Renegade Alpha (ALPHA 5)

by Carole Mortimer

  Lijah understood her vehemence; her boyfriend had been killed in front of her, and her father’s body was now lying in a Washington morgue, waiting to be shipped back to England. Bill and Dair were discreetly organizing that between the two of them, as well as keeping the Washington police department off their backs. There was something to be said for having friends in high places.

  Not so much for having enemies in high places.

  If Callie was correct and Richard Stockton had recognized her and now knew she was in Washington, then she was in serious danger. The man had killed twice, and there was no reason to suppose he would hesitate to kill a third time.

  Maybe it was the adrenaline high that motivated the other man to commit robbery and murder after years of being repressed and molded into his father’s image? Lijah had channeled his own childhood frustrations in a positive manner when he joined the army and learned how to use that anger and frustration in a controlled way. Richard Stockton didn’t have that luxury.

  Yes, the more Lijah thought about it, the more he could see certain parallels between himself and Richard Stockton, and the more he could see that the other man fitted the profile as the perfect killer. Who would ever suspect him, with his respectable upright family and his connections to the president of the United States?

  There but for the army—and Peter Morgan—went Lijah?

  Maybe. But he hoped not. “You do realize that after tonight, Stockton is going to be looking for you?”

  Her chin rose determinedly. “Yes.”

  “If your father was here—”

  “But he isn’t,” Callie cut in. “There’s just you and me and those four men outside, and between us, we have to prove that Richard Stockton is a monster behind that façade of respectability, and ensure that he’s punished for his crimes.”

  Maybe using the leverage of how her father would feel hadn’t been such a good idea, in the circumstances. But the thought of Richard Stockton ever getting his hands on Callie was enough to send a cold shiver down the length of Lijah’s spine. A cold-blooded killer was bad enough, but this man had already shown that he liked to play with his victims first. Besides which, the man seemed to be developing a taste for killing.

  At the same time, Lijah couldn’t deny that Callie was a grown woman of twenty-four, with a will of her own and the power to use it. She had also earned the right to stay in Washington and hunt down her father’s killer.

  Even if Lijah hated the very idea of her deliberately putting herself in danger.

  Callie woke with a start, totally disoriented for several seconds as she tried to remember where she was and what she was doing here.

  The truth crashed down on her.

  Her father was dead, she was convinced Richard Stockton was responsible, and in all probability, he was now going to come looking for her.

  Callie had lain awake for hours after coming up to bed, before finally falling into a fitful sleep, only to be woken up again by—

  She sat upright in bed as she heard the sound of Lijah’s raised voice—the same reason she had woken up so suddenly just seconds ago?

  Were they under attack?

  Callie threw off the bedclothes and got quickly out of bed before hurrying over to the window.

  She had felt reassured when she saw Rory and Jonas outside in the garden earlier as the two men patrolled the grounds, the moon bright enough to show they both wore a shoulder holster and gun beneath their jackets.

  They were both still out there, watchful but with their guns secured in their holsters.

  So not under attack, then.

  So why was Lijah shouting? Had someone managed to evade Rory and Jonas as well as the detection of the security system, before infiltrating the house itself?

  Seemed unlikely, but there was no escaping the fact that Lijah was still shouting. And he sounded angry.

  Callie’s movements were cautious as she opened her bedroom door, checking the hallway was empty before slipping quietly out of the room and across the hallway to the bedroom where Lijah had just called someone a “fucking sadistic bastard.”

  Should she knock or just go straight in?

  If Lijah was under attack, then knocking on the door would be a pretty stupid thing to do, but then so would going into the bedroom without some sort of weapon.

  There was nothing in the hallway for her to use as a weapon.

  Except maybe the lamp stand?

  If she unplugged it and removed the shade, then she might be able to—

  “I’m not that little kid anymore, so come on, I dare you to try hitting me again now!”

  What the—

  Rather than being attacked by someone tangible, could Lijah possibly be fighting with someone in his dreams?

  It certainly sounded like it.

  A nightmare in which someone had hit him when he was a child.

  Callie knew with sickening clarity exactly who that someone was. The “evil old bastard.” Lijah’s own father.

  Her hands curled instinctively into fists, and a tide of anger washed over her just at the thought of anyone hurting Lijah, let alone when he was a child and therefore defenseless.

  No wonder he had eventually walked away, disowning his parents and his own heritage.

  But what did Callie do now?

  Did she walk away and pretend she hadn’t heard Lijah’s nightmare? He was a proud and arrogant man, and he certainly wouldn’t thank her for knowing of the demon that still haunted his dreams.

  Or did she go into the bedroom and hold him in her arms and try to comfort him?

  Comfort Lijah?

  The aggression in his voice said it would be like trying to comfort a feral animal!

  She couldn’t just walk away.

  Not only was it totally against her nature, but she couldn’t leave Lijah alone in there with his torment.

  The bedroom was in darkness when she quietly opened the door and slipped inside, the only illumination coming from the moonlight shining in the window from where Lijah hadn’t closed the curtains before going to bed, no doubt so that he could check outside whenever he wanted to.

  The outline of his body was visible amongst the shadows of the bed as he thrashed about beneath the single sheet he had pulled over himself. His mutterings were incoherent now, although the pillow in his hands looked in danger of being ripped apart.

  As a substitute for the father who had abused him as a child?

  Somehow, Callie knew that it was.

  Sudden tears blurred her vision as she wondered what sort of father would hit his own child. What sort of mother would allow it to happen. And what sort of family turned a blind eye to the abuse of a child. Because Callie refused to accept, after Lijah’s coldness toward his aunt earlier this evening, they hadn’t all known of his father’s ill treatment of him.

  Which explained why Lijah cared so much for and respected Callie’s father?

  Peter Morgan hadn’t just been an amazing father but also an outstanding commanding officer. He believed in teaching independence and self-reliance, but he did so by teaching self-discipline, and would never ever have used abuse to enforce those traits.

  Callie stepped closer to the bed. “Lijah?”

  There was no response, just the erratic breathing and the continuation of those almost fevered mutterings.

  “Lijah,” she tried again, louder and more firmly this time as she placed her hand on the heat of his thigh.

  The figure on the bed stilled. Lijah’s breathing was still heavy but the muttering had stopped.

  Was he awake?

  If so, was he awake enough to know if she was friend or foe? Because a pissed-off Lijah Smith, still in the throes of anger toward his father, wasn’t something she felt like battling.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here, Callie?”

  Okay. So Lijah was awake enough to know it was her, but was he awake enough to realize that she came in peace?

  She removed her hand as if burned before answering him tentati
vely with the truth. “You were shouting. I thought there was an intruder. I came to see if I could help—”

  “Unarmed and defenseless?”

  “Well…yes. But only after I’d ascertained that there was no intruder.”

  There was a heartbeat of silence before he spoke again. “And how did you do that?”

  “You—I—” Shit, what did she do now, tell Lijah he had been talking in his sleep about being beaten as a child, or lie to him and use another excuse entirely?

  “I was shouting at my father,” he stated flatly before Callie could decide on a course of action.

  She winced. “Yes.”

  “Fucking bastard still haunts me, even though I haven’t set eyes on him for seventeen years!” Lijah threw back the sheet before moving to the other side of the bed and standing to step into the moonlight as he ran an agitated hand through the long darkness of his hair.

  Which was when Callie’s mouth went dry as she realized he was completely naked.

  Completely magnificently naked.

  The two of them might have made love last night, but Lijah had still been partly dressed at the time, and then gone when Callie woke up this morning. This was the first time she’d had the opportunity to actually see all of his hard, toned body.

  Bathed in the silver light of the moon, his wide, muscled shoulders, chest, and abs were enough to make her mouth dry, let alone the hardness of his thighs. As for his cock…

  It was beautiful.

  And extremely aroused.

  Surging up from its nest of dark curls, it was long and thick, the skin like satin over bulging blood vessels. Reaching as high as his navel and beyond, the bulbous tip glistened wetly in the moonlight.

  “Is this what you came in here for?” he sneered as one of his hands reached down to encircle and stroke that beautifully erect cock.

  She gave him a startled look. “I— No!”

  “On your knees, Callie,” he ordered harshly.

  Her gaze flickered up again uncertainly, but Lijah’s face was in shadow, his expression unreadable.

  Was he truly awake? Or was he still angry and dreaming, and determined to punish someone for the beatings he had obviously received as a child and which no one had saved him from?

  “I said on your knees!” His voice was as sharp as a whip cracking.

  Callie continued to look up at him as she slowly dropped onto her knees on the carpet in front of him. Not because he had ordered her to, but because she wanted to. She wanted to take that long and throbbing length into the heat of her mouth.

  “What are you waiting for?” Lijah demanded harshly.

  “Permission, of course.” She tilted her head as she looked up at him beneath lowered lashes. “Isn’t that the way this game’s played?”

  Lijah took a step back, reeling, and feeling as if Callie had just smacked him in the face. She was waiting for permission?

  Jesus Christ, what the fuck was he doing? What had he already done, talking to Callie in this way and treating her as if she was a thing rather than a person?

  Such total disrespect for another human being made him no better than his father, damn it.

  He closed his eyes, breathing hard as he determinedly banished the memories that still haunted him and were obviously affecting his emotions and actions.

  “This is so fucking wrong,” he finally muttered as he opened his eyes and looked down at Callie still kneeling in front of him, her head bowed. “I’m sorry, Callie.” He bent down to place his hands beneath her elbows and lift her back up onto her feet.

  “Never apologize, it’s a sign of—”

  “It’s a sign I’m in the wrong.” He dismissed the arrogant statement he had made at their first meeting. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Callie. So sorry! Tonight will be about you,” he promised gruffly. “I want—need to prove to you—show you I’m not the animal I might have appeared to be last night and—and again just now.”

  Callie reached up and brushed her lips lightly across his. “I rather liked who or what you were last night.”

  “Will you let me show you there’s so much more to me than that?” There had to be more to him, damn it. He was not, nor would he ever be, anything like his father.

  “Yes,” she breathed against his lips.

  Lijah linked his fingers with hers as he led her over to the bed, pausing to release her and reach for the hem of her nightshirt before lifting it slowly up her body.

  He had always thought Christmas was overrated. Oh, he had received presents as a child, but they had been chosen by his father, and always with his role as the heir and future as the duke in mind. Practical presents, such as a book on history or etiquette, and his knowledge on the subject would be tested later in the day, Christmas or not.

  Lijah would much rather have received the latest superhero graphic comic, or maybe even the toy itself, along with the lair with all the gadgets that worked.

  Lifting Callie’s nightshirt was like receiving all those missing Christmas presents in one satiny perfect package.

  Her legs were smooth and slender. There was a nest of dark curls between her thighs. Her waist so slender, he could almost span it with his hands. Her breasts were full and heavy above, the nipples dark and plump, and ripe as berries as they thrust temptingly up and outward.

  “These are so pretty.” Lijah bent his head and laved his tongue moistly over that pouting fullness, hearing Callie’s indrawn gasp as he parted his lips and drew one of those engorged nubbins deep into his mouth.

  God, she even tasted like strawberries. Ripe, luscious, juicy strawberries. He looked forward to tasting the cream between her thighs, intended slaking his thirst for strawberries first.

  Callie had no idea what had happened just now to cause Lijah’s transformation from harsh and demanding lover to this man intent on giving her pleasure. But as she threaded her fingers through the heavy thickness of his hair, back arching in encouragement as she pushed her nipple deeper into the heat of his mouth, she really didn’t care.

  She would take Lijah any way she could have him.

  Chapter 14

  “Did you know your skin is as soft as silk?” Lijah murmured appreciatively, kneeling between her legs as she lay back on the bed looking up at him, watching him like a cat between those thick dark lashes as he ran his hands down the length of her body from her breasts to her thighs.

  “It’s just skin—”

  “Oh, believe me, this isn’t just skin.” He gave a firm shake of his head, a frown of concentration between his eyes as he continued to stroke and caress her. “Your breasts feel like satin, your waist is as soft as velvet, and here”—he ran a single finger along the crease of her slit—“here you’re so warm. So responsive. Are you wet, Callie? God, you are!” He dipped that finger inside her, feeling the suck of her muscles trying to pull him in deeper still, before easing out again and slowly stroking that dampened finger against her clit.

  He repeated the action as she gasped. Again. And then again. Continuing to stroke and enter until Callie let out a sharp cry as she came, juices gushing over his fingers as he thrust them inside her at the same time as he continued to press and stroke her clit until he had taken everything from her.

  “God, Lijah…” she breathed shakily as her climax continued to clench and claim her.

  “Don’t stop.” Lijah nodded approvingly as Callie’s hips continued to arch up to meet his stroking fingers, prolonging her climax.

  She sank back against the pillows as her climax finally came to a shuddering halt, her hands flat on the bed beside her, her hair dark on the pillow beneath her, her eyes closed, and her cheeks flushed as she breathed fast and unevenly.

  “You liked that,” he murmured his satisfaction.

  Her eyes opened. “I like you, and anything and everything you want to do to and with me.”

  Lijah stilled. “Anything?”

  “Didn’t I prove that last night?”

  Last night? What— Oh God, yes, last night!
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  Lijah had deliberately prioritized his thoughts today and pushed any thoughts of last night with Callie to the back of his mind.

  But, here and now with Callie, the memories of last night all came back to him. Her passion, her loss of control. And the ways in which he had touched and pleasured her.

  His cock surged and throbbed at the thought of what her words now implied.

  Sex had always been exactly that, as far as he was concerned. A way of release. Of siphoning off tension, for whatever reason. He always made a point of ensuring the woman’s pleasure too, but for him it was always only ever about that need for physical release.

  Rough as he had been, he had still made love to Callie last night.

  Touched her, pleasured her with an intimacy that required complete trust between two people.

  He wanted that again.

  At the same time as he feared it.

  Intimacy with Callie was dangerous.

  That sort of intimacy with anyone was dangerous, but most especially with Callie, when he already liked her so much.

  As if sensing his doubts, Callie sat up to claim his lips with her own, a deep and satisfying kiss that left them both breathless when they finally pulled apart. “You can trust me, Lijah.”

  Trust was even lower down Lijah’s list of emotions than intimacy. He had been let down too often in the past. By his father. His mother. His whole fucking family, who had stood by and done nothing to help a small bewildered and beaten boy.

  As a man, he trusted Dair Grayson, Seth Armstrong, and all the other men and women working at Grayson Security. Maybe not with his fucked-up background, but in every other way. He had trusted Peter Morgan with that and more. Peter’s daughter was now asking him to trust her in the same way.

  “Trust me, Lijah,” Callie repeated softly.

  He gave a groan. How could he not trust her when he knew she had been willing to put her own life on the line, when he had taken longer than she had expected checking out her aunt and uncle’s house? Lijah had absolutely no doubt that Callie would have come into the house, gun blazing, if she had thought for one moment he was in danger.