Under the Covers

by Roz Lee

  From studying the blueprints, he recognized the location and decided it was likely one of the construction crew come to check out Richard’s and Fallon's unusual lifestyle. The door had swung partially closed behind the intruder. Drew flattened himself against the wall in case he was mistaken about the person inside. He checked the safety. Odds were the intruder was harmless, but you didn't stay alive by taking chances. He leaned in so he could see into the room. He glimpsed a few items in the room and made a mental note to come back when he had more time to check it out for himself. He'd never been much into bondage, but that didn't mean he wasn't curious. Knowledge was power.

  One booted foot came into view, attached to a leg encased in green cargo pants. It looked familiar. His eyes traveled up to the camo T-shirt and he relaxed back against the wall and silently returned his weapon to its holster.

  Bree. Lately she'd taken to wearing the concealing outfit around the island. It wasn't a fashion statement. She was armed to the teeth, and the baggy garb made it impossible to tell. He swung around, keeping his body behind the wall in case she was trigger-happy, and pushed the door open with his foot.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Hold your fire. It's me." When she didn't shoot, he eased his body into the door opening.

  "Drew."

  "In the flesh." She was downright adorable with a gun in her hand. She was running on adrenaline, and damn, he'd never seen anything sexier. "You going to shoot me with that?"

  She looked at the gun in her hand as if she'd forgotten she had it, engaged the safety and slipped it into the holster clipped to the waistband of her pants. Pants he desperately wanted to get off her. She'd probably rather shoot him than let that happen. "No, not going to shoot you. Today. What are you doing here?"

  "I was going to ask you the same thing." He glanced around the room, taking in the tools necessary to practice the rope bondage scenes Richard and Fallon were fond of.

  "My roommate snores like a construction worker. Terry said it would be okay if I moved my stuff here. I came to check it out."

  He took a cautious step closer. "Your roommate is a construction worker."

  "Really? I hadn't noticed." She, too, moved a step in the same direction, maintaining the distance between them. "Mary is nice, but I need some sleep."

  "I don't snore." His next step was longer, and more obvious. It brought him close enough to reach out and touch her. He considered it a victory when she didn't push his hands away from where they'd come to rest on her hips. How was it possible she looked even sexier in combat gear than in the skimpy stuff she wore on the ship?

  "Drew," she sighed. "We can't do this."

  "What?" he asked as he inched her backward, one baby step at a time.

  "This. Sex. We can't. I—" Her heel hit the wall, followed by her ass, then her other heel and her shoulder blades.

  "We can." Drew nuzzled her neck just above the collar of her T-shirt. His thumbs worked the hem up, then slid under to touch the bare skin above her waistband. She felt like heaven, and smelled better. He'd missed her, missed touching her, missed hearing her say his name. His hands slid higher so his thumbs brushed the band of her cotton bra. "Did you know camo turns me on?"

  "Drew."

  His name on her lips, half exasperated, half turned-on made him want to crow like a rooster. "You want this. I know you do." Her head fell back with an audible thud as it hit the wall behind her. He sensed her inner struggle and nudged her in the direction he wanted her to go. "Does this room turn you on? I can tie you up, if you want me to."

  "Drew."

  "No? Then let me love you." He pulled the T-shirt over her head and shoved her bra up to expose her breasts. Her tight nipples told him her need was almost as sharp as his. He framed her ribcage in his palms and leaned back to look his fill. "Damn." One hand traced down to the holstered gun riding against her skin. "That's about the sexiest thing I've ever seen." He reminded his heart to beat and let his eyes wander over the expanse of exposed skin before him. Her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps that would have matched his, had he been breathing.

  "We can't…"

  "Oh, darlin', we can." He bent and took one puckered nipple into his mouth. She was a taste he couldn't get enough of, and when she arched into him and clasped his head between her hands, he knew he'd come home. Her sexy moans fueled his desire, a desire that was rapidly escalating out of control. He released her breast and she jerked his head toward the other one. He was headed there anyway, so he didn't argue. As he pulled the neglected nipple into his mouth, he slipped one hand beneath her waistband.

  He thanked any power listening for baggy cargo pants as his fingers found her wet center. Another moan rent the air and she slid lower on the wall, opening herself for his questing fingers. He released her breast and pressed himself against her, his hand still down the front of her pants, stroking, coaxing her closer to the edge. He ground his erection into her hip. Christ. He was near to exploding, but his needs could wait.

  "Darlin', you don't know what you do to me," he crooned against the top of her head. He groaned as she opened her mouth against his shoulder and took a bite out of his shirt, skin and all.

  "Fuck." He drove his hand deeper in her pants. He speared her core with two fingers, driving into her with almost brutal force. "You want to play rough, darlin'?" He slid his fingers out and drove back in again, harder. He ground his thumb against her clit. She released his shoulder long enough to cry out, and then she bit him again.

  He'd never been in a more heated battle. Her hips bucked against his hand. Her juices coated his palm as he drove relentlessly into her. She fought him for what she needed, and fought against what she wanted. She was magnificent. Her body flushed with desire and need writhed against him. She ground her mound against his hand, and sank her teeth into his shoulder between strangled gasps punctuated with curses any sailor would be proud of. And all the while Drew held her, pinned her between the wall and his body.

  He took her abuse, knew he deserved every bit of it for what he'd put her through, and for the lies still between them. He rained kisses on the crown of her head and muttered soothing words that fell unintelligible in the tangle of her hair. Her thrashing stopped, and her body drew tight. Drew pressed harder against her and increased the tempo with his fingers. "Come for me darlin'. You can do it. Let go." He wrapped his free arm around the back of her head, cradling her cheek in his palm and pressing her face into his chest. "Ah, God, I love you." Her climax wrenched the declaration from his chest on a strangled sob.

  Drew held her until the last tremors died away. Then he extricated his fingers from her body and slipped his hand out of her pants. She curled into him like a broken doll, and he wrapped her in his embrace. Where she'd found plenty to call him while he was inside her, she was quiet now. If he hadn't felt her breathing even out against his chest, he wouldn't have known she was alive. When he slipped a finger under the bottom edge of her bra, she let him pull it down to cover her breasts again and curled back against his chest.

  He felt like the biggest ass on the planet. She hated him, but she gave herself to him anyway. And ass that he was, he'd let her. If he were any kind of gentleman, he'd apologize and get the hell out of her life. But even as he thought it, he knew he'd never do it. She was his, and damned if he was going to let her go.

  "I've got to go." She pushed against his chest and he loosened his hold on her. She picked up her shirt and pulled it on, never once looking at him. He was still so hard he didn't think he could walk, so he stood with knees locked and watched her leave.

  ****

  Bree lowered the night vision goggles, staring into the darkness beyond the bedroom window. Drew Whitcomb was an ass. He'd spent the last six nights prowling the woods around Richard’s and Fallon's house like a guard dog with the hots for the family poodle. Not that Bree thought of herself as a poodle, but it was the only analogy she could come up with. He wasn't even trying to be subtle. He crashed around in the woods on his s
elf-appointed rounds, then sat with his back against a coconut palm, watching her bedroom window. It should have been comforting to know he was out there, but she hadn't had a good night's sleep since she'd moved to the house. She was seriously considering returning to the bunk she'd vacated. A snoring construction worker hadn't affected her sleep the way Drew's constant vigil was doing.

  She crawled back into bed and stared at the slowly rotating blades of the ceiling fan. If she returned to the bunkhouse, Drew would probably follow. When did the man sleep?

  Apparently never. He was always there. No matter what time of day, or night, Drew was nearby. Sure, it was a small island, and he did have a job to do, but it seemed to her he spent all his time watching her.

  Mostly, his presence felt like a guardian angel, hovering, ready to fly in and wrap his protective wings around her if she was in danger. The thought infuriated her almost as much as it warmed her. The ass. She didn't need a bodyguard. As far as she was concerned, he could take himself back to the Lothario. He could get himself some wings for the next costume party and find some bimbo to hover over.

  Then there were the times she felt his gaze on her and absolutely nothing about it felt protective. Those were the times she felt like the bunny rabbit to Drew's coyote. If she stepped too far out of her safe zone, he'd dash in and gobble her up. It was the most disturbing of her Drew fantasies because it was the one she was most tempted to let play out.

  She turned onto her side and pulled her knees close to her chest. All she had to do was step outside the front door. Drew would take that as invitation enough, and no doubt he'd have his big paw down her panties before she could get a shot off in his direction.

  Her pussy throbbed as she remembered the way he'd gotten her off the other day in the bondage room. She still couldn't believe she'd let him do it. He was a wily coyote, all right. He'd charmed his way into her pants with a few slow words and a touch. She couldn't think when Drew touched her. It was like he flipped a switch inside her brain every time their skin came in contact. Her brain shut down and her body went haywire, responding to his touches, squirming and writhing to get closer to him.

  And that voice. Like warm molasses oozing over her skin, filling her up and making her crave her next fix from his lips. She replayed those three words over in her mind again. Had he really said he loved her, or had her short-circuited brain invented them? She'd been too overcome at the time to know what was real and what was fantasy, and she damned sure wasn't going to ask him if she'd imagined it. Still, she held the memory close, half hoping it was real, and half wishing it wasn't.

  The pillow swallowed her groan, but it did nothing to ease the ache inside. How was it possible to love someone and hate him at the same time? How could she want him with a need so sharp it diced her heart up into little pieces, and at the same time be repulsed by what she knew he'd done with Celeste and Sean?

  What had Celeste said? Drew would tell her when he thought the time was right? She couldn't imagine the time ever being right, or any explanation that would make her understand how he could fuck someone else's wife. Not even if her husband invited him. No. That was one circumstance she couldn't imagine.

  Tears soaked into the pillow. No matter how badly her body wanted Drew, or how much she loved him, she couldn't be with him. Not knowing what she knew.

  The day dawned clear and bright, another perfect Caribbean day, and along with the sunshine came a deluge of deliveries. It was controlled chaos on the small dock. Bree scrambled to keep up with the workload, but it was impossible to search every shipment, nor could she justify delaying the unloading of the ships. These were routine deliveries, scheduled months in advance from trusted suppliers. Instead, she chose to randomly search the deliveries, and discreetly question the captains of the vessels regarding any new employees they might have aboard. By the end of the day, there were still three ships anchored in deep water waiting their turn to offload onto the smaller skiffs that ran between the ships and the island dock. With Terry's help, she'd arranged to speak with the captains of those ships the next day.

  Exhausted, Bree nabbed some fruit from the kitchen tent and headed to the house. All she could think about was a shower, and lying on the bed as the cool ocean breeze dried her naked body while she worked her way through the fruit. She might even liberate a bottle of wine from Richard's collection. She doubted he would mind, even if he did notice one missing, and that was a remote possibility.

  She was still dreaming of the perfect scenario when she stepped out of the bathroom into the darkened hallway. Rough hands grabbed her arm, swung her around and brought her back against a solid body. One arm pinned her right wrist between her shoulder blades while another crushed her windpipe. She tried to scream, but the air was trapped in her lungs. Pain shot from her shoulder to the pinned wrist as she clawed with her free hand at the arm cutting off her air supply.

  Drew was last thing she thought about before her world went black. She hadn't told him she loved him.

  ****

  Drew looked around the tables scattered among the palms and low-growing plants. Bree must have eaten earlier, or not at all. He'd spent most of the afternoon helping the installation crew sort out the new shipment of electronics that had arrived on one of the morning boats. Each piece had to be checked out, then labeled as to where it was to be installed. It was a time-consuming process, and had kept him from doing what his gut told him he had to do—keep an eye on Bree.

  He consumed his meal without bothering to taste it. As much as he wanted to find Bree and assure himself she was safe, his body had to have fuel. He couldn't afford to be weak with hunger when Bree's life might be on the line.

  God, he'd chafed at not being there to watch her all day, but he couldn't very well tell his crew he didn't give a goddamn about the security system. Not and maintain his cover. That meant doing his civilian job, and doing it well. Hell, he had a responsibility to the company he co-owned, as well as to their clients. It was damned inconvenient that his civilian job happened to coincide with his mission.

  It seemed everyone was tired from a long and hectic day, but that didn't keep them from celebrating when the kitchen staff brought out a huge birthday cake, complete with candles, to celebrate the construction foreman's birthday. Drew tried to sneak away, but his crew closed ranks around him and swept him into the middle of the celebration. Terry made a short thank you speech before he blew out the candles. Everyone cheered when the staff revealed two giant coolers full of ice-cold beer to go along with the cake. Drew couldn't leave without having a beer, but he did turn down the cake. Even though the sun was going down, he couldn't stomach the heavy sweet dessert on top of dinner and a couple of beers.

  Eventually the party moved to the beach as groups of construction workers hefted the coolers on their shoulders. Most of the crowd followed them like rats after a string of sausages. It was the opening Drew had been hoping for. As the mess tent emptied in one direction, he slipped away in the opposite, but not before snagging a couple more cold beers to get him through another long, vigilant night. Heck, maybe he'd even share one with Bree.

  As he trekked through the dense forest with the last rays of sunlight at his back, whether from the effects of too many beers after so long without a drink, or from some leftover unfulfilled fantasy, Drew paid little attention to his route. The more he thought about sharing a beer with Bree, the more he convinced himself it was a good idea. She was still avoiding him, but after the day he'd made her come with his fingers, he knew she was only fooling herself. She wanted him, maybe even loved him, and it was time she came to terms with her feelings. She might as well start tonight.

  He cradled both beers between his forearm and his chest, using his free hand to turn the doorknob. It still blew his mind people as smart as Ryan and Richard could build houses with no security measures whatsoever. He shouldered the door open, stepped into the dark entryway, and kicked the door shut with his foot.

  Damn. Maybe she wasn't here. He s
hifted the beers and blinked to adjust his eyes to the total darkness inside the house. He took one tentative step, trying to remember if the small table he remembered in the entryway was to the left or the right, when a sharp pain split the back of his head. The last thing that ran through his mind as his knees buckled and his world went black, was, damn, she's still pissed at me.

  ****

  Drew remained still, gathering information before he opened his eyes. His head hurt like a son-of-a-gun, and he was going to kill the son-of-a-bitch who hit him… as soon as he got his goddamned hands and feet untied. At least it wasn't Bree who'd hit him. If he wasn't mistaken, she was next to him on the floor, probably tied up too. He could hear her even breathing, could smell the lemon-scented soap she used. If the circumstances were different, it would stir his blood to the boiling point. But right now, he had other things to think about.