Guarding Raine (Security Ops) (25 page)

Macauley O’Neill. She’d told him once that the name sounded like a poet. Now she wondered if it described a saint. How much would it take to tempt a saint? she wondered. How much to tempt a man who held himself to higher ideals than any plaster of Paris martyr had ever harbored?

Perhaps tonight, if she could summon the courage, she’d find out.

Mac prowled around the kitchen restlessly. He’d scavenged through her cupboards and found some brandy. That would do, he thought judiciously. One drink would have just enough kick to get her completely relaxed. Two would complete the trick, and three— well, three would mean she’d need some help getting to bed.

He pursed his lips consideringly. Better not push it. Three might guarantee her a solid night’s sleep, but would mean far less than that for him if he was forced to get anywhere close to a bed with Raine and then leave her.

The thought of putting Raine to bed gave rise to a more pleasurable solution to the problem tonight. Exhaustion could be arrived at by much more mutually satisfying means than brandy.

He pushed away from the counter, impatient at the way his mind kept coming back to one thing. One woman. It wasn’t a possibility, and it wouldn’t be fair to her to offer his protection, give her his body and walk away. A needling idea tormented him, one that slyly suggested walking away might not be necessary, but he knew better. She’d put her life back together over insurmountable odds. He was just beginning to be able to sleep through a solid night, and it had been four years since he’d come home. Once his parents had spoken of grandchildren, had teased about a daughter-in-law, but his mother never spoke of it now. She knew, somehow, in that indiscernible perception a mother has for her child, that something inside of Mac was gnawing away, and it couldn’t all be obliterated by the love of a good woman.

Wanting something had never made it happen. That’s what Shawna O’Neill had always told him, and he knew from experience that wanting to be whole again, wanting to be the kind of man someone like Raine deserved wasn’t going to be enough. And only a bastard would ignore that.

He rubbed a hand over his face, and was half surprised to see the grime on his palm. He hadn’t cleaned up after the fire, and he didn’t think it would be such a good idea to share the bathroom with Raine. He opened a drawer and pulled out a kitchen towel. Shucking his shirt, he turned on the faucet, cupped some water in both hands and splashed his face and chest. Then he washed his hands, and with careless disregard he wet the towel and dragged it across his torso.

Feeling slightly fresher, if not totally clean, he turned off the water and reached for another towel. He heard a noise behind him and looked over his shoulder. All the blood in his body pooled behind his fly. She was standing in the doorway, and her skin was rosy from the bath. She was wearing a green silky shift that had narrow straps, and every hormone in his body attested to the fact that she was wearing little, if anything, beneath it.

“It occurred to me that you weren’t going to be able to find any whiskey in here anyway.” She nodded toward the cupboards. “So I really didn’t have anything to worry about.”

She had plenty to worry about, he wanted to tell her. If she had a notion of the kind of thoughts running through his head right now, he’d guarantee she’d be plenty worried. He picked up a glass from the counter and thrust it at her. “Here.” His voice was raspy. “It’s brandy. Drink it.”

She moved toward him to take it, and his eyes narrowed assessingly. He’d never noticed her hips move with that seductive sway before, and he wondered for just a second if it was purposeful. Then she took the glass from his hand without managing to touch him, and he berated himself for his imagination. He wiped the excess moisture from his chest carelessly, then threw the towel with the other in the corner on the floor. He watched as she leaned against the edge of the table and looked from the contents of the glass to him.

“You didn’t by any chance slip a mickey into this, did you?” she asked, only half joking.

“If the brandy does its job, you won’t need one. But if you don’t trust me, I’ll take a drink from it first to prove it.”

“Oh, I trust you.” Her voice was soft, her gaze direct. “Completely.” She moved the glass to her mouth and sipped.

His gut clenched at her words, and at her meaning.
She trusted him
. She could have been talking about his ability to keep her safe, but he knew she wasn’t. She’d told him on more than one occasion that he was a better man than he gave himself credit for. He’d never wanted so much to believe that himself. He made himself look away. “You’re going to have to drink more than that.”

Bracing herself, she swallowed half the contents of the glass. The burning sensation brought tears to her eyes and a gasp to her lips. She shuddered. “It’s awful,” she said. “I never understood how a person acquired a taste for this stuff.”

“Mostly they acquire a taste for what it does for them.”

She nodded. There were many ways to forget. She’d been lucky she’d gotten help all those years ago before she’d chosen this one. She drank the rest of the brandy, better prepared for the taste this time. Then, crossing the room, she set the glass on the counter near his wrist.

Mac went still, his nostrils flaring. She was close, and he could smell the hint of lilac in the soap she’d used. Her pulse was beating rapidly in the spot below her jaw, and he couldn’t help noticing that her nipples were taut beneath the shift. He thought of that for a moment, of how the material must have rubbed the delicate tips to cause that kind of reaction. He would never have accredited her response to himself.

Turning away abruptly, he picked up the bottle and poured her another healthy shot. What the hell. The sooner she was out of commission, the sooner he could get to his own room alone. And spend the night howling silently at the moon like some damn animal in agony.

He gritted his teeth at the thought. Turning, he almost shoved the glass toward her. She took it, but didn’t back away this time. Her lips parted to accept the liquid and when she moved the glass from from her lips, she swept the errant drops of liquid away with the tip of her tongue.

He watched that unhurried movement intently. The method he’d chosen to relax her was having the opposite effect on him. His muscles were bunched up into knots, and his groin was drawn tight. He turned from the sight and reached for his shirt. As he picked it up he noticed it was streaked with soot and he wadded it up and threw it with barely restrained force onto the pile of towels he’d already discarded.

Raine noticed the fury of his movements and watched him uncertainly. He seemed different tonight somehow. His eyes were hooded and intense. He looked as if he was the one in need of relaxation. All of a sudden she questioned the wisdom of her half-formed plan tonight, to see what it would take to make Macauley O’Neill lose his famed control. She was no longer certain she wanted to be responsible for letting all that tightly coiled energy loose.

She escaped his intent gaze by closing her eyes and taking a large swallow. She coughed as the brandy went down, choking a little, and her wrist tipped, spilling the remaining liquid down the front of her gown.

His eyes narrowed to ice blue chips. The brandy traced a path over one nipple and arrowed to her stomach. His gaze followed the trail it took, observing the widening of its path as the thin material soaked up the liquid. He didn’t make a move to get her a towel to dry herself. He was out of helpfulness for the night.

Raine wiped away tears from the corner of her eyes. The brandy had taken a burning wrong turn down her windpipe, and it didn’t look as if she’d have to worry about drinking the rest of it—she was wearing it instead. She crossed over to Mac and took a dish towel out of the drawer. She dabbed at the wetness with embarrassment. She was a total washout as a femme fatale. Instead of giving her courage, the brandy had loosened her muscles to the point of clumsiness. She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, and her movements gradually stilled.

Macauley’s face was taut and wild, and he was watching every move she made with the intent look of a bird of prey. And then he looked in her eyes, and the towel fell, forgotten, from her hand.

Desire. She knew intuitively what she saw in those glittering blue eyes, and the recognition fanned her own. It wasn’t an emotion she’d had much familiarity with in the past. But it was impossible to mistake. She’d learned all she knew about the feeling from him.

When she reached out a shaky hand to touch him he went even stiller. She traced the strong breastbone that delineated his torso. One thumb brushed gently across the taut nub on his chest, and he hissed. The sound caused her eyelids to droop, and her hand slid lower. He caught it in his own.

“Time to get you to bed,” he said, his voice a hoarse rasp.

She knew there was no sensual hidden meaning in his words, and she could have wept. She was inexperienced, but enough of a woman to know that he wanted her. And enough of a realist to know he wasn’t going to allow himself to act on his desire.

She preceded him out of the kitchen. He went through what had become a familiar routine. He locked the back door and flicked the light off behind her. Checking the door to the garage, he efficiently moved to the front, locked it and set the alarm. He caught up with her where she’d hesitated at the stairs, and unthinkingly reached by her to flip off the lights. He heard her gasp and knew immediately what he’d done. He’d witnessed her careful progress through the house enough times. Before turning off the light for the room in back of her, Raine always switched on the one ahead. One hand reversed his careless act, but not before her body had slammed against his, her fingers grasping at the waistband of his jeans.

He knew, with his head, that he’d startled her with the abrupt descension of darkness. He never would have been so careless if his mind hadn’t been shattered in a million different pieces from watching her a few minutes ago. But even knowing that her need for him stemmed from her fear couldn’t dim the tidal wave of arousal that finally burst forth.

His hand dropped of its own accord and traveled quickly to fasten on her waist. He pulled her even closer, lowered his mouth and found hers. The simmering desire he’d been fighting boiled out of control, and reason receded. Her lips were sweet with the remnants of the brandy, and without thought he pressed them open and swept the taste of the liquor from her mouth with his tongue. He couldn’t blame the brandy for the speed with which her taste went to his head. Her hands, which had had such a death grip on the waistband of his pants, moved upward to clasp around his waist.

Without releasing her lips, he slipped his arm below her buttocks and lifted her up a step, so she was closer to his own height. He angled his mouth for a closer fit, and the demand it made was implicit. His tongue skated over hers and then returned to claim it.

Her knees grew weak, and Raine’s arms climbed to twine around his neck, one hand entangling in the longer hair at his nape. The speed with which his dam of desire had burst dizzied her. But its strength erased the single moment of panic she’d had in the darkness, and it was forgotten in the surging pleasure of his touch.

The moisture on the front of Raine’s nightgown dampened his skin, and Mac broke the kiss as he remembered how the wetness had occurred. Panting, he drew the material of the shift tightly across her breast and lowered his mouth, finding the spot where she’d spilled. He sucked strongly, a little roughly, the brandy on the material coating his tongue as he lashed the pebbled hardness of her nipple beneath.

A broken cry came from her, and she twisted against his mouth. This was what she’d wanted, his control broken, his reason gone. For a moment, earlier, she’d been almost frightened by the thought of unleashing his passion. But now she couldn’t get enough of it. She’d never expected that she could inspire such emotion in a man, nor that she’d want to. But Macauley’s loss of control sent shivers of exhilaration shooting through her veins.

The narrow straps of her shift were lowered down her slim arms, and Mac raised his head. The fabric was wet from his mouth over her breast, and he observed the pouting nipple thrusting against it. Then he pulled the material down to her wrists and turned her so her back was against the railing. He went down on one knee in front of her and drew his chest across her breasts.

Sparks flew inside her at the rasp of his hair-roughened torso dragging against her sensitized nipples. Her breath caught at the exquisite sensation, so pleasurable it bordered on pain. And then she felt herself being held closer, her shoulders arching over the railing as wet heat enclosed her nipple. The suction of his mouth caused a corresponding weakness in her limbs.

Mac raised his head slightly and looked down at her with slitted eyes. Her pretty breasts were shapely, almost conical, her pink nipples drawn to firm points. His hand replaced his mouth on the breast he’d abandoned, massaging it as his other hand plumped its twin for his lips.

His lips tugged at her, and the searing heat was suddenly too much Raine. She twisted in his arms. The shift had slid down to her wrists, and suddenly she couldn’t bear to have her hands confined. She wanted them free, like his. She wanted the pleasure of skating them over his skin, finding the places that made him moan. When he raised his head again she wiggled from the narrow straps, her hands gliding up his chest.

He watched as the silky fabric caught on her narrow hips, draping enticingly. He curled his fingers into the material and gave it a little tug, sending it to pool at her feet. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, fighting for control. She wore only a scrap of midnight blue panties, more lace than fabric, which hinted enticingly at the mysterious shadow beneath them.