Engaging Bodyguard Page 12

Celeste watched him glance at the work station, monitoring the high-tech systems. Computers, radar tracking, satellite imaging, closed-circuit monitors—some she recognized, the use of others she didn’t have a clue about.

  “If you have to work—”

  Quamar’s gaze returned to hers. “I have set up the portable monitors but Cerberus is monitoring through a satellite feed, allowing Prometheus and myself a little more freedom to accomplish our mission.”

  “Cerberus?” It took Celeste a moment to remember. “Cerberus—that’s Roman D’Amato. I remember.” She nodded her head. “Cain has him watching the warehouse?” She asked, suspecting the answer before Quamar spoke.

  “Yes.” Slowly, he tilted her chin up exposing her neck. “The wound is paltry, but needs cleaning. Do I have your permission?”

  “Yes.” The throbbing ebbed, and Celeste managed to sit a little straighter. “The portable monitors are new. Are they another of Kate’s inventions?”

  The antiseptic wipe soothed the sting of the cut. The gentleness of Quamar’s fingers soothed the tension everywhere else. “Doctor D’Amato is an extremely clever woman,” he explained.

  Something in the man’s tone—some pride, a softness that seemed more than casual—caught Celeste’s attention. “Does Cain know that you’re in love with his sister?” She almost bit her tongue off when the question slipped out. She must be more exhausted than she thought because she usually wasn’t so unfeeling. Or maybe Cain was rubbing off on her.

  But Quamar surprised her with a grin before bandaging the wound. “You must be very good at your job.”

  “Lucky guess.” Uncomfortable with the quizzical glint in his chocolate-brown eyes, Celeste focused on the smooth lines of the giant’s bald head.

  Something about the man conveyed trust, gentleness. She decided to be honest. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not usually so callous. Your feelings for Kate D’Amato are none of my business. My only excuse is that it’s been a long day.”

  “We all have our secrets.” Then, with a chuckle, he sat back and studied her for a moment. “It is hard for one not to love Doctor D’Amato. Yet, because of this love, it is easier to accept that she has found happiness with a close friend.”

  “Is it?” she murmured. Celeste had known Cain would eventually love another. Even while she’d hoped as much, during the late hours of many nights, the despair haunted her.

  “Prometheus hasn’t realized that you still love him, has he?” After grabbing the first aid kit and wrappers, Quamar took them to the kitchen.

  “No,” she said, too startled by his question to offer any objection. “How did you guess?”

  “Probably the same way you did.” His laugh was marvelous—a thick, warm comforter to snuggle under on a dreary day. “It was not hard. Your eyes burn with a blue fire at the mention of his name. A fire that is not created from just anger or frustration.”

  “With me it’s never been a question of love, Quamar. But acceptance.” She did love Cain. “Too much has happened. Our pasts are too tangled. We’ve both changed.” The admission came hard to her, and not without pain.

  “Will you tell him?” Quamar asked, seemingly busy with his task, but Celeste wasn’t fooled.

  “That I love him?” She questioned, proud of herself for not letting the show pain through. “Probably. Will it matter?” She asked rhetorically. “Probably not.”

  His features gentled with concern. On most men his size, the expression would’ve appeared ridiculous, on Quamar it was genuine.

  “We have an unpleasant history.” Celeste sighed, her mind sweeping back through the years.

  “And here you both are—how did you put it?” His smooth forehead creased as he struggled for the word. “Tangled.” His mouth curved, victorious. “You are both still tangled.”

  “But in a different way,” Celeste admitted. “An entirely different way.”

  Quamar nodded. “But when a person is tangled, there are only two options. Take the time to straighten the knots, or cut themselves loose, quick and clean.

  “You do not have much time to decide.” He nodded toward the kitchen window. “Cain has arrived. And…” he added as his eyebrow rose speculatively, “…if I am not mistaken, he appears extremely agitated.” Quamar glanced over his shoulder. “You might want to consider cutting loose, Celeste.”

  When she frowned, Quamar laughed. “At least you would have a knife for protection.”

  CAIN PARKED and cut the engine of the Jag. In the distance, a dog barked, then after a second, came a few answering howls. For a moment, he listened, trying to find something to calm the storm within him. But in his mind’s eye, Celeste lay unconscious in Quamar’s arms, the red gash on her neck, her body limp.

  The anger surged, fed by impatience and—damn her—fear. Celeste had managed to worm past his emotional barricade and left the need for reassurance throbbing in him. Reassurance that she was safe.

  He glanced at the cottage, following the pointed peaks of its roofline to the clapboard siding and small-paned windows. The knowledge that she sat just beyond the glass did little to help.

  On the surface, he appeared to be in complete control, even relaxed. But a caged tiger prowled within—held back with a fragile lock.

  “Let’s go, cat.” Pan yowled as Cain pulled him from the passenger seat into his arms. “I don’t want to hear any complaining.” Cain shoved open the car door with his foot and stepped out into the cold night air. “You’re going to owe me some leather, and I don’t mind taking it out of your hide.”

  CELESTE DISMISSED Quamar’s observation. Cain furious? Even if he was, he’d control it. He wouldn’t allow himself to be so human. She stood though, wincing only a little over her stiff ankle, refusing to face Cain any other way. What she expected was indifference, even a scathing lecture on her incompetence—not that she would’ve tolerated it.

  What she didn’t expect was the rush of relief that hit her when Cain filled the doorway.

  Quamar had told her Cain was safe, but until she saw it herself, she hadn’t truly believed him. She caught the back of the couch for support and drank in the raw sexual vibrations, the rugged windblown features—the angry determination. She knew, ironically, that if he were to change, he wouldn’t be the man she loved.

  “I found your cat by the warehouse.” Cain dropped Pan to the floor, showing disinterest when the cat scooted under the couch by Celeste. “You should do a better job of keeping track of him.”

  “I should—”

  “Yes, you should.” It ought to have been charming—just the thought he had rescued Pan, Celeste fumed. But then he’d had to open his mouth and ruin it.

  He glanced at the monitors. “Anything?”

  “No. Gabriel disabled the cameras,” Quamar answered and shrugged on his down jacket. “I doubt he will return.”

  “Then we try again,” Cain said. “Follow me.” Before turning, he pinned Celeste with narrowed eyes. “You stay here.”

  Not waiting for an answer, the two men stepped outside. Celeste prickled with anger, forgetting her earlier worry almost instantly.

  “I’m not your pet, Cain. And I’m tired of being told to stay.” When she pushed the door open, both men turned in unison, like two vultures spying prey. Celeste took an involuntary step back, halted and stood her ground.

  “I don’t think you want to mess with me right now, Gypsy.” Each word was spoken low, each syllable drawn out.

  She stiffened at the challenge. “Really?” She moved with a definite purpose, choosing to ignore her limp. The night air lashed out at her, piercing her shirt, leaving her skin a blanket of goose bumps. She crossed her arms, more in defiance of the man than the weather. “I’m not messing with you, I’m working with you,” she responded tightly, annoyed when she couldn’t stop the piercing shrillness of her comment. “You tend to forget that.” God, he’d not only turned her into a loon, but a shrewish one to boot.

  Quamar tilted his head back with a low, rumbling laugh. �
��I will head to the Cambridge mansion. It seems you have your hands full here. I will contact you if I discover anything.”

  “The mansion? To do what?” Celeste knew she’d be safer if Quamar stayed, but she refused to think of that now that he was leaving. She was not a puppet in this mission, to be pulled this way and that, whenever it appealed to Cain. If she hadn’t warned him, he would’ve been knifed at the very least. And for once she’d like to see a little gratitude, damn it!

  The slam of the car door brought her abruptly out of her thoughts.

  “Quamar’s going to scope the estate, see how secure it is.” Cain watched as she rubbed her arms. “We can give Olivia a little more protection, without jeopardizing the integrity of our investigation.”

  “Why aren’t we going with him?” she demanded, biting down on the urge to let her teeth chatter.

  “I trust Quamar to take care of business.” Cain’s face tightened. “And as I pointed out before, you’re injured.”

  She reached up and yanked the bandage off her neck, barely holding back a wince. “It’s nothing more than a scratch.”

  “And your ankle?”

  “I’ve run on worse,” she countered, defiant, until a ripple of shivers ruined the effect.

  Cain’s eyes narrowed. “Get inside, Celeste. I don’t need you to catch pneumonia on top of everything else.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I wouldn’t if you followed instructions.”

  “Instructions? Or orders?” With a huff, she limped past him, grateful to be back in the warmth of the cottage. “I told you, I can take care of myself.”

  “You’re wrong.” The chill in his words dropped the temperature inside to zero.

  Cain locked the door, then lounged casually against the frame. “I told you to stay in the Jag.” His comment was low, even lazy, but he didn’t fool her. Not anymore. In the soft light of the room, she saw what she’d missed outside in the darkness.

  Although his stance seemed relaxed, his eyes had narrowed into two slits of tempered steel. And she understood instinctively, if she moved, they’d slice her in half.

  Quamar had been wrong. Cain wasn’t angry, he was enraged. Containing a sudden surge of panic, she glanced at the doorway behind him and gauged her chances.

  “Go ahead, try it,” he taunted, crossing his ankles. “I’d like nothing better.”

  “You’d have come after me under the same circum- stances.” Silently calling herself a fool for not heeding Quamar’s warning—for depending on Cain’s innate self-control—Celeste stepped back, putting a little distance between her and the storm she saw raging in him. Somehow she knew, a simple grab and shake wasn’t going to do him this time. “Admit it.”

  “I needed you monitoring the cameras,” he countered evenly.

  “Quamar said Roman was monitoring them, too.”

  He eased away from the door then, and took a step toward her, stalking her. “You didn’t know that.”

  “I didn’t know a lot, it seems.” Her chin went up, as anger brought her a surge of courage. “You take risks all the time. I have the right to choose when and if I’ll do the same.”

  “Wrong again.”

  She flung her head back, annoyed by the fact that she had to in order meet his gaze. “How was I supposed to know Quamar would show up? Why aren’t you screaming at him?”

  “Because…” He removed his jacket and tossed it onto the bench seat. “He followed my orders.”

  “You knew?” Of all the unbelievable… “How? I was with you every minute today, Cain.”

  “He and I made arrangements while you were dealing with the paramedic.” Blood pounded in his veins, straining every muscle, every fiber of his being. Emotions he’d kept in check for an eternity rose to the surface.

  When Celeste threaded her fingers through her hair in agitation, the movement caught his eye. Somewhere in that split second, he decided. This time, it would take more than simple eye contact to reassure him that she was unharmed.

  “And you were going to tell me about these arrangements…when?”

  “I wasn’t going to tell you at all. Since he was wearing a non-thermal implant, you’d never have known the difference.”

  “I could’ve shot him!”

  “Not if you had stayed in the car.” Ever so slightly, he moved closer. Although they were still inches apart, she could feel the heat of his anger burning through her clothes, singeing her skin. “You made the wrong decision and risked your damned life because of it.”

  Celeste tried another step back, but her bottom hit the end of the kitchen counter. The dimensions of the room had shrunk in the space of seconds.

  “Hold it!” She brought her hand up between them, regretting her action almost immediately when he caught her fingers.

  “I did once,” he murmured, then moved in, closing the distance, his eyes now smoky slits. “More than once. A thousand times, I’ve held back with you.” He pinned her, imprinting his hard, long body against hers. “Not this time.”

  Her heart fluttered. If she didn’t tread softly, she’d lose more than just this argument.

  She’d lose herself.

  “Look, I’m sorry you’re upset with me for being in the warehouse, but nothing happened.” She tried to maneuver away, but the edge of the counter bit into her back.

  “Nothing happened?” A vein in his throat bulged, and her eyes widened in fascination. How could she ever have thought this man lacked emotion?

  “You’re damn lucky.” He gripped the counter on either side of her. “You could’ve been killed.” Celeste watched his shoulders and biceps flex in an effort to maintain his temper. “Quamar was there to cover my ass, and instead he had to save yours. Dammit, we almost had Gabriel. I should strangle you just for that.” His breath exploded in a hiss. “And for scaring the hell out of me.”

  “No!” Alarm skittered up her spine. Without thinking, she flung herself forward, shocking them both as her arms tightened around him. “Don’t you see? I had to help you,” she murmured and buried her face into his chest. “When the transmitter went out, and the guards were dead, what did you expect me to do?”

  “Trust me.” Cain’s arms automatically jerked around her, gathering her closer. His anger dissolved with the pain in her admission. He stroked her hair, catching the familiar scent, using it to reassure himself she was safe. At least for now. “I expected you to trust me.”

  “He might’ve killed you,” she whispered, her shame seeping through. She leaned back and Cain saw the sheen of tears. “I couldn’t do anything else.” Cain caught her sob against him and kissed the top of her head. She took a shaky breath. “I love you.”

  It should have stopped him. A wounded admission like that would’ve stopped him before. Hell, a thousand things would’ve stopped him before. Things like integrity, duty—simple decency. But not one of them was going to now. He’d known that when he’d locked the door. He’d known it the first time he’d kissed her. Hell, he’d known it the moment Mercer had uttered her name.

  With a touch of his finger, Cain tipped her head back. The room’s lights set the honey-gold of her hair on fire, drawing him like a moth to its flame. Gently, as if haste might destroy the moment, Cain ran one knuckle down the delicate curve of her throat, stopping briefly to feel the hitch of her breath.

  “So beautiful.” He dipped his head until his lips rested by the fragile shell of her ear. “You have only a few seconds to say no,” he whispered, checking his control, before giving in to the temptation to taste.

  A gentle finger touched his lips, cutting off his words. “Shhh.” The word was carried on a sigh so soft it was almost a prayer. “I want you, Cain. Even if it’s just for now.”

  The tightness in his chest—a tightness he hadn’t realized existed—eased. He didn’t like the fact that her decision was that important to him. Meant so much.

  The change in the way Cain held her was subtle, but Celeste felt it. His arm flexed against her
back, his hips shifted slightly away. She glanced up at the taut skin of his cheekbones, sharpening the angles of his face while the gray in his eyes swirled, twin hurricanes.

  “Cain?” Her hands froze against his chest, paralyzed with fear. Not fear of the war waging within him. But fear of his withdrawal.

  No! Her mind screamed. Don’t be the hero. Not now.

  Chapter Twelve

  Celeste grabbed his head, tugging his hair, pulling him down. Her lips pressed against his, clumsy in their haste. The resistance was there, the way his mouth flattened against hers. But she would have none of it. She loved this man with every fiber of her being, and if all she had was this moment, so be it.

  Boldly, she stroked the grim line of his lips with her tongue. She teased the corner of his mouth as he’d done to hers so many times before, only to pause long enough to nip sensually at his lower lip.

  With a growl, he cupped her bottom and lifted her, holding her tight against him, leaving her feet to dangle inches above the floor. His lips opened over hers, capturing them with a tender fierceness that melted her bones into a waxy goo.

  “Let me show you what seduction is,” he murmured hoarsely. Without losing contact, he placed her on the counter, bringing their eyes almost level, and stepped between her legs until his arousal rubbed against the apex of her thighs.

  Her surge of victory was brief, flitting away under the sudden onslaught of desire and nervousness. She’d freed the beast, but now what would she do with him?

  As if he understood, he eased back, his gaze a soft caress. Gently, as if not to frighten her, he outlined her breast through the cotton of her shirt, each stroke of his finger setting off a burst of electric jolts through her. With a moan, she gripped the counter.

  Cain felt her shudder, her hesitation. With deliberate movements, he skimmed the line of her spine, enjoying each shiver he set off. When he reached the base, his hands curved around the flare of her hips, lifted the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside.

  His gaze fastened on his ring hanging between her perfectly shaped breasts, blue ice against hot silk. A primal need burst through him.