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

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Her gaze—filled with hesitation, wariness, uncertainty—met his. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, finally, she nodded, just the slightest motion. "I—yeah, I do."

  For now.

  Because I have no choice.

  No, she didn't say those words out loud but he still heard them. Saw them in her eyes. Felt them in the still air floating between them.

  Fair enough. He couldn't expect anything more, not yet.

  He released her hand and pushed off the bed. "Get some more rest if you can. We've got a lot of planning to do in a few hours."

  She didn't say anything as he walked out of the room but he felt her eyes on him, knew she was following him with her gaze.

  Knew she kept staring at the door, even after he closed it behind him with a quiet click.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Kelsey stared at the door for a long time after Daryl left.

  Fighting the urge to go after him.

  Telling herself she was a fool.

  Convincing herself she didn't need him. That she didn't want him.

  She stared at the tattoo on her inner wrist, at the eye staring back at her. She could still feel his touch on her tender flesh as he traced the lines, hear his deep voice as he asked her if she needed protection from him.

  Like a fool, she had said no.

  But she did. Oh God, she did.

  Because he made her want. Made her need.

  Made her forget the nightmare of the last three years; the fear and loneliness and uncertainty that had been with her since the day of Blaine's funeral.

  The day Grady Byrne had offered to buy her daughter. His granddaughter.

  It wasn't just that he made her forget—he made her feel. That was what she hadn't shared with him when they talked about the few hours they had shared three months ago.

  He made her feel. And that was dangerous.

  Yes, she could have walked away when he came over to her that day. Could have ignored him like she had initially planned, when she first stood and quickly gathered her things.

  But she hadn't—because he made her feel.

  Made her pulse race when he looked at her.

  Made her skin pebble when he smiled at her.

  Made her lungs squeeze and her breath quicken when he said her name in that rich voice.

  And when he had touched her, when his hand briefly rested against the small of her back—her heart had jumped and skipped as heat filled her. As need blindsided her.

  The same way it had only moments ago when he gently traced the lines on her inner wrist. The only difference between then and now was that then, she had only wondered how he tasted, how his body would feel stretched out along hers.

  Now...now, she knew.

  And the hunger filling her was ten times stronger than it had been three months ago.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and moved toward the door. Quickly, before she stopped and thought about what she was doing—what she was about to do. If she stopped, she'd have time to think about how selfish she was being, about how foolish she was.

  She didn't want to think. Not now. She just wanted to...to feel. To forget.

  Daryl was leaning against the counter, a mug of coffee in one hand, a cell phone in the other. He looked up when she walked in, frowned and tossed the phone onto the counter. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. I—" She stopped talking, kept moving toward him before she lost her nerve. His frown deepened and he turned to the side, placed the full mug next to the phone before turning back to her. Then she was in front of him and his hands closed around her waist.

  To pull her closer? To push her away? She didn't know. Didn't want to know.

  "Kelsey—"

  She pressed against him, leaned up and brushed her mouth against his. Once, twice. Waiting for him to respond. Hoping he'd take over. Deepen the kiss. Sweep her off her feet and make her forget.

  He turned his head to the side, held her away from him—but he didn't move his hands from her hips, didn't push her away. "Kelsey, this is a bad idea."

  "Please. I just—I need—"

  You. This. Us. Just for now. For a little while. To forget.

  But she didn't say the words, couldn't get them past the lump in her throat. Maybe she didn't need to. Maybe Daryl could see what she needed. Maybe he understood without hearing the words.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, shot back to hers. The amber of his eyes deepened as he watched her. He shook his head—but he still didn't push her away. "Sex is only going to cloud the issue, Kelsey."

  Would it? Yes, probably. Definitely. But she didn't care, not right now. Not when she needed to forget. Not when she just needed to feel.

  Him. Her. Them.

  Her lips parted and she swiped her tongue along her bottom lip, her gaze never leaving his. "Please."

  He didn't say anything, just kept watching her with that steady gaze that took her breath away. Then, just when she was ready to back away, to apologize for making a fool of herself, he dipped his head and closed his mouth over hers.

  Soft. Gentle. Hesitant, as if seeking permission. She sighed and leaned into him, sighed again when his arms tightened around her and pulled her closer. Chest against chest, hips against hips. Her hands closed over his arms, hard muscle and hot flesh beneath her fingers. Need swept over her, raw and primal. Urgent.

  More. She needed more. All of him. Here. Now.

  But he simply kissed her, taking his time, teasing her with his lips and tongue. In control.

  She eased away, stared at him through eyes glazed with need. She didn't want to be teased, didn't want him to be slow or gentle. She wanted him to claim her, the way he had in that small bungalow in paradise.

  "Please, Daryl."

  Could he see what she wanted? What she needed? She didn't think he could, was afraid he didn't understand, that she would have to tell him—

  And she couldn't do that. Couldn't put voice to those inner thoughts and yearnings.

  Disappointment surged through her when he moved his hands from her hips. She started to pull away, to turn around and run and hide, the way she'd been doing for three years. But he wouldn't let her. He cradled her face between his hands, caught her mouth with his—

  And she was lost. This. This is what she needed. What she craved. He deepened the kiss, claiming her. His tongue delved between her parted lips, met hers in a battle of wills she quickly seceded.

  Yes. This.

  Him. Her. Them.

  He threaded his fingers through her, tilted her head back, trailed his hot mouth along the sensitive skin of her throat until she was breathless with need. Mindless with want. More, over and over, until she clung to him. Until there was nothing else except his touch, his taste. The sound of his harsh breathing, mingling with hers.

  This.

  Him. Her. Them.

  He broke the kiss, bent down and scooped her into his arms. His gaze—hungry and needy—never left hers as he carried her back to his bedroom.

  He lowered her to the bed, claimed her mouth once more in a kiss that ended too soon. He leaned back, watched her with the eyes of a hungry animal. "I'm not a saint, Kelsey."

  No, he wasn't. He was a warrior, hardened by things she could only imagine. Did he think she didn't know that? Was he asking her to acknowledge it?

  She didn't know. Didn't care. She didn't need a saint—

  She needed him.

  She lifted her hand, cradled his cheek with her palm. "I know."

  He watched her for the space of a few heartbeats, a few seconds where she feared he would pull away and send her back to her room. Then his mouth crashed against hers. Claiming hers. Claiming her. Demanding a surrender she willingly gave.

  He reached between them, grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up. Broke the kiss long enough to pull it over her head. This his mouth was back, trailing hungry kisses along her throat. His teeth nipped tender flesh. Lower, along her collarbone. Lower still, sending flames shootin
g across her skin. One large hand closed over her breast, kneaded and teased as his mouth closed over her nipple. Licking. Sucking. Nipping. Her back arched and she reached for him, tangled her fingers in his hair as he sucked and nipped. Over and over until her breathy moans of need filled the warm air. Need grew, spiraled. She rocked her hips against his, sighed at the feel of his erection, hard and thick and long.

  "Please." She heard the throaty plea, felt heat rush to her face when she realized it had come from her. Her hands pulled at his shirt, dragged it up his back, needing to feel bare flesh against bare flesh,

  Needing him.

  He pushed to his knees, yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it behind him. Kelsey's gaze landed on the leather cord around his neck and she froze.

  Trembling fingers reached for the rough black stone, gently caressed it as her eyes met his. "You kept it."

  "I haven't taken it off since the morning you left."

  There was something in his voice, something in his eyes when he looked at her—then his mouth was on hers once more and she could no longer think, she could only feel.

  His hands, caressing her bare skin. Teasing the points of her nipples.

  His knuckles, grazing her thighs as he peeled the sweatpants from her legs.

  The soft strands of his hair under her fingers, teasing the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh.

  His mouth, so hot and wet between her legs. His tongue, swirling against her sensitive flesh.

  The hard muscles of his arms holding her, whispering words of reassurance in her ear as she fell apart.

  The shifting of the mattress as he reached for the nightstand. The tear of a wrapper as he opened a condom.

  The weight of his body as he stretched out on top of her. The feel of his erection, so hard and thick as he drove into her. Hard. Deep. Fast. Over and over until there was nothing but this.

  Him. Her. Them.

  She screamed his name, clung to him as her body shattered. As she came apart again and again. His arms tightened around her, held her close as he drove into her a final time. As he called her name on a low moan, his lean hips pumping his release.

  She closed her eyes, felt herself drift off, secure in the cradle of his arms.

  Only then did she make sense of the look in his eyes, the tone in his voice when she had first seen the obsidian hanging from the leather cord around his neck. When she had uttered the surprise that he had kept it.

  When his gaze had met hers, never wavering as he answered.

  I haven't taken it off since the morning you left.

  It had been possessiveness.

  Kelsey didn't care. Not now, when she rested safely in his arms. Not now, when she knew Daryl would let nothing happen to her. Not now, when she knew he would soon be taking her to get her daughter.

  She drifted into the blackness and, after three long years, finally found peace as she rested.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The neighborhood was...disappointing. Strictly middle-class, with nothing to set it apart from any other middle-class neighborhood anywhere else in middle America.

  Even so, it was several steps up from the rat-infested slums where Grady Byrne had grown up, the youngest of four children of a poor single mother who cared more for the alcohol and drugs running through her veins than she did her own kids. She'd been nothing more than a whore, spreading her legs for any man with a dick to shove in her overused pussy—provided they had money to pay for the lack of pleasure she provided.

  And if it wasn't her pussy they wanted, she would barter with them, strike a deal and offer up either of her daughters, shoving a needle in their thin arms until they could no longer fight. Until they spread their own bruised legs as readily as their mother. Until they craved the drugs as much as the traitorous whore did.

  And if a man had no taste for pussy? If he craved a taste of young cock or had an urge to ram his dick in an untried ass? Well, his mother had two sons for that and would readily oblige the men—for a price.

  Grady shuddered in distaste and pushed the memory away. The young boy known as James Kelly was dead now, pulled from the slums by one of the very men who had used his mother. Seamus Byrne had witnessed his mother's crimes, had made her pay before brutally ending her life and dragging the boy away with him.

  He'd been reborn in the weeks that followed, given a new home—and a new name. Grady Byrne had started small, acting as nothing more than a messenger and errand boy for Seamus. He'd been given more responsibility as he grew older, proving himself time and time again until Seamus had made him second-in-command.

  Until Grady had taken over the business when Seamus passed away.

  That had been over twenty years ago and now...now Grady was in danger of losing it all. He refused to let that happen. The fools who had been careless enough to whisper behind his back, to sow the seeds of discontent in men once loyal to him, would soon learn how much they had underestimated him. Yes, they would learn. As soon as he had his granddaughter. When he had her, his legacy, he could put the rest of his plan into motion.

  It was time.

  He glanced around the neighborhood, searched the quiet streets. Everyone was safely behind closed doors, oblivious to the dangers around them. Grady swallowed his contempt for their carelessness and nodded to Daniel. The other man got out of the car, came around and opened the door for Grady.

  The walk to the house was a short one. If anyone happened to look out their window, they would see three businessmen, impeccably dressed in tailored suits. But nobody was looking.

  Nobody was paying attention.

  Grady knocked on the door, waited patiently as he listened to the woman moving around inside the house. A shadow passed in front of the window and Grady smiled, knowing the woman would be looking through the tiny peephole in the door.

  Knowing she would be reassured by the sight of the well-dressed older gentleman standing patiently, harmlessly, on the other side.

  A lock turned and the door slowly opened. A woman's face appeared around the corner of the door. Short dark hair framed a full face. A row of piercings lined her right ear, another one glittered from the edge of her nose. Grady hid his disgust, widened his smile and saw the woman visibly relax.

  "Can I help you?"

  "I hope so. I was looking for Theresa Martin." The name rolled from his tongue, carefully wrapped in an exaggerated lilt. A brief smile lifted the corner of the woman's mouth, quickly disappeared in her confusion.

  "I'm Theresa."

  "You were a friend of Allen Davis?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "I think you may have some information I would find very useful."

  The woman's brows pulled low over eyes suddenly filled with wariness. She shook her head, started to close the door. "I'm sorry but I can't help you—"

  Grady slammed his hand against the door, the smile never wavering from his face. "I believe you can."

  Fear crossed the woman's face and she tried to shove the door closed. It was a useless gesture. Grady shoved his shoulder against the wood, pushed the door open and stepped inside as the woman ran for the other room. Daniel moved around him, caught the woman by the arm and held her in place as Grady quietly closed the door—and locked it.

  Dark eyes widened in fear as Grady approached her. He smiled, a genuine smile this time as the woman cowered in Daniel's strong hold. He reached for her hand, cradled it gently between his own.

  "As I was saying, Ms. Martin—you have some information that would be very useful to me." He took one of her fingers between his own and twisted, felt bone crack and tendons snap. Smiled when the woman screamed. "And we won't be leaving until I get it."

  Chapter Twenty

  "Jesus. Are you fucking kidding me?"

  Daryl glanced over his shoulder, frowned when he noticed Chaos staring at something down the hall. The man turned toward him, dark brows slashed low over chilling blue eyes.

  "You have got to be fucking kidding me." Chaos repeated the words, dr
awing the attention of the other three men standing around: Mac, Boomer, and Wolf. Chaos ignored the curious glances and moved closer to Daryl, his voice lowered in a harsh growl.

  "You really think fucking her is a good idea?"

  Daryl didn't think, he reacted. His fist shot out, clipping Chaos on the jaw before the man could move. All hell broke loose in the space of two seconds—Mac jumped between them, grabbing Daryl and shoving him backward. Boomer did the same to Chaos, aided by an arm around the man's throat.

  Wolf quietly stood there, a fucking shit-eating grin on his face as he watched.

  Daryl shrugged off Mac's hold, leaned around the bigger man and pointed at Chaos. "You need to shut the fuck up."

  "Me? Seriously? I'm not the one fucking—"

  Daryl lunged for him again, only to be grabbed once more by Mac.

  "Both of you knock it the fuck off." Mac shot a warning look at Chaos, turned that same look on Daryl. "What the hell is he talking about?"

  Daryl shook his head, started to say he had no clue and that it was nobody's damn business anyway but Chaos jumped in and started spouting off at the mouth. "I'm talking about the woman who just snuck out of his room and hurried into the guest room."

  Daryl shot the man a scathing glance that would have any other normal man slinking away. The problem was, Chaos wasn't like normal men, not by a long shot. "You need to mind your own damn business and shut the fuck up."

  Boomer pushed Chaos back. "Wait. Hang on. Is he talking about the girl from this morning?"

  "Who the fuck else would I be talking about?"

  Boomer ignored Chaos, turned back to Daryl with a surprised grin. "Seriously? After she tried to shoot me? You've got balls, Zeus, I'll give you that. I mean, I know you two got together after Mac's wedding but still."

  "Knock it off. Everyone." Mac's gravelly voice sliced through the air, silencing everyone—not that anyone else had been talking. He leveled a questioning glance at Daryl then shook his head. Yeah, Daryl heard the unspoken recrimination in that glance.