Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  It was safe here. They’d never made love here.

  And now they never would. They’d never make love again, anywhere. He’d never kiss her spine again. He’d never nibble at her ankles. He’d never, ever again call out her name as he came inside her. It was too much—the loss of him, the loss of all her dreams for a future with him.

  Suddenly, there was a rustle at the door. She looked up to see Cord bracing his arm on the archway. A muted light she’d left on in the far comer illuminated the outline of his powerful thighs, encased in snug denim cutoffs; the loose cotton shirt accented his wide, stiff shoulders.

  “I thought you’d gone to bed,” she said softly.

  “No, I was checking the backyard.”

  “Why, did you see something?”

  “No, no, just to be safe.”

  “Oh.”

  She studied his face. It was drawn and hollow. “You look exhausted.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I haven’t gotten much sleep this week.” He watched her closely, then took hesitant steps to the edge of the chaise. He stood above her for a moment, but finally sat down. His thigh rubbed hers. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “No, of course I’m not. Neither are you.”

  He hunched over, locking his hands between his knees. A sigh escaped him. He was silent, but she could feel the tension radiate from him. Finally, he said, “What are we going to do? About us?”

  She stared up at the ceiling and threw her arm over her forehead. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m not sure I can handle this.” A deep, dark confession from a man who’d been miserly with his emotions for eighteen years. Stacey said nothing, waiting for more. It came, wrenched from him. “I’m not sure I can handle this revulsion you feel for me.”

  Oh, God, could he be more wrong? No matter what, she couldn’t let him think that. “No, Cord, I don’t feel repulsed.”

  His head whipped around and he stared at her. “I thought—I thought you said...”

  “I was confused. I’m devastated by what happened years ago, and how you and my father orchestrated this cover-up. But I could never feel repulsed by you. I love you.”

  Cord’s shoulders slumped and he buried his head in his hands. His pain reached out to her; she scrambled up on her knees, circled his waist with her arms and laid her cheek on his back. Powerful, strained muscles bulged beneath her.

  After a moment, he turned and grasped her shoulders. “Stace...can I...I need... Oh, damn, can I hold you? Just for a little while? I need that right now.”

  She studied his face intently, then climbed onto his lap. His arms banded around her as he yanked her flush with his chest. She gripped his neck, burying her face in his skin, breathing in his scent.

  “I miss you so much,” she said. “I can’t stand this separation, Cord. It hurts too much.”

  “I know, baby. Me, too. It hurts too much for me, too.”

  Slowly, she raised her head. He was looking down at her, his eyes dark as the night. Lifting a shaky hand to his jaw, she rubbed the rough stubble of his beard. She moved to his mouth. He was stock-still as her two fingers traced its outline.

  Then she replaced her fingers with her lips.

  It was as if something snapped inside him. He devoured her mouth with a force and possessiveness she’d never known from him. His hands were all over her, inflaming, then soothing. He massaged her hips, her buttocks, rubbing his big, masculine hands up and down her legs. Then he pulled back. “Stacey,” he whispered hoarsely against her cheek, “I’ll never be able to live without this.” He raised his hand and cupped her breast firmly. “Sometimes I feel like I’m going to die if can’t touch you again.”

  Delirious by his scent, by his hoarse declarations, Stacey said, “Then make the pain stop, Cord. Even if only for tonight, make it stop.”

  Without uttering a word, he eased her onto her back. Looming over her, he said, “I will,” and covered her body with his.

  Threading his fingers through her short hair, he anchored her head so he could master her mouth. He pressed his lips firmly to hers. His tongue probed hard, making her open to him. He invaded and claimed. “Oh, love,” he said against her mouth. Trailing his lips to her ear, he glided his tongue along its inner recesses. She jerked against him, so he ground his hips into hers. “That’s it, show me...show me how you feel...” At her neck now, he kissed, and sucked and she knew he’d leave marks.

  She felt his hands move to the lace at the neckline of her gown. He fumbled with the pearl buttons; when they didn’t give way quickly, Stacey felt pressure, then the material came apart. His frantic need to get to her made her heart pump fast. His hands were warm as he slid the garment off her shoulders, then took her beasts and massaged them. As if accepting an offering, he lifted one to his mouth. He suckled hard and Stacey squirmed beneath him. “Cord, it’s not enough. Do more.”

  “Why?” he mumbled, burying his face in her cleavage.

  Raising her hand to his head, she grasped his hair and yanked it up. “You know why, damn it.”

  Blue eyes stared at her. “I want to hear why.”

  “I need you. I need you to touch me.”

  Sparks shot out of his eyes like the heart of a blue flame, burning her everywhere. “Say you’ll always need it. No matter how far apart we are, say you’ll always need it.” He thrust his lower body against her, sending shock waves to every extremity. “Say it.”

  “I’ll always need it.”

  Released by her hoarse confession, he moved his mouth from her breast to her ribs, outlining each one with his tongue. She groaned. He dipped into her navel and she pushed her hands against his shoulders, urging him down. She moaned low, long, the sound stringing out when he nuzzled her curls. “Cord, please...please...”

  Finally, he closed his mouth over her sensitized nub and her whole body jerked in reaction. His tongue flicked once and Stacey felt it burn through her, singeing her nerve endings. She gripped his shoulders for grounding, but the lightning of his touch continued, and soon her hips were bucking. Callused fingers anchored them to the cushions as he continued with his clever tongue, increasing the pressure by degrees. All at once, pleasure shot through Stacey like a runaway train, derailing all thought, all awareness, except for the crashing explosions that kept coming and coming until she thought she’d die. So sensitized, she knew he had to stop, she couldn’t stand it, but he was relentless for long, exquisite minutes.

  When she finally came back to reality, he edged up on his knees. Looking into her eyes, he cupped her, sending jolt after jolt of aftershocks through her. “Remember this,” he said.

  Stacey came up on her elbows. Her sultry eyes studied him, the short curls a tangle around her face. Beads of sweat on her forehead and over her lips testified to her pleasure—to the pleasure only he had ever given her. Savagely, he forced back the knowledge that some other man would give it to her someday. He ground his hand against her. “Tell me, no matter what, you’ll always remember.”

  “I’ll always remember,” she said, underscoring his satisfaction and his terror at the same time. Then she sat up, reached out and unzipped his cutoffs. Releasing him, she took his long, hard length into her palm. He sank back on his haunches, between her spread thighs as she squeezed him, then ran her hands up and down him. He closed his eyes, wanting to give thanks but only able to feel the strength of her fingers on him.

  When she let go, his eyes flew open; she scrambled off the couch and knelt on the rug. She urged him to sit. Drawing his legs on either side of her, she yanked at his shorts. He raised his hips so she could pull them off, along with his briefs. Placing her hands on his knees, she ran her tongue down the side of each thigh. “Stacey—oh, Sta-cey...”

  She lifted her eyes to him. “What? Tell me.”

  ‘‘Damn it, take me...in...your mouth.”

  When she did, he groaned, bracing his arms on either side of him. All sensation, all pleasure, converged on the center of his body, pulsing an
d pulsing and finally erupting into the most searing pleasure he’d ever experienced.

  When he could breathe again, he looked down at her head resting on his thigh. She was taking in air fast, too. He knew that making him come had aroused her, so he brought his hands to her shoulders and gently forced her back onto the rug.

  Wide eyes watched him tear at the buttons of his shirt, whip it and his gun off, and bend to kiss her— starting with her forehead, journeying down her body and back up again. By then, she was panting, and his breathing had picked up. He was hard again.

  “Come inside me,” she whispered.

  He heard the unspoken one more time tagged on.

  That was all it took; he thrust inside her and kept thrusting and thrusting until he heard her scream his name and felt her nails dig into his back.

  Then he joined her.

  One more time.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  * * *

  ON THE ANNIVERSARY of Helene’s death, the Webb household was eerily quiet.

  Gifford locked himself in his den to deal with his ghosts. He stood by the high, arched windows and looked out at the water glistening on the pool that Helene had loved. Every August seventh had been tough for him, remembering his folly, regretting his haste. This year, given what had occurred with Cord and Stacey, the renewed sorrow and bitter frustration of losing the only woman Gifford had ever loved smothered him. Almost unable to bear the grief, he covered his face with his hands. He was committed to a black-tie dinner at Canfield Country Club that evening, or he would have taken off to his cabin and spared everyone his foul mood.

  * * *

  STACEY WAS HOLED up in her room. She lay on her bed, staring up at the skylights, willing herself not to feel anything. She’d never let this date have any significance for her in the past; but today, it was an excruciating reminder, not only of the mother who had been taken away from her, but also of Cord’s past history with Helene. The thought was still too much to internalize. It had been three days since she and Cord had made love for the last time. She couldn’t banish the images of his mouth on her, or forget his whispered words of love, so instead she wallowed in them.

  * * *

  CORD PACED THE upstairs hall like a caged animal. He’d seen Gifford go into the library hours ago and not come out. He knew the man was suffering a deep sense of loss and guilt today. Staring at Stacey’s closed door, he recalled what it had felt like to be in there three nights ago. He could still feel her clenched around him when he was inside her—one last time. If he hadn’t been convinced of the end of their relationship before, the poignancy of their lovemaking that night did the trick. Stacey had touched him as she never had before, and though he’d reveled in her ministrations, he knew she was saying goodbye. The thought made him kick the spindles of the railing, sending shocks of pain through his leg.

  Something had to give, or they’d all go crazy being thrown together, haunted by the past.

  * * *

  THE SKY WAS starless and blue-black at nine o’clock that night when Cord swerved his truck into a parking space behind Lauren Sellers’s green Taurus. Thank God, she was home. Under the flickering street lamp, he inspected each car in the area, searching for Mark Dunn’s rusted black Mustang.

  Satisfied, he exited the truck, took the porch stairs two at a time and leaned on the doorbell. He waited. No answer. He rang again. Peering around the corner, he noted the dim lighting in the front room. Then he heard the snick of the lock.

  Lauren pulled open the door; she was dressed in a brown linen shirt and a short beige skirt. Though tailored and tidy, the outfit did nothing to enhance her attractiveness.

  “Cord?”

  “Hello, Lauren.”

  Her eyes darted around the open porch. “Where’s Stacey?”

  Shifting restlessly, he dug his hands into his pockets, knocking his wrist on the beeper attached to his belt. “She’s not with me.”

  Lauren’s unusual eyes widened. “Not with you? Why? You haven’t gone anywhere without her in three months.”

  “I know. But I had to talk to you alone.” Cord sighed. “Can I come in?”

  Slowly, Lauren opened the door wider. Without speaking, she led him into the front parlor. “I assume you’ve left her well protected,” she finally said when they were both seated.

  “Yeah. Joe Ferron’s with her. She’ll be okay for a half hour.”

  “What’s up?”

  Cord scanned the cramped living room with its flowered couch, faded green chairs and battered piano. Then he glanced out the archway to the hall leading to the back of the house. “Lauren, is anyone here? Are you alone?”

  “Of course,” she said quickly. “I usually am.”

  “All right. I just don’t want to be overheard.” He looked up at the ceiling, wondering where to begin. “Stacey’s a mess. I don’t know how much she’s told you...about us.”

  Lauren’s gaze turned icy. “I’m not going to discuss Stacey behind her back. I will tell you I think what you did to Gifford eighteen years ago was unforgivable. That man is a saint to let you into his house again.”

  His jaw clenched, Cord steeled himself against the guilt. “Your disgust with me isn’t any greater than what I feel for myself.”

  “Does Stacey believe that?”

  “Stacey doesn’t know what to believe. That’s why I’m here. She needs someone to talk to. I’m afraid she’s letting all this eat her up inside. I came here tonight to tell you how much she needs a friend. One like you, who’s never let her down.”

  Lauren studied him before she said, “She told me the same thing last week. That you and her father had let her down badly. That I was the only one she could count on.”

  The restatement of Stacey’s feelings toward him twisted his gut, but he forced himself to continue. He’d come here with a purpose. “She needs you. Tonight more than ever.”

  “Why tonight?”

  “It’s the anniversary of Helene’s death.”

  “Oh poor...poor Stacey. Is her father with her?”

  “No, he--”

  Suddenly, Cord’s beeper went off, silencing him. Clearly irritated, Lauren glared in the direction of the shrill noise. “Sorry,” Cord said. “I need to call home. This beeper is for my mother. Excuse me. It must be important.”

  He walked into the hallway. Nervously running his hand through his hair, Cord punched in the number to his house. When Nora picked up, he asked, “Mom? What is it?”

  “It’s Megan. She has bad pains in her lower right abdomen. We’re on our way to Canfield Hospital. I just called the ambulance.”

  “What?”

  “The doctor thinks it’s appendicitis and they might need to operate. You’ve got to get there right away.” His mother’s voice shook.

  “Oh, God. All right. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Hang on, Mom.”

  Cord slammed down the phone and turned to find Lauren behind him. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  As he headed for the door, he said gruffly, “It’s Megan. She’s had an appendix attack. I’m going to the hospital.” He took Lauren by the shoulders, his grasp harder than it should be. “Call Stacey. Tell her what happened. Make sure Ferron stays with her. I’ll phone her as soon as I can.”

  Lauren blinked. “Cord...I don’t...”

  But he was out the door before he heard the rest of her statement.

  He could think of nothing but the crisis at hand.

  * * *

  FROM THE BUSHES, the man watched the house for twenty minutes before he set off the alarm on the police car. Sure enough, Ferron exited the front door and trotted to the black and white that was stationed in the driveway. It was almost too easy. He laughed to himself, careful not to rustle the leaves. Quiet, unnoticed, he observed Ferron duck his head into the front seat. The brick was heavy, but the man lifted it with one hand. Ferron went down without a whimper. The dumb cop was as easy to trick tonight as he had been months ago when the man had lured the jerk away from
Stacey with a false-alarm accident.

  He dragged Ferron out of sight. Though it was pitch-dark—he’d defused all the outdoor lights—he wasn’t taking any chances. Nothing would go wrong tonight. She wouldn’t escape him tonight. He licked his lips. Soon, very soon, he’d have her on her knees and begging.

  Quickly, he strode to the front door and turned the knob. It didn’t open. But that was all right. Sliding his hand into his pocket, he felt the outline of the key through his thin black gloves. Careful—always careful—he stalked to the back of the house.

  He climbed each of the twenty-eight wooden stairs like a cat, with stealthy, silent footfalls. It was easy to slip open the door. He didn’t even have to dismantle the alarm; Ferron had turned it off when he’d gone outside to check out the noise.

  Inside, the sitting room was dark except for the slivered moon casting long thin strips of light on the Oriental rug. He crossed halfway, then halted. Water was running in the shower. Perfect. He’d surprise her as she bathed—as she rubbed her breasts and washed between her legs. He could picture the warm soapy water caressing the intimate parts of her. A familiar rush of blood to his loins galvanized him. Leaning down, he eased the knife out of his boot and gazed at the sacred metal instrument.

  Soundlessly, he took another step.

  “Not so fast,” he heard—clearly, coldly—from the left.

  He spun around. “What the fuck…”

  The light switched on, and he saw Cord McKay poised against the wall, a cocked nine millimeter aiming outward.

  With his other hand, the bodyguard held a cell phone. He said into it, “I’ve got him. Red-handed. I need the unit now.”

  His arms and legs trembled and chalky yellow ring appeared before his eyes. McKay’s face wavered and in its place, he saw his father. “You stupid moron,” the old man said. “You’re a damn fool to get caught by such a simple trap. You’re no son of mine.”

  He shook his head. “No...no...I’ll show you.”