Engaging Bodyguard Page 8

  “No, it was a precaution. One I never used.”

  “I guess we’ve both lied, haven’t we?”

  At some point Cain had become important to her again. The actual moment it had happened didn’t matter. It disturbed her more that he had.

  “I guess we have.”

  Deep down, she realized she had even started hoping that she’d found something with him again. Something special. But how could that hope survive when she disagreed with everything he stood for—or expected.

  “This isn’t going to work.” Not the mission, not the relationship, she thought. She’d figure out another way to trap Gabriel. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. No one besides Grams had ever cared enough to protect her. But Celeste didn’t fool herself. Where Grams protected out of love, Cain did it out of duty.

  Unfortunately, Celeste wanted—needed—love. Not protection.

  Cain caught her by the elbow. She closed her eyes, resisting the temptation to turn into the comfort of his arms. How pathetic could she be?

  “Leave me alone, Cain.” Her lids fluttered open, unable to hide the entreaty.

  “No. You’ve been alone too long already.”

  “Stop playing Freud.” She bit back the urge to kick him in the shins. “What are you going to do when this is over? If we aren’t dead that is.”

  “I’ll leave.” His answer was gruff. “Because it’s for the best.”

  When she thought she couldn’t care any more, hurt any more, his confession proved her wrong. “Whose best?”

  “In the past, I might have protected you the wrong way. And I’m sorry for that. But I did it for the right reasons. Left with the same situation, I’d do it again. And while I’m here, no one is going to hurt you. Not Gabriel. Not his client. No one. I’ll make sure of that.”

  And who is going to protect me from you? she wondered silently, already knowing the answer. The answer didn’t matter because she understood that it was already too late. When Cain left, he’d be taking a part of her with him.

  “Come on.” He hugged her to his side. “I’m still hungry.”

  Celeste snuggled deeper under his arm, understanding what was beneath the words—what he hadn’t said. He cared for her. “Are you suggesting that I feed you?” she asked, not in the mood to deal with her rioting emotions.

  “No. I’m telling you to.”

  Even though his expression hadn’t changed, Celeste knew he was joking. She wasn’t in any mood for that either. “Then you’d better ask nicely or so help me—”

  “Please?”

  The shock of that one softly spoken word smacked the breath from her lungs. But it was the smile that came with it that almost brought her to her knees.

  “I’ve got vegetable soup,” she whispered, forcing her feet to keep her balanced. “Canned.”

  She’d forgotten how blatantly sexual his smile could be. The flash of white teeth, the slight tilt of his lips that hinted at some unknown male secret.

  He leaned down and kissed her, catching her gasp of surprise with his mouth. Laughing, he did it again before using his free hand to guide her through the doorway. “You remembered my second weakness.”

  She looked up at him, fighting the desire to touch the dark stubble on his jaw, to kiss the hard line of his lips—lose herself in the strength of both. Quick to tease. Tender. Romantic. This had been the man she’d known. The one who’d swept her off her feet, discovered her passion. It was the other part of him, Prometheus, who had broken her heart. “Cain—”

  “No more questions for now.” He touched his finger to her lips, then inhaled sharply when she kissed it. “First we’ll eat, then we’ll worry.”

  “Not so fast,” she mused, knowing he did it deliberately. Dangled that carrot. “What’s your first weakness?”

  His hand drifted up to caress the nape of her neck.

  “Obstinate gypsies.”

  THE DINNER was relatively easy. Cain ended up fixing it while Celeste took a shower.

  Dressed in a light blue turtleneck sweater and jeans, she sat down with him and ate a grilled cheese sandwich and canned vegetable soup. Two cans, Celeste corrected, since Cain wasn’t satisfied with one bowl.

  “You’re not cut out for this job, Celeste.” Cain leaned back, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You should be teaching or raising a family.”

  “That’s funny coming from you.”

  Cain stiffened ever so slightly, enough for Celeste to realize how harsh she’d sounded. When he stood, she caught his hand, gave him a small squeeze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  Before he could answer, the radio switched songs, catching Celeste’s attention. “Hear that?” she asked. The radio played a familiar Nat King Cole melody.

  Cain nodded.

  “It was one of Grams’ favorites,” she whispered, not wanting to ruin the peacefulness of the moment.

  “You miss her terribly, don’t you?” He whispered, too, but the words came out rough, whiskey-soaked.

  There’d been a time when passion had deepened his words, not sympathy.

  “Yes. But I’ve missed you more.”

  For a moment, time slowed. His hands slipped up her arms bringing her closer. “For what it’s worth, Gypsy, I’ve missed you, too.”

  His gaze caught her, now silver pools of molten diamonds. It was too easy to get lost in the way he looked at her—in the way he made her feel.

  Shifting, he backed her up to the wall. The cold pine went unnoticed as the heat of his body eased between her legs.

  “Please, I don’t want…” Not when she felt this raw, this vulnerable. She shook her head, unable to finish.

  “That’s the problem.” He caught her chin with the tip of his finger. The muscles quivered just under her jaw, but this time it wasn’t from fury. “I do.”

  Chapter Eight

  Cain braced his forearms against the wall on either side of her head and sank deeper into the embrace, using only his hips to force her flush against the wall. His mouth dropped to her ear, grazing the delicate curve of her lobe. A sharp nip, a light stroke of his lips turned the quivers into a violent flux of tremors.

  Desperate, Celeste turned her head away, realizing her mistake instantly. He swooped to nuzzle her neck. His warm, damp breath raised goose bumps everywhere his lips skimmed. She wedged her hands between them but instead of pushing, they held on as memories stirred.

  “Cain.” His name came out quick, riding another gasp of pleasure. “I’m afraid.”

  “Ah, Gypsy.” His hand slipped under her sweater and around to her back, tracing small, lazy circles at the base of her spine.

  His fingers should’ve been icy, but they weren’t. Hot flames of desire licked at her skin wherever he touched.

  “I’m the last person you should be afraid of.”

  The warmth of his palm cupped the curve of her waist. His thumb brushed gently against the small indentation just above her hip. A thick, liquid heat flowed, forming a whirlpool low in her belly. With a moan she arched, grinding against him, trying to ease the sensation.

  Somewhere in the distance, she heard a slight buzzing. It took her a second to recognize the gentle slide of her jeans zipper. Instinctively, she gripped his wrist.

  Turning her hand, he pressed a kiss to her palm. His tongue darted out to trace a delicate crease. A groan escaped her. His nostrils flared at the sound, but it was his gaze that changed her mind. The gray irises had sharpened to silver lightning, telling her exactly what he wanted.

  A sense of urgency drove her. She couldn’t have stopped her response, even if she’d wanted to.

  And it pleased him. Very much, she realized. There was that maddening air of arrogance surrounding him again, but this time it seduced her.

  Slowly, his hand slipped under her sweater again, this time lifting it, exposing her to his gaze. A flutter rose through her chest, swelled in her throat. His hand slid across her taut belly, his fingers icy but his palm fiery hot. Her breath caught w
ith the snap of her bra’s front clasp.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured. He eased the cup of her bra aside and gently outlined her breast with his fingertips, tracing the curves with infinite care. The caress spiked the currents of desire already racing through her. Her breasts swelled and she shifted closer, hoping the erotic strokes of his fingers would ease their ache.

  His knuckles brushed the ring hanging from her neck, sending it skittering across her breastbone. She gasped. Her eyes met his and the possessive heat in them made her tremble.

  “I’m glad you kept my ring,” he whispered.

  But when he drew away, Celeste heard a whimper, surprised that it had come from her.

  “Hold on,” he coaxed, the seduction melting over her like warm butter. He flipped her around so that her stomach pressed the wall, his pelvis bumped against the crevice between her buttocks. When she groaned, he pushed again, straining. The intensity ripped through her, savage. “When we were on the rope…” He pulled down the neck of her sweater, just enough to graze his teeth down the side of her neck. “I wanted…needed to do this.”

  “Yes.” With slow deliberation, she rubbed, eliciting a hiss against her ear. “Me, too.”

  Slowly, he turned her back, lifting her legs up around his hips, his mouth slanting over hers, fusing their passion, blurring her thoughts.

  “More,” he demanded, his voice raw, his body rigid. He guided her hand under his sweater. “All.”

  Hair, thick and coarse, tickled her palm. A delicious shudder heated her body, causing her fingers to curl, her throat to hum.

  His muscles quivered then bunched beneath her touch. His heart skipped a beat. Power surged through her. The hum she held escaped in a satisfied purr.

  Tentatively, she moved her fingers, this time brushing her nails lightly across his chest, remembering with deliberate slowness his pleasure points. She smiled when a long, deep groan rasped against her ear.

  His thumb brushed the hard peak of her breast. But it wasn’t enough. Unable to use words, she pulled at his shoulders, trying to bring him closer. Still, his touch was light, painfully teasing and totally in control.

  A moan of frustrated pleasure slipped past her slightly parted lips. His mouth covered hers, this time dominating more than persuading. Her emotions whirled and skidded. She grabbed his hair, holding him, holding on, mindless to everything except the edge of desperation that crept between them.

  Cain broke away, his hand fisted in her hair, his teeth at her neck, feasting. “Diana—”

  Celeste froze.

  “Stop!” She pushed away, her hands hitting his chest, demanding release. Nausea whiplashed through her. “Stop it, you bastard!”

  Abruptly, Cain released her only to grab her arm when she started to fall. “Damn it! You’re making it sound like I just betrayed you by whispering another woman’s name. You are Diana!”

  “No, I’m not!” The tears were there, swelling before she could blink them away.

  “From where I stand, lady…” he ground out the words as his gaze raked her body. “You most definitely are.”

  Once again, Celeste found herself hauled closer, held by both shoulders, her eyelashes almost brushing his. It was beginning to be a habit with Cain, she thought angrily, then stopped. Shock rippled through her.

  The lighthouse, the car and now. All three times he’d grabbed her in anger. No kid gloves. No fragile care. Cain would never have done that three years ago. He’d never grabbed Diana like that. Always in control, always even-tempered.

  Angry, irritated…even in the midst of passion, Cain always maintained control.

  It was a sobering thought. She’d been just as guilty as he about comparing now to the past.

  “Cain, I’m—”

  “So am I, Diana.” Slowly, he let her slide until her feet touched the floor. “So am I.” He turned away, the disgust underlining his movement. “I’m going to sleep on the couch. Tomorrow, we’ll check out Olivia Cambridge.”

  Celeste didn’t argue, understanding by his rigid stance that he was beyond listening. Maybe even beyond caring.

  Still, for a split second, if he had lifted his arms she would’ve fallen into them, placed his heart beneath her cheek and wept.

  Another sobering thought.

  Silently, she walked to her room and quietly closed the door.

  Chapter Nine

  Detroit, Midnight

  The wind whipped icy shards of snow and bits of garbage across the deserted pavement of Michigan Avenue. Only the neon lights of the strip clubs and adult bookstores revealed signs of life as they glowed like dim beacons above the heads of a few prostitutes huddled in doorways. Obviously, it was easier to freeze to death than to face their pimps with empty pockets.

  Gabriel eased the dark green sedan to a stop in front of a triple-X theater where a lone hooker guarded her territory. The marquee cast a jaundiced glow over the entrance, accenting the woman’s sunken eyes, the hollowness of her cheeks.

  She’d been talking on her cell phone when she caught sight of his car. Quickly, she finished the conversation and placed her phone in the small beaded purse hanging at her side.

  Come here, the man urged silently. He pressed a button to lower the tinted window on the passenger side. A blast of frigid air rifled through the interior, but he enjoyed the sensation. The ride into the city had been long and stuffy.

  After darting a glance up and down the street, the prostitute brushed her blond bangs away from her forehead—only to have her fingers snag in the uncombed strands.

  He waved to her and fought a sting of impatience when the woman hesitated, wobbling slightly on her stiletto heels. His hands tightened over the steering wheel when indecision crossed her face.

  After a moment, she straightened and took several shaky steps forward. Her bare legs, protected from the elements by only a purple micro-mini, drew his attention. Even in the darkness, he noted the deep bruising around her feet and ankles. Confident there’d be track lines by the marks, he relaxed his hands.

  She stuck her head through the open window and gripped the edge of the car with trembling fingers. The smeared mascara around her bloodshot eyes gave her a ghoulish look. “Hey, baby, wanna party?”

  Up close, he noticed the harsh creases set in the planes of her face and estimated her age at around thirty. This line of work tended to age women rapidly, so admittedly, he could be off by five years or more. But the pale, almost translucent skin told him that the slight twitching of her shoulders and arms wasn’t from the cold weather. This woman had already had her fix for the evening.

  “I’d enjoy a party,” he murmured and unlocked the car.

  She slid into the seat and immediately the distinct scent of wet dog and stale cigarettes permeated the air. Not bothering to tug her skirt back into place, she provided him with a glimpse of her merchandise as he pulled away from the curb.

  He felt, rather than saw, her glance over his suit. “Are you a cop?” Her voice was husky, reminding him of Janis Joplin.

  He allowed his lips to form a cultured smile. “No, just a businessman.”

  “Hmm.” Seeming satisfied, she relaxed against the upholstered seat. “Well, businessman, I get a hundred bucks an hour for straight sex. Anything fancy or weird boosts the rate to three hundred.” She looked at his leather gloves as he turned the steering wheel. “I’m not into pain, so no whips or handcuffs.”

  The light at Woodward Avenue turned red and the driver stopped. “How about…” he drawled, before letting his gaze move suggestively over her emaciated body. “…I pay you in crack.”

  Greed flickered across the pinpoint pupils of her glazed blue eyes. “Now you’re talking, honey.” She leaned into him, letting her hand drift over the zipper of his pants while her tongue licked the thick red gloss covering her upper lip. “Or you could pay me in cash and we share the groceries.”

  “Better yet, I’ll show you a drug that will take you flying and we don’t party at all.” Gabriel slipped hi
s hand behind her neck and pricked the skin under her ear with a small needle.

  Surprise, then fear flitted across her face before she fell unconscious against his shoulder.

  With little effort, he shoved her back onto the pas senger seat. The small drug dose, combined with the other substances in her body, would be enough to kill her soon enough.

  After turning south on Woodward, he checked his rear mirror, satisfied when no car appeared behind them. He pulled to the curb, cut the engine and lights before reaching for the woman’s purse and snagging her cell phone. Careful not to put his mouth too close to the receiver, the man punched in a number.

  “Hello.” The male voice was hoarse from sleep.

  “I received your request,” the man stated, casually studying the snowflakes landing on the windshield. “So talk.”

  “How did you get this number?” The tone was enraged, all traces of sleep gone. “Only my family has access to my private line.”

  “That’s not important. What’s important is that you broke our agreement. You weren’t to contact me so soon.” Flicking a glance at the unconscious woman, he added. “Your message proved inconvenient.”

  “It couldn’t be helped. I hired you to do a job. One that may be in jeopardy.” His client took an agitated breath. “With the news of Jonathon Mercer’s death, the security assigned for our target has been restructured.”

  The man relaxed. “There was always that possibility. The government tends to get jumpy when one of their own is killed.”

  “I want you to be prepared. Nothing can go wrong.” His client’s agitation grew with the demand.

  “I’ve agreed to the job, I’ll make the hit. There’ll be no interference.”

  “Just make sure of it. There’s too much at stake.”

  “So you have said, many times.” Indifferently, the man leaned over and checked the woman’s pupils, then her pulse. “By the way, my fee has doubled.”

  “Doubled? After you screwed up with the woman, I don’t—”

  “Celeste Pavenic is a minor…hiccup. She’ll be taken care of when I’m ready, not before. As you said, added security means a greater chance of discovery. Hence, a need for larger risks. If you don’t like it, find someone else.” He started to hang up.