Rush (13 page)

She took a couple of steps forward, but he didn’t dare twitch even a finger. “Actually, yes. I am. What are the options?”

“I have some take-out menus in a drawer in the kitchen.” He risked lifting a hand toward the kitchen. “I’ll get them and you can decide.” He waited for her nod to move slowly in the direction of the kitchen. “Would you like a drink?” he called over his shoulder as he reached the entry of the kitchen.

“Whatever you’re having,” she answered.

He rifled through the drawer, finding a fistful of menus. When he turned, she stood in the doorway, watching him with a wariness that made the space between his shoulder blades itch.

“There’s Italian. Chinese. Mexican.” She shook her head at the last suggestion, her face scrunching into a smile that was all eyes and no teeth.

He tried a laugh. “No, I guess not. There’s a deli around the corner that delivers.”

“That sounds good.” She held out her hand. “Can I see the menu?”

*****

They ate their submarine sandwiches and potato salad at the dining room table. The jagged metal and glass chandelier hung over them like a flail mid swing. Mi flicked uncertain glances between it and Lucas, trying to decide which was the prickliest. Clearly Vanessa’s unexpected visit had shaken him. She wondered if he still had feelings for Vanessa. From his reaction she didn’t think so. But Vanessa had hurt him that much was clear. Mi was sure that whatever had happened between the two of them was Vanessa’s doing, not Lucas’s.

Poor Lucas. He’d been embarrassed that she’d witnessed his loss of control. She hadn’t been sure how to approach him afterward so she took her cue from him by pretending he hadn’t put a fist sized dent in his elevator door.

She was beginning to learn that Lucas often shut down or became angry in defense against emotion. Almost as though he could put his emotions into neat little compartments to deal with later… or not. That skill must have been an asset to him in the military. She looked up through her lashes at him, watching him systematically devour his dinner with the precision of an infantry drill.

“How’s your food?” he asked.

“Very good.” She looked down at the wrapper in front of her with nothing left on it but a blob of mayonnaise and a few shreds of lettuce. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“I called Detective Rolls about the incident at the restaurant.”

She nodded. The feeling of being hunted came back to her ten-fold. She clamped down on it, shoving it down deep with all of the other emotions she couldn’t allow. She wished she had Lucas’s skill in handling her emotions. Hers weren’t neat. They were a jumbled, tangled mess that bubbled and spat at the lid she tried to keep over them.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, got up, and cleared the table. She watched his controlled movements in fascination. His restraint was incredible. She only pretended at control, just barely managing to keep it together. Knowing at any moment she could lose the battle and end up like her mother.

“Would you like a beer?” he asked.

“Only if you’ll have one with me,” she half joked.

He paused, looking down at her, his lips pressed into a deep frown. “I would. But after what happened today…” Something close to regret dug a furrow between his brows and he placed a hand on her cheek, stroking the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone. “I won’t take any chances with you.”

She nodded, tilting her head into his caress. “I understand.” And she did. Whatever she was to him now was more than just a job. The thrumming he caused deep within her shimmered and shook, quivering so keenly she could hardly contain it. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation.

He kneeled down in front of her. “Mi.”

Her lashes fluttered open and she found herself staring into eyes the color of a night sea, dark and fathomless. He leaned forward slowly, always slowly.
Too
slowly. She placed her hands on either side of his face and hurried him along. The first brush of his lips had her turning in her chair, scooting toward him. He wound his arms around her, bringing her flush against him, and changed the angle of the kiss, still keeping it light. His body was hot and hard in all the right places. She inhaled his scent like drug. It got inside her and she knew for as long as she lived she’d associate the smell of him with warm nights and a yearning so fierce she wanted to rip her clothes off and present herself for his pleasure.

He moaned, a sound both plaintive and aching as he pulled away from her. “Detective Rolls is sending someone over for the envelope.” He set his forehead to hers. “He should be here any moment
.”

“Okay.” He stood to leave, but she grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “I just wanted to say thank you. For dinner. For letting me stay here. And for being so good at your job.” She pulled on his wrist for emphasis. “Thank you. For everything.”

He looked away, his jaw working, then turned back angry. “You can thank me by not thanking me.”

“I just… I’m sorry.”

Bracketing her with a hand on her chair and a hand on the table, he leaned down. “I don’t want your apologies either,” he said, his voice rough and agitated.

“Wh… what do you want?”

The doorbell rang. He didn’t look away at the sound or start as she did.

“You.” And then he was gone in a fleeting movement that left behind nothing, but the echo of his hard footsteps on the tile floor.

She sat for a moment, dazed. Her hand fluttered to her throat where her pulse jumped in time with her heart and pounded in her ears. She couldn’t catch her breath. The room seemed to disappear. Her senses extinguished, leaving her with nothing, but the simple knowledge that Lucas wanted her. He’d had Vanessa. He’d probably had many beautiful women, but now he wanted her. Tiny, freckled, freakish her.

She didn’t dare to hope. Didn’t dare to dream. He was attracted to her, she knew. Past that she hadn’t seen. Hadn’t thought to look. And why would she?

“Meow.” Gooch sat at her feet, staring up at her with his giant marble eyes.

She bent and picked him up, nuzzling him to her. “Well, hello, Mr. Gooch. Where have you been hiding?”

Voices intruded on her thoughts from the other room, both male. She should probably go in there and give her accounting of what happened at the restaurant.

The cat wiggled in her hands so she put him down on the table in front of her.

“He’s a complicated man,” she told the cat. He stared back at her. “I have a complicated life. This could… complicate things… even more.” He blinked. “Then again—”

Gooch yawned and curled up on the placemat, winding his tail around to his nose.

“Well.” She exhaled hard. “He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would say something like that just to get into my pants. He wouldn’t have to. He’s been nearly there just about every time he’s touched me.” She frowned over that. “Maybe I’ve made it too easy for him. What do you think?” Silence. “Don’t judge me. He’s seriously hot. And when he touches me, well… wow. Big wow. Fireworks and lightening wow.”

Gooch’s brows twitched.

“He wants me.” She hugged Lucas’s declaration to her a moment more, then with a long sigh she put away her hope, picked up the cat and went into the other room.

CHAPTER EIGHT

For the next few days Lucas gave Mi some space, keeping his hands mostly to himself. He’d been clear about what he wanted. Now it was up to her.

The wait was killing him.

She’d received a phone call yesterday morning that she’d rushed to the privacy of her bedroom to take. When she’d emerged, she’d been trembling and had a hard time meeting his gaze. Since then she’d avoided his touch, but a few times he’d caught her watching him with a look that nearly scorched his skin. She wanted him. So who or what was holding her back?

He thought about calling Malcolm back to dig deeper into her background or at the very least get a copy of her phone records to find out who she’d spoken to. But honor got the better of him and he couldn’t do it. As her bodyguard he’d be entitled to find out as much as he could about her and her life by whatever means necessary. As her lover—damn, just the thought—he expected total honesty. Anything less was unacceptable. And this he suddenly realized was the possible reason she held back.

So he’d wait. With the worst case of blue balls since his high school days when he’d dated Wendy I’m-saving-myself-for-marriage Conrad.
Those
were six of the longest months of his life. He hadn’t been half as attracted to Wendy as he was to Mi. Living with Mi and not having her was liable to kill him. Hopefully it would be a quick death.

It was Friday and Mi had just finished taping her last show of the week. They’d been told to wait in Crosby’s office with no further explanation. Lucas hung out in the hall near the door, unable to stand being in the same confining space with Mi and not be able to touch her.

She sat at the edge of her chair, jiggling her leg, and biting her lip. He overrode his instinct to go to her and hold her or distract her with a kiss. Instead he paced the short hall, like a caged panther, feeling more than a little restless and edgy. He needed a good long run or a hard workout in the gym. Vigorous hand-to-hand combat that left him sweaty and exhausted would work just as well. No, better. Bodies entwined, grappling for purchase…

Fuck.

“Where’s Mi?” Crosby growled from behind him.

Lucas gestured toward the doorway.

“Get in there. I need to talk to the both of you.”

Lucas shuffled in behind Crosby and closed the door. He stood rather than sat next to Mi.

Crosby opened a desk drawer and rummaged around. He grunted when he’d finally found what he’d been looking for—a silver flask. He took a long pull, capped it, and dropped it back in the drawer, shoving it closed with his foot.

Leaning back in his chair, Crosby divided his blood shot gaze between the two of them as he spoke. “I’m told C.A.L.M. has Senator Vasquez and Congress… person—” He rolled his eyes. “—Williams on board with their goddamned agenda. Which means someone gave a helluva lot of money to their campaigns.

“It also means that more idiots are going to pay that goddamned Stepford bitch-wife Cookie Dixon and her crazies even more attention. We’re going to have the goddamned media crawling up our asses, trying to get quotes. Don’t do it. Not one goddamned word. You hear me?”

He pointed a finger at each one of them in turn, eliciting their agreement. When they’d both nodded yes, Crosby continued in a gentler tone for Mi. “How’re you holding up, Kid?”

“I’m okay.”

“I hear you had a scare.”

“It wasn’t so bad.”

Crosby gave her a disbelieving glare. “Don’t placate me like some goddamned grandfather! I know more about this goddamned shit than you do, so don’t bullshit me. You hear?”

“Yes, Crosby.”

“And you.” He turned his attention to Lucas, making him straighten up from the wall. “You’re glue. You stick to her like goddamned white on rice.
You
hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And remember that other thing I told you. I’m not too old to kick your ass from here to Albuquerque. And I’ll do it, too. Just try me.”

“Crosby,” Mi begged.

Lucas actually broke out in a sweat as if he was standing on his girlfriend’s porch with his hands on her tits, staring down the barrel of her father’s sawed-off shotgun. “Yes, sir. I remember.”

Mi buried her face in her hands, red-hot embarrassment flooding her from head to toe. She loved Crosby and knew he loved her, but sometimes being treated like one his daughters was… difficult.

Crosby subsided with a firm nod. “That’s all. Get out of here. And take care of my girl!” he added as they hit the hall.

Lucas dropped behind her as they made their way through the building to the exit. He’d pulled back from her since the night he told her he wanted her, limiting his touches to only those that were necessary. She more than missed the feel of his hands on her. She ached for him.

She’d nearly gone to him last night, needing his strength and ever-present promise of pleasure. Her mother, Faye Easley, had called her that morning, sounding more fractured than she had since the months after Ethan’s birth. She’d begged Mi to come and see her. Her nonsensical ramblings about visions and dreams, reminded Mi of those days thirteen years ago when Faye’s unpredictable behavior brought nights of sheer terror.

The nights had been the worst.

Faye’s dreams spilled over into waking nightmares for Mi and her brother Jason. On several occasions Mi had woken up to find their mother roaming the halls, mumbling frightening things about demons and murder. Once Mi found her leaning over Ethan’s crib with a pillow in her hand. After that, Mi had slept in the hall outside Ethan’s room. Sitting with her back pressed to the wall, Mi had forced herself to stay awake night after night.

Terrorized by their mother’s behavior, ten year-old Jason went into a tailspin, acting out in school and sleepwalking. With Mi’s father dead since she was two, Jason’s father gone for more years than he’d stayed, and little Ethan’s father a mystery, Jason had turned to Mi for the things a parent should have done. She took on the role, doing the best her fifteen year-old self could to hold her family together.

Mi became the keeper of secrets and the protector of her family.

Until the night she failed.

And now it seemed she might fail them again. Sniffing back sudden tears, Mi ducked into the ladies room only to find Lucas had followed her in.

“Can’t I ever be alone?” she barked at him.

He ignored her, opening one stall door then another. When he’d cleared them all, he walked out without a word. She knew he’d be waiting outside the door.

She wanted to hit something, preferably him. Instead she ran the tap and splashed cold water on her face and neck. The chill water soothed the ache behind her eyes, but did little to relieve the frustration riding her.

When she came out of the bathroom, he was there, waiting. She motioned for him to proceed. In silence they performed the ritual of exiting the building, like a well-choreographed dance. He swept the area, gun drawn, and walked around the truck, peering inside and under. When he was satisfied, he returned for her, bundled her into the truck, and then they were on their way. To
his
apartment.

Nothing was hers anymore. Not the car she rode in, the house where she lived, the decisions she made, how she spent her time. She couldn’t even go to the bathroom without the production of a full room sweep.

And she hated it.

Guilt burned a hole in her stomach. She should be grateful, not resentful. He was there to keep her safe, but after a week of being guarded twenty-four seven she was damn sick of what her life had become.

Lucas drove around the building toward the gate and her attitude instantly changed. Her annoyance melted into relief, her resentment became gratitude as she sank into the foot well of the truck out of sight of the crowd, which had doubled again in size thanks to the news vans clogging the street.

Lucas muttered an expletive, his dark gaze narrowed. “Keep down. This crowd’s out for blood.”

She made herself as small as possible, wedging between the dash and floor. Their getaway was quicker than usual thanks to Cal’s added security, which had cleared a lane wide enough for them to pass. The shouts and jeers—although muffled in the truck’s interior—crashed around her, like brutal waves in an ocean of hate. She clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.

After a few minutes, she felt a hand on her arm and opened her eyes to find Lucas looking down at her. “It’s all right. You can sit up now. We’re well past them.”

She climbed up into her seat and clicked on her seat belt.

“Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep?” he asked.

“What?”

“That’s what you kept saying over and over.”

“Oh. I was trying to drown out the voices.”

The corners of his mouth kicked up into a rare smile. “It was cute.”

“I guess it’s better than la-la-la-la-la.”

Stopped at a light, he gave her a slow appraisal, the smile warming his eyes to melting dark chocolate. “You’re holding up well. I’m impressed. I’ve seen battle-hardened sailors who’ve caved under less stress.”

She wasn’t holding up, she was barely holding on. Not sure how to answer, she didn’t.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

She wondered if he realized what a caretaker he was, often asking how she was, if she wanted anything. And he always made sure she ate. It was a strange feeling being on the receiving end. She didn’t dare get used to it.

“You know what sounds good?” she replied. “Pizza. My treat.”

His hesitation and deep frown told her he wasn’t comfortable with her paying for anything, but he gave in. “Sounds good. But no pineapple.”

She mock shuddered. “Absolutely not. You want pineapple, you pay.”

They rode back to his apartment in silence, but it was an easy kind of quiet, like that shared by friends or lovers. She was grateful for the peace. Closing her eyes, she leaned back in her seat and relaxed.

She must have dozed off because when she opened her eyes, Lucas was carrying her into the elevator. Over his shoulder she caught the two doormen watching with avid interest. She ducked into his chest, mortified.

As the doors closed with them inside, she kicked her feet and patted his chest. “You can put me down now. I’m awake.”

He looked down at her, his gaze tracing her features, settling on her mouth. “Not just yet.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

“Lucas,” she whispered, the feel of their bodies pressed together stealing her breath.

He lifted her closer, his intent clear, and then at the last moment he glanced away as the doors whooshed open. Once across the threshold, he lowered her gently to the ground and immediately took himself off to the kitchen, mumbling something about menus and coupons. The moment was over with the elevator ride, but its effect left her out of breath and trembling. She put a hand out, catching the edge of the entry table, needing the support.

She caught her reflection in the mirror. Placing her hands on her flushed cheeks, she mentally chided herself.
You’re an idiot. You want him. He wants you. Go for it!

She’d do it. Tonight. After dinner. No, at bedtime. She’d just follow him into his room very seductive-like. Except she didn’t do seductive or anything resembling it.

“I’ve got two menus,” Lucas said from behind her, causing her to jump and yelp in surprise, knocking a box off the table.

She bent to pick it up at the same time he reached for it. At the sight of his hand covering hers on the box, heat flooded her, and a burst of pure lust detonated the last of her reserve. She threw herself at him. He caught her deftly, tumbling them over until he lay on top of her. He stared down at her with eyes full of the pent up longing that threatened to consume her. This time he didn’t give her a chance to reject him and set his mouth to hers with the determination of a man who would not be turned away.

His kiss was hot and fierce, lighting an answering fire within her. She clung to him, wrapping her arms and legs around him, pressing his pelvis into hers. He groaned. Or was that her? His hand stole up under her shirt and some of his control seemed to slip on a moan as he palmed her bare breast.

“You’re not wearing a bra,
querida
,” he murmured against her throat.

“No.”

“Thank God.”

He traced circles around the tip of her breast with his thumb, closer and closer, but not quite giving her what she wanted. She threw an arm up, arching her back. With a low growl he shoved her shirt up. He stopped everything and just stared at her bared breasts. She grew nervous, hoping he wasn’t disappointed.

“They’re so small,” he whispered.

Mortification washing over her, she tried to push her shirt back down, but he held it tight.

“No. Don’t. Let me.” And then he bent his head and sucked nearly her whole breast into his mouth, his tongue playing with her hardened nipple.

She lurched up, stunned by the erotic pull. She clasped the back of his head, fastening him to her, and writhed against him. He unbuttoned her jeans and slid his large hand past her panties. His groan at finding her hot and wet for him reverberated through her breast. She gripped his wrist, wanting his fingers inside her. He slid across her slick folds as she guided him and caught her rhythm.