungs before she took him back in and pumped him firmly with her hand. Her
chest burned, her jaw strained. Wanting him was an ache upon an ache. Like
being addicted to something that hurts a little—worth the sting for the rush it
delivers. That’s what Connor’s cock was like.

His thigh stiffened under her free hand and he withdrew from
her mouth completely. She arched her neck and opened her mouth wide, sticking
her tongue out as far as it would go for more.

“Look at you.” Connor tugged on her hair and butted the tip
of his dick against her tongue but didn’t feed it to her like she wanted. “Do
you have any clue how fucking stunning you are?” He groaned and released her
then tugged her up by the arm. “Shirt off now.”

Her legs went weak on her but she did what he asked and
pulled off her T-shirt and then her bra. Her breasts fell out, heavier than
they’d ever been, nipples hard as stones. The skin across them tingled. He
grabbed her breasts in his big hands, squeezed them, rolled his thumbs over her
nipples.

Her head lulled back and his arm circled her waist, held her
and she arched over the security of his embrace. His mouth closed over one
ridged nipple, laving it with his tongue as his free hand tweaked the other.
Pleasure shot between her legs and control swirled out of her grasp.

The rough scrape of his whiskers against her skin added
layer upon layer of sensation to what was already too much. He moved to the
other breast and gave it equal attention, offering it a light nip with his
teeth.

“Oh god please, Connor,” she cried.

Her legs gave way and he caught her then hoisted her over
his shoulder. Her bare bottom stuck in the air, his hand resting on it.

“Just remember you asked for it.” He smacked her ass-cheek
hard enough to smart then rubbed the spot and carried her to her room.

Her breasts wobbled against his back and blood rushed to her
head, making it spin. He’d thrown her over his shoulder as he’d done at the gym
but this time she reveled in his caveman-like behavior, a tantalizing preview
of how he was about to own her.

Connor deposited her on the bed then climbed over her. Her
heart beat so hard the sound rang in her ears. He pushed her thighs apart,
dipped between them, covered her rigid clitoris with his tongue and worked it.
Pleasure hazed her vision, doubled it until the room was only shadows and
light. He drove two fingers into her. Her back arched off the bed.
Too
much
…
All the freaking teasing had heightened her sensitivity. She moaned
breathlessly, sounding like someone else.

He raised his face and swirled his fingers in her. “Don’t
come yet.”

She grasped the back of his head but his short hair provided
little to grip as she urged him down. “I fucking have to,” she screamed.

He rose above her, grabbed the back of her knee and flipped
her over. Her stomach hit the covers and her knees were knocked apart, her hips
drawn back. He palmed her bottom, squeezed her cheeks then pressed one
still-wet finger against her rear entrance. She jerked, clenched her cheeks and
gasped. Her thigh muscles twitched, desperation shaking every cell. He circled
the forbidden entrance with his damp finger.