The Guardian: DARYL (Cover Six Security, #2)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, a hesitant smile tugging at her mouth. "Is this okay?"

  "Yeah. Perfect." He eased back against the sofa arm, his chest tightening at the sight of her moving to the relaxing strains. Did she realize her body was gently swaying to the beat of the song? Slow, sensual, the ends of her hair swinging against her back, her hips swaying in a teasing rhythm.

  Daryl's eyes drifted along her body, from the top of her head to the slope of her shoulders, to the way the cover-up fell over her firm ass. The hem pulled up just enough to tease him when her hips rocked to the left, then dropped when she moved to the right. Thank God her back was to him because he was certain she'd run screaming if she caught sight of the hunger and desire he knew was burning in his eyes. Then she turned around and Daryl dropped his gaze to the floor, forced himself to think of anything but that beautiful ass swaying in front of him.

  "Are you married, Daryl?"

  What. The. Fuck.

  The question caught him so off-guard that he nearly squeezed the water bottle in half. Although maybe it was a fair question. Maybe she could sense the tension that rolled off his coiled body and thickened the air around them and wanted to be sure he wasn't already involved with someone. Fair enough.

  He took another swallow of the water, recapped the bottle, and shook his head. "No."

  Kelsey tilted her head to the side, those green-ringed hazel eyes studying him for a half-second too long. "Why did you hesitate before you answered?"

  Had he? Yeah, probably. Stupid, because he had nothing to hide—he just didn't usually discuss his past, especially not this part. "I was married. A long time ago."

  "Divorced?"

  "No." The word was short. Clipped. It invited no additional conversation—but Kelsey didn't seem to realize that. She closed the distance between them, stopping a foot away, sympathy welling in her eyes. Her hand closed over his arm, her fingers cool against his hot flesh, and squeezed.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't realize—you must have loved her. How long ago did she pass?"

  A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw and for a second, maybe two, all he wanted to do was brush her hand away. To escape the suddenly suffocating confines of the room and head to the beach. To run, feel the soft grains of sand shift under his feet as he pushed himself, sweat dripping into his eyes and clouding his vision. To keep running, until he couldn't think, couldn't feel—

  Until he could no longer see the sympathy and concern in the depths of those green-ringed hazel eyes staring up at him.

  She actually felt sorry for him. Thought his abrupt answers were because of sorrow. Because he missed his wife.

  Nothing could be further from the truth. Miss Melissa? No. Not in this lifetime. Not after what she'd done. And if that made him a cold-hearted son-of-a-bitch, then he'd gladly pay for the sin in whatever afterlife waited for him.

  But he didn't brush Kelsey's hand from his arm. And he didn't turn and run. To his surprise, he heard himself answering her, the words coming from a distance he didn't quite understand. "Nine years ago. And no, I didn't love her."

  Did the words shock her? Yes. Her fingers jerked against the hard flesh of his arm a second before she moved her hand. Her eyes widened, slid away from his as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth and sucked on it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—it's not my business—"

  "She was killed in a car accident." His voice was low. Flat. Emotionless. "About two hours after she told me she was filing for divorce and left." Memories and emotions sucker-punched him, coming out of nowhere, slamming his heart against his sternum and squeezing the air from his lungs. He bit down on the next words. They'd been buried for the last nine years, there was no reason to set them free now. Not here, not with the woman who was staring up at him with sympathy and understanding.

  The words came anyway, fought their way up from that dark hole he'd shoved them into nine years ago. Harsh. Ragged. Painful. Shredding him even now, after all this time. "Our daughter was with her."

  He heard Kelsey's gasp, saw her cover her mouth with one hand.

  But it was another voice he heard, soft and crying, raspy with spent tears as tiny arms latched around his neck.

  "Wanna stay, Daddy. Wanna stay with you."

  "I know, Bean. But you need to go with Mommy for right now. Just for a little bit. Then Daddy will come get you."

  Melissa in the background, her sharp voice bitter, threatening, telling him he'd never see Layla again unless she got what she wanted. Damn her, didn't she know what she was doing to Layla? Didn't she care? And God help him, at that second, he wanted to hurt her, wanted to throw her out the door and tell her to never come back. She must have seen something in his face, must have realized she had pushed too far this time because she backed off, gentled her voice and reassured Layla that she would see Daddy when he got home—in eighteen months.

  And fuck, he had to do something. He couldn't let Melissa take off with Layla, not like this. Not when he was leaving in two days. He'd go to his CO, the Chaplain, somebody. Somebody somewhere would be able to do something. They had to because his next option would be going fucking AWOL and if that's what he had to do, then he'd fucking do it.

  He dropped to his knees and set Layla on her feet, plopped a wet, noisy kiss on her forehead the way she liked then handed her the ragged stuffed bunny she carried everywhere. "You be a good girl for Mommy, okay? And Daddy will come get you as soon as I can."

  "Promise?"

  "You're my Bean. Of course I promise. And Daddy never breaks his promise."

  Only that time, he had. The promise had been nothing more than empty words. Nothing more than a lie. Two hours later, Melissa was gone, killed on impact when her speeding car slammed into a tractor-trailer.

  Layla was gone.

  His entire world had ended, snuffed out between one heartbeat and the next. Life as he knew it was over. Life? Fuck, he hadn't cared about life after that. Hadn't cared about anything.

  But he didn't say any of that. Looking at the expression in Kelsey's eyes, he knew he didn't have to.

  He ripped his gaze from hers, uncapped the bottle and raised it to his mouth. Drained it in two long swallows. Fuck. What the fuck had possessed him to tell her that? He hadn't told anyone, not Mac, not any of the other guys on his team. The only person who knew was Reigs—Jon Reigler—and that was only because Daryl had ripped him a new one more than a year ago, telling him he had no fucking clue what he was missing out on before he reunited with his ex-wife—and his daughter.

  And the memory—fuck, he never allowed himself to remember that day, or the weeks and months following. If it hadn't been for his CO, he'd have gone off the deep-end. The crotchety son-of-a-bitch wouldn't let him, though. Had forced him to channel all that rage and anger and despair into something more constructive, more lethal.

  Captain Allen Davis had saved his sorry ass in more ways than one.

  Kelsey's hand wrapped around his, eased the empty bottle from his strangling grip. He expected her to walk away. To turn around and leave. What woman wanted to listen to a fucking sob story from the guy who had picked her up and invited her to join him for a drink? But to his surprise, she didn't leave. She tossed the bottle in the trashcan near the small refrigerator then turned back to him, stepped close enough that the gauzy material of her cover-up brushed against his chest, his arms. Close enough that he could feel the heat of her body, smell the faint coconut scent of her sunscreen.

  She leaned up on her toes, cupped his face between her hands, and gently brushed her lips against his.

  "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what you must have gone through." Her voice was even softer than before, husky with sympathy and sorrow. And fuck, this was a bad idea. He didn't want her, not like this, not out of whatever fucked-up sympathy she was feeling.

  Yeah, this was a definite bad idea. His emotions were too close to the surface, the hold on his control too fucking tenuous. It would be too easy to lose himself. To just fucking let go and
feel for the first time in nine years instead of just going through the motions. To use her to forget.

  No, he didn't want to do that. Didn't want to use her that way. But the words stuck in his throat and he couldn't get them out. And then it didn't matter because her lips brushed against his once more and those stunning green-ringed eyes met his, filled with soundless reassurance.

  Forget everything except this. Just us. Just for tonight.

  Yet he still hesitated, held himself back—until her mouth closed over his. Sweet, warm, filled with promise.

  And the desperate grip he had on what remained of his control snapped.

  Daryl wrapped one arm behind her waist and pulled her closer, fitting her body to his. He cupped the back of her head and took over the kiss. Deepened it until her mouth opened on a small gasp. His tongue delved between her lips, tasted the intoxicating mixture of rum and coconut and something even sweeter—Kelsey herself.

  She stiffened and for one horrifying second, he worried that he'd gone too far, pushed too hard. Then her body relaxed against his, supple curves and firm flesh pressing against him. One of her hands tangled in his shirt; the other wrapped behind his neck, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair.

  It wasn't enough. Now that he had just a little taste, he wanted more. More of her touch. More of her taste. More of her.

  A weak voice of reason whispered in the back of his mind, warning him to slow down. Demanding he move away until he regained control. He shoved the voice away. He didn't want to slow down. He didn't want control—not if it meant holding a piece of himself back.

  For the first time in nine years—longer than nine years—he allowed himself to feel. To give up the control he had fine-tuned and mastered over the last decade. He didn't want control—

  He wanted Kelsey.

  This woman. Right here.

  Right now.

  He swallowed her breathless sigh when he lifted the hem of her gauzy cover-up and palmed her ass through the bottom of her bathing suit. Even that thin barrier was too much. He wanted it gone, needed it gone. Needed to caress bare flesh, to trace the cleft of her ass, to dip his finger lower to that sweet, warm treasure between her legs.

  He broke the kiss, dragged his mouth along her neck. Her head fell back, her breath escaping from slightly parted lips. Fingers dug into his arms and her sigh turned to a small moan when he nipped the delicate flesh between her neck and shoulder.

  He claimed her mouth again, slow and demanding, savoring her taste. Reached between them, worked the buttons of his shirt and shrugged out of it, let it fall behind him. He grabbed the hem of her cover-up and pulled it up. Up. Higher, breaking the kiss long enough to drag it over her head.

  Hunger ravaged him as he stared at her. Smooth skin pulled tight over lean muscle. Firm breasts hidden behind two triangles of black material held together by a simple string tie. The points of her nipples hardened as he watched, pushing against her bikini top, begging to be touched.

  Demanding to be touched.

  He reached out with one hand, traced the line of her delicate collarbone. Turned his hand over and grazed the peak of one hardened nipple with his knuckles.

  Her head fell back again, her eyes closing as he teased that nipple. Back and forth, his touch light. A little harder, then lighter. Over and over until her chest rose and fell with each short breath. Until those breaths turned into sharp sighs. Until she staggered toward him, her hands reaching, searching.

  Daryl caught her, closed his mouth over hers. Swallowed his own groan when her hands—slender and delicate and hungry—roamed over his chest. His shoulders. His arms.

  And fuck! He wanted her now. Needed to drive his cock into her wet heat. Deep. Hard. Fast. Faster, until there was nothing left but the two of them. Until the world—the past, the present, the future—faded away. Just them.

  Here.

  Now.

  He broke the kiss, dragged his mouth to her ear and nipped the small lobe. His voice was rough. Hoarse and ragged. "Don't move."

  Her lids fluttered open and those beautiful eyes slowly focused on him. His heart slammed into his chest and the air rushed from his lungs when he saw the need swimming in their hazel depths.

  "Don't move." He repeated the command, his gaze never leaving hers as he skirted the sofa and moved toward the sliding glass door. He reached behind him and threw the lock with one hand. Grabbed the edge of the drapes and slid them across the door, plunging the room into shadows. Still watching. Always watching, his gaze locked with Kelsey's the entire time.

  He closed the distance between them in two strides. Could she see the hunger in his eyes? See his urgency? This overwhelming need that consumed him? Yes, she could. Her eyes flared, her pupils dilating. But she didn't move away, didn't step out of his reach. He held himself still, afraid to move, to touch, giving her a chance to flee, to tell him no.

  She moved toward him instead, her arms reaching for him, her hands sliding along his biceps. His shoulders. His chest. He caught her around the waist and pulled her to him, his mouth crashing over hers. Hard. Hot. Wet.

  Hungry.

  He slid his hand up her back, pulled the two sets of ties that held her bathing suit top in place then dragged it off her. A sigh escaped her mouth and he ruthlessly swallowed it before pulling away. Her arms came up to shield herself but he pushed them away, caught her hands in his and held her arms out to the side. Then he raked her with his gaze, felt his mouth go dry and his balls tighten with need.

  He'd been a fool earlier, thinking her curves were lacking. Her firm breasts were perfect. Small and beautiful. Soft mounds of pale flesh, the nipples a dark rose. He released one of her hands, trailed a finger along her arm. Across her shoulder and throat. Down. Slow, teasing, watching her skin pebble and flush where he touched. Down further until he cupped the slight weight of one breast in his palm. He teased the tight peak of one nipple with his thumb, heard the swift intake of her breath as her head fell back. Her chest thrust forward with the motion, offering herself to him.

  An offer he had no intention of refusing.

  He dipped his head, closed his mouth over the tight peak and sucked. Nipped. Teased. Pulled it into his mouth and savored the taste of her sweet flesh, reveled in the feel of flesh both hard and soft against his tongue.

  Her sigh turned into a moan, deep and throaty, the sound shooting straight to his cock. He braced her with one arm behind her back, trailed his hand along the flat of her stomach. Down lower, dipping into the flimsy material of the bikini bottom.

  Smooth flesh, hot and wet and deliciously bare, greeted him. And fuck, he damn near came in his swim trunks right there. Hunger shot through him. Powerful. Potent. He wanted to see those bare lips, run his tongue over that bare flesh.

  Now.

  He bent down, scooped her into his arms and carried her to the edge of the bed. Her lids fluttered open and she watched him through eyes glazed with need as he gently lowered her to the mattress. He slid her to the edge then eased the bikini bottoms down her legs. Dropped to his knees and spread her legs, murmuring words of reassurance when she tensed under his touch. Then he placed a kiss against her inner thigh, heard her long sigh, felt the tremor that ran through her body.

  Kiss after kiss. Featherlight. Teasing. Higher and higher until he reached the decadence of that bare flesh between her legs. He reached up and spread the delicate flesh with one hand, ran the tip of one finger along her clit. Just a light touch. Teasing. Her back arched, her hips rocking toward him. Seeking. Silently demanding.

  He leaned forward, dropped his mouth against her bare flesh, and kissed her. Ran his tongue along the hard flesh of her clit as he slid one finger inside her. Fuck. She was so fucking wet. So fucking hot.

  So fucking sweet.

  He slid his finger out, traced a damp line along her inner thigh. Down, then up. Back to the fiery treasure. Two fingers this time, in and out. Slow. Slower. Feeling muscles quiver as she rocked against his hand, his tongue.

>   Faster. A little deeper, until her sighs turned to sharp moans and her body writhed under his touch. His kiss.

  Faster still, his tongue swirling around the hard flesh of her clit as he fucked her with his fingers. Harder, muscles gripping, holding—

  Her back arched and she reached down, nails digging into the flesh of his wrists. Cries of need fell from her mouth, breathless and nearly incoherent. Daryl lifted his mouth from her sweet, wet pussy. Watched as her head tossed from side-to-side, as her teeth bit into her lower lip.

  As she held his hand in place, her hips rocking against him, her pussy riding his fingers. Faster, faster...until she exploded around him, muscles clenching and unclenching. Wet. Hot. So fucking hot.

  And fuck. He needed inside her now. Needed to feel that pussy clenching his cock instead of his fingers. He reached down with his free hand, shoved the swimming trunks past his hips and curled his hand around his cock. Stroking, hard and fast, his hand mimicking the pulsing squeezes of Kelsey's pussy.

  Her body slowly relaxed and he eased his fingers from inside her, watched her chest rise and fall with each sharp breath. Still stroking his cock but slower now, controlling the urgency that had swept through him moments earlier. Kelsey pushed up on her elbows, a sleepy smile curling her mouth as she motioned for him to stand up.

  He released his cock, pushed to his feet and stepped out of the swimming trunks. Kelsey's eyes raked his body, hunger flaring in their depths. She met his gaze, lifted one hand and curled her finger in a beckoning motion.

  Daryl stepped closer, stopped and moved back, reaching for the wallet sitting on the nightstand. He opened it up, reached in and grabbed the condoms inside then tossed it to the side.

  Two condoms. Two fucking condoms. They wouldn't be enough. Not nearly enough.