He didn’t give her much choice, his arm reaching out and his firm grip drawing her into a strong embrace, her own arms wrapping around his torso. His utterly trim torso. Geez, was there an ounce of fat on this man?
“I take it you meant you’ve slept with only three of them?” His quiet voice sent a shiver up her spine. There was turbulence behind those words and she didn’t know how to answer.
“Yes.” She pulled away and stared up at him in challenge. “And don’t give me shit—”
A finger silenced her before stroking her lower lip. “Thanks for telling me. It may not lessen the urge to punch Trevor or hunt down the other two men who’d had the privilege to be your boyfriend, but that privilege is mine now.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything. I need a break from men.”
Marcus laughed softly, the back of his hand sweetly grazing her cheek. “We’ll discuss it later. Why don’t you go get comfortable.”
“This is so weird,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve teased you about your great ass before and now my hands are inches away from finding out if it’s as hard as it looks and I’m terrified.”
Marcus threw back his head and laughed.
The ass remark was an ice breaker. Marcus actually had the temerity to pat her butt, when he urged her to go get changed while he took in the lay of the land as he called it. There wasn’t much to her 1600 square foot house. No basement, she had a crawl space and no attic. Three bedrooms. One was full of her shit, another sat empty with an inflatable mattress in the closet. Back when Izzy stayed with her following the loss of Drake and then her unborn child, they shared her king-sized bed. It only made sense because Izzy had nightmares, woke up crying for Drake. It broke Cindy’s heart and caused a compulsion in her to keep an eagle-eye over her friend.
Cindy walked into her closet and started to change out of her office clothes. She was a loungewear kind of gal. Flannel pajamas in the winter, but when the season couldn’t decide between summer and fall, she liked her yoga pants. She pulled a deep V-neck tee over it and padded to the dresser to pile up her long hair with a claw clip.
She squinted at the pink and black items on the bed that were reflected in her mirror. Momentary confusion was replaced by a sinking feeling. She approached the bed, heart in her throat because she knew exactly what they were.
Matching lace panties and bra.
A set she hadn’t worn in three months.
On the mattress was an accompanying note in card stock printed in grunge script.
Wear this for me, my blond slut.
I love to watch.
~Sparky, your perfect match
Chapter 5
The CSI team finished gathering evidence around the house. Hearing Cindy scream seconds after discovering the door leading to the backyard was broken, triggered a hyperawareness in Marcus that he had not felt since he’d been a SEAL.
He went charging into her room as she flung herself into his arms. His eyes drawn immediately to the lingerie and note on the bed. Cindy had the presence of mind not to touch them and they immediately called 9-1-1.
Three hours later, Detective Gomez grilled Cindy about her RightSpark profile. If the detective was going to make her feel like she brought this situation on herself one more time, Marcus was going to beat the shit out of this douchebag.
“You mean you don’t remember the name of date number four. How many exactly are we talking about?”
“It was just a coffee date,” Cindy defended. “I—”
“Don’t say anymore,” Marcus growled.
The detective frowned. “I’m trying to establish—”
“You’re putting the blame on the victim. And no, you can’t have her RightSpark information.”
“How can we investigate—”
“Get a warrant. Go through the proper channels,” Marcus said. “We’re not obstructing your investigation. If this guy is a member of RightSpark, you don’t want any evidence thrown out of court.”
The detective’s gaze narrowed, but he nodded subtly. He said he would keep in touch as he left the house.
Christ. Sometimes the police were too eager to solve a crime, they try to take shortcuts. Marcus sensed the condemnation in the detective’s eyes and knew they weren’t going to find any help there.
“Thanks,” Cindy whispered. She was standing to one side. Her arms crossed and gripping her biceps as if she wanted to disappear into herself. “Leland James was the name of date number four. I just got so rattled to be put on the spot—”
“Say no more,” he replied roughly. “That detective was a shithead.”
“I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”
“You would have been fine,” Marcus said, but deep inside he was damned glad he was with her.
“I don’t think Trevor would do something like this.”
“Evidence is stacked against him, sugar. He harassed you at the grocery. If he’s innocent, he has nothing to be worried about.”
“Will they hold him?”
“They could for at least twenty-four hours.”
Cindy emitted a tortured sound, tore away from his arms and turned her back on him. “I don’t know what to feel.”
Marcus walked up to her and coaxed her around to face him. He lowered his head until they were eye to eye. “What you won’t feel is guilt. It’s not your fault. Got it?”
Her smile was small and she nodded.
He cupped a hand behind his ear and angled his head toward her. “Didn’t hear you, sugar.”
This time she emitted a short laugh. “Yes.”
“That’s better.” Marcus pressed a kiss on her forehead and she leaned into him for support.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world.
* * *
A scream ripped through the night.
For a second time that night, Marcus bolted to Cindy’s bedroom. The light from the hallway revealed her sitting up. She was breathing hard with her face buried in her hands. He turned on the night lamp to see her more clearly.
“Bad dream?” Marcus sat at the edge of the bed, not sure whether to touch her, uncertain if the dream had made her jumpy. When she didn’t respond, he prodded. “Cin?”
“He was in the room.”
Marcus stilled and looked around. “Now?”
“No,” she croaked and finally she looked at him, her blue eyes dark as ink as if she was still trapped in her dream. “In my head.” She puffed a self-derisive laugh and rubbed her arms. “I feel violated. He touched my stuff.” Her eyes filled with tears, but her face was etched in anger. “My most intimate things. How dare he fucking do that?”
Was it weird he felt relief that Cindy was going with anger?
“Some people are just sick in the head.”
A corner of her mouth perked up. “You seem extremely familiar with the topic.”
Marcus eyed her thoughtfully. “Do you want some tea?”
“No. I want to sleep.”
He looked at her doubtfully. “You think you can—”
“I want you to stay with me.”
Every muscle of his body froze. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea at the moment.”
“Why?”
“You’re vulnerable and I don’t want to take advantage.”
At this, Cindy laughed. “Are you saying I’ll lose control? Throw myself at you?”
“That’s about right.”
Cindy laughed harder and peeled back her blanket in invitation.
Shit, this was a bad idea. He remembered how her curves molded against him perfectly. Her body was luscious, begging to be explored and he had to control his hands from wandering.
The last thing she needed was his lusty thoughts when there was a pervert after her.
He cleared his throat. “Ah … I think—”
“Get in here, Marcus. I want to sleep, and the only way that will happen is if I know you’re right beside me.”
He did as she requested, feeling her residual warmth on the mattress. He turned off the lights and settled on his back.
“See, this bed is big enough.” Cindy put a pillow between them and he felt a measure of relief as well as disappointment.
For a span of a few minutes, the room was so quiet that not even their breathing could be heard. Marcus was tense as fuck, his skin prickling with awareness of the woman beside him. Cindy might fall asleep quickly, but he could kiss any semblance of sleep goodbye.
“Marcus?”
“Yes?”
“We’re locked up, right?” The worry in her voice broke his heart and he wanted to kill the fucker for making her feel unsafe.
“We are. I’ve put sensors on the doors and windows. No one is getting in without us knowing.”
“You’re a Boy Scout, aren’t you?”
Marcus chuckled. He kept shit in his car for emergency purposes. “Always prepared. Now, go to sleep.”
“Thanks again.”
A hand reached over and touched his. Their fingers curled together, and surprisingly, he did fall asleep.
* * *
Cindy heard a groan under her ear. It was ridiculously warm and she could feel a sheen of sweat on her body. Her pillow was unusually hard. She was on her side, her right leg wedged between heavy clamps and it was uncomfortable. She tried to move it but the clamp tightened.
“Careful, sugar,” a voice rumbled above her. “You don’t want to maim it until you’ve put it to good use.”
Memories of the night before came crashing back. She was in bed with Marcus. Where was the pillow she put between them?
“It’s at the foot of the bed.”
Apparently, he’d learned to read minds while at Quantico. “Did you move it?”
“Not that I’m aware. But someone kicked it.”
The morning sun was just peeking through her curtains and she oriented herself with how she was positioned. Her head was tucked between Marcus’s arm and chest, and she also became conscious of her hand placement. It was half under his shirt, and his skin was hot and the muscles of his abs contracted when she splayed her fingers. She was also aware that moving her hand southward would venture into dangerous territory.
Sleep had addled her brain and it was controlled by the pulse between her legs. Her fingers skated lower, but a hand closed over her wrist. “Don’t go there if you’re not ready for the consequences.”
“Let me go,” Cindy whispered. “I want to touch you.”
“We need to talk.”
“Talk later. I need this.”
His breaths came hot and heavy as she continued her exploration.
Her fingers slipped past the waistband of his athletic shorts but stopped short of his erection.
“Well, hello there,” she mumbled.
Marcus gave a choked laugh, but his breathing hitched as if waiting for her next move.
But the fog of sleep deserted her, and her cheeks flamed at her boldness. Her hand retreated and went over the ridges of his abs.
He let out a fractured hiss, and when her hand ceased moving, he tilted her face up. “As I was saying. We need to talk. You need to know my story.”
“I know your story.”
“Not everything.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Yes, I want you bad, but I need you to know everything about me before you let me in.”
They stared at each other. She reeled at the hunger in his eyes, starved and searching.
“But, for now.” His voice turned gruff. “This is enough.”
She snuggled into him, enjoying their newfound closeness.
Chapter 6
A pungent smell reeked all over the neighborhood as Marcus did a perimeter check of the house that morning. He’d done the same thing the night before, to gain the perspective of the intruder. The wide windows of Cindy’s kitchen faced the backyard, but she had no fence, so it opened up to a tiny road that was almost too narrow to accommodate a van.
His nose twitched at the malodorous scent and wondered if there was a landfill nearby.
He made his way back to the house. Cindy spent a lot of time in the kitchen which meant anyone could see clearly into her house from that side street. That didn’t sit well with him. She lived in the type of cozy neighborhood where everyone knew each other and the exposure didn’t bother her at all.
He sure hoped it did now. Having spent time with the Bureau opened his eyes to the dangers lurking in the human mind. How an ordinary person whom you’d known for years could have a hidden life. In the military, the threat was defined, and missions were planned to eradicate an enemy. In the cases of serial killers or stalkers, the enemy was hidden. The perpetrator could be anyone. Many times they were in plain sight—a friend, a co-worker, a neighbor, or a service person.
With those thoughts in mind, Marcus did a mental rundown of what needed to be done in the house. He put a plywood over the broken window of the back door as a temporary fix. When he walked into the kitchen, the sweet smell of syrup and the aroma of fried chicken replaced the stench hovering in his olfactory senses. Utensils clinked and Cindy slid a plate of waffles to one of the place settings on the breakfast bar. She poured coffee from a carafe into the mug and set it beside his plate.
“Cream? Sugar?”
“Black.”
“A man after my own heart.”
“The man could get used to this,” he replied.
Her merry laugh hit the right notes in his ears.
“Fried chicken, coming right up.”
It was beyond Marcus’s control, and so way out in left field, that he was hard. Seeing her in a domestic environment, serving her man a hearty breakfast, made him picture her naked under an apron.
After almost two years of celibacy, he was behaving like a fucking teenager. He decided to redirect the blood away from the south border. “Fried chicken and waffles? Even better. You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”
She pointed metal tongs at him. “Then you don’t know me at all.”
A grin kicked up. “I know you love to cook.”
Cindy turned to the stove, where chicken was frying in a cast-iron skillet. “Then all you have to say is, thank you ma’am.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he drawled. Fuck, why did that sound dirty too?
“This was my grandma’s recipe,” she informed him.
“What’s in it?” Good. Think of her grandma and put the brakes on that cock stand. Jesus.
“Ah, now, if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” she said in a Southern twang. “It tastes better than the Colonel’s chicken.”
“I bet.” Marcus took a sip of his coffee and paused. “Was? Cindy … is your gram …?”
A sad smile formed on her lips. “Almost a year.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” He knew she’d been close to her grandmother. Cindy talked about her all the time.
“You had your own troubles to get through,” she said before turning away from him to mind the cooking.
The mood changed. A melancholic pall fell over the kitchen, and silence reigned save for the pop of moisture from the skin of the frying bird, and the clinking of utensils. He had his own thoughts to sort out, how best to tell her he’d come a long way from the shell of the man he was five years before.
When the fried chicken was served and Marcus took a bite, flavors exploded in his mouth and chaotic thoughts left his brain. A feeling of the here and the now took its place, of this woman before him and the heated scene in the bedroom this morning.
“This is … amazing.” He speared a piece of the chicken, through a piece of butter-soaked waffle and forked them into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully. “Never had better.”
Cindy seemed pleased. “Ratatouille is to the French as fried chicken is to Americans.”
“I beg your pardon, sugar. The all-American food is hotdogs.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “If that’s what you think then we’ve got bigger pro
blems.”
“You have a problem with hot dogs?”
“Do you know how that stuff is processed?”
“I’m sure I don’t want to know.” Marcus took another bite of his food. “How about the kosher ones?”
Her brows wrinkled. “I guess they’re okay. I like a well-made sausage.”
Marcus nearly choked on the waffle and took a gulp of coffee. “Are we still talking about food?”
Her face reddened in embarrassment, and he almost regretted teasing her but at the same time he didn’t want her to forget that spark between them this morning. It meant something to him, and he damned well wanted to make sure that she knew that.
“I’ll get you more coffee.” Cindy made to stand.
“Sit down.”
“I left the carafe.”
“Sit. Down.”
She sat, but she wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t even eating the fried chicken and waffle either.
“We need to talk about this morning.”
“I’m sorry I molested you!” she blurted out, raising her gaze, eyes frantic. “It’s just that you were so tempting and I … I couldn’t help myself. I nearly touched your … you know.” She continued to babble, something intelligible about the V-cut-abs that made girls stupid. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “Say something.”
That snapped him out of shock, he picked his jaw off the floor and locked eyes with her. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m sorry!” she wailed.
“Cindy,” he chuckled. “You did not molest me. The moment I got into that bed with you, all bets were off. I told you it was a bad idea because I’m attracted to you. I’m glad you are too.”
“I just put you on the spot and I’m not sure if you liked me being so bold touching you when we’re not …” Her voice trailed off and, if possible, her cheeks grew redder.
“I can be a gentleman, but I’m not that much of a gentleman to allow just any woman to feel me up.” He frowned. “Give me some credit.” He put his fork down and faced her fully. “You never had a good impression of me, but I’m not the same man, Cin.”
Guarding Cindy (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) Page 4
