Bodyguard Daddy

by Lisa Childs

  “We will,” Milek assured his son. “We will.”

  Penny hoped it was soon—before someone tried to harm the boy again. She didn’t like when someone tried to hurt her family. And although she hadn’t officially met Amber and her son, they were family now—because Milek was.

  * * *

  Milek had never felt so sick. He was still as tense and fearful as he’d been when he hadn’t been able to find Michael and Amber—because even though they were with him now, he knew how easily he could have lost them.

  How easily he once had...

  And just like that last time, he would have no one but himself to blame.

  Keeping his voice low, he spoke into the cell phone pressed to his ear. “It’s because of me.”

  He didn’t want to wake his son or Amber. They’d already been through too much. So he sat alone in the living room—watching the door to make sure no one tried to get in.

  “What’s because of you?” Agent Rus asked. He sounded tired—as if Milek had awakened him.

  Maybe he had. He didn’t know what time it was. He hadn’t even tried to sleep because he knew it wasn’t possible—not with the realization he’d had.

  “Someone’s trying to kill Amber and Michael because of me.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  Because if someone wanted to hurt him—really hurt him—he would take away the two people who mattered most to him: the woman he loved and his son. “The same reason we thought Chekov was trying to take out Candace...”

  Because she was Garek’s weakness—just like Amber was his. Rus apparently had no weaknesses, because he said nothing for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke again. “It can’t be Chekov. That first attempt on Amber’s life was made a year ago—before you and Garek helped me take him down.”

  “It’s not Chekov,” Milek agreed. “So there’s someone else.”

  Someone who hated him so much he wanted to completely destroy him. When had he made such an enemy? He could only remember two people whom he’d really hurt in his lifetime. One of them was dead. The other was Amber.

  He glanced toward the master bedroom and found her standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. Bathed in the moonlight streaming in through the skylights, she was beautiful. So beautiful his body ached to possess her...

  Rus said something but Milek didn’t hear it—not with blood rushing through his ears—rushing low in his body.

  Then she asked, “Who are you talking to?”

  “Agent Rus...”

  “Why so damn formal?” the FBI agent asked, as if annoyed.

  Milek was never sure what to call the other man. He wasn’t even sure what they were to each other. Were they friends? Family?

  Rus wasn’t entirely convinced Milek hadn’t murdered the hit man. But that didn’t mean anything. His own brother had suspected the same thing.

  “I was telling Amber who’s on the phone,” Milek explained. He hoped his talking hadn’t awakened her. He hoped she hadn’t overheard his fear. She would probably hate him even more if she knew everything she’d been through, every bad thing in her life, was likely because of him.

  * * *

  Amber felt the tension in Milek even from across the room. He clicked off his cell phone and slid it into his pocket. “It’s late,” she said. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  He gestured toward the door. “I need to keep watch...”

  She shook her head. She’d heard Logan at the hospital. He’d pulled every Payne Protection bodyguard from other details in order to guard them. “We’re safe.”

  For the moment...

  He stepped away from the door—finally—as if he believed her. But then he said, “You won’t be safe until we figure out who hired Campanelli.”

  “Whoever it was must have hired someone else,” she remarked. Apparently even assassins were replaceable. Maybe she shouldn’t have been concerned that another assistant had taken over as the district attorney. Maybe the job never would have been hers—even if she had stayed in River City.

  And with the reports on the news making her sound complicit in faking her death, and her rumored affair with her boss, she would probably never have a career again. Too bad she had just realized how much she missed it.

  “We’ll find out who it is,” Milek said with grim determination. He stepped closer to her, but he didn’t look at her—as if he wasn’t quite able to meet her eyes.

  “You won’t,” she said.

  And he flinched.

  “Not if you’re going to waste your time thinking it’s someone trying to hurt you.”

  He looked at her then, his eyes narrowed. “You heard what I told Agent Rus?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruff with guilt. “I’m sorry I’ve put you and Michael in danger.”

  She hated seeing him like this—beating himself up over something that wasn’t his fault. She stepped closer and slid her fingertips along his clenched jaw. “It’s not your fault. This has nothing to do with you.”

  “I hoped not,” he said. “But to want to kill Michael, too...”

  “And Schievink,” she reminded him. “You didn’t particularly care for him.”

  His lips curved into a slight smile. “No, I didn’t...”

  “And who would think you particularly cared for me?” she asked.

  He released a sharp breath—as if she’d sucker punched him. Maybe now he knew how she’d felt when he broke up with her.

  “You dumped me,” she reminded him. “You had nothing to do with our son. How would hurting either of us hurt you?”

  He shrugged, and his broad shoulders slumped as if he carried a heavy burden.

  She hadn’t lessened his guilt. Maybe she’d even made it worse. But she couldn’t absolve him of the pain he’d caused her—especially when she’d never understood it.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why did you break up with me?”

  “I had my reasons,” he said.

  “Schievink?” she asked. “But you said he hadn’t claimed Michael as his until after you’d broken our engagement.” And her heart.

  “We need to focus on who’s trying to hurt you and Michael,” he said. “We both already know that I have.” The guilt was in his voice. “I’m sorry...”

  She believed him, but she doubted it would have changed what he’d done. “I loved you...”

  Unfortunately she suspected she still did.

  “Amber...”

  “Did you ever feel the same?”

  “You know...”

  “What?” she asked. She knew nothing. He’d shut her out five years ago and he’d never let her back in.

  But then he reached for her, dragging her up against his hard body. His head lowered, and he covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply—passionately. Maybe this was his way of showing her what he couldn’t tell her.

  At least, that was what she wanted to believe—that he still cared. So she clutched his shoulders. And she kissed him back.

  He lifted her and carried her back to the bedroom—to the bed. She wore only a robe, which he quickly untied and pushed from her shoulders. His breath caught as he stared at her breasts. “You’re so beautiful...”

  He wasn’t the only man who’d ever told her so. Old boyfriends had. Dates. Gregory...

  But it mattered most when Milek said it—as he had before. As an artist he created beauty—beauty beyond anything she’d imagined. That portrait of their son...

  It had brought her to tears.

  And the way he touched her, almost reverently, nearly brought her to tears, too. She blinked and focused on his face. He was the beautiful one, his features too perfectly chiseled to be handsome. She traced her fingers along every line of his
face.

  When she touched his lips, he kissed her fingers. Then his mouth skimmed down her arm to her shoulder. He kissed her neck, and she shivered as her skin tingled.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  The heat of passion flushing her body, she shook her head.

  But he covered her anyway—with his body—after he’d pulled off his clothes. Naked skin slid over naked skin. He was as warm as she was. His erection pushed against her belly, and she could feel it throbbing. He needed her as badly as she needed him—even if he wouldn’t admit it.

  She stroked her fingers over the tip of him, and he groaned. Then his mouth covered hers, and he kissed her passionately. His tongue slid between her lips as he deepened the kiss.

  His hands caressed her, gliding over her back to her hips and her butt. She was rounder than she’d been when they were together before. But he seemed to appreciate her new curves, since he kept stroking them.

  A moan slipped through her lips. She was surprised she wasn’t purring from his touch. Her desire intensified. She needed him now. She wrapped her fingers around his erection and stroked him.

  “Amber...” He groaned her name almost as a warning.

  She took it as encouragement. She wanted him to lose control. But he always held on to it—somehow. The way he now caught her wrist in his hand and pulled her fingers away from him.

  She murmured a protest, but his mouth covered hers. He kissed her. And the passion was in his kiss. But a kiss wasn’t enough. She shifted beneath him, rubbing her skin against his. His erection throbbed again, pulsing against her.

  He moved his hands to her breasts, teasing her nipples—pushing her to madness. He kept one hand on her breast as his other hand trailed down her body. She arched against his hand—wanting more.

  But his fingers weren’t enough. The pressure kept building. She wanted him. Badly.

  So badly...

  “Milek, please...”

  Finally he relented. He parted her legs and pushed inside her. She arched, taking him deeper. Then she locked her legs around his waist and moved against him. He matched her rhythm, as if he instinctively knew what she needed. He gave it to her—slow, deep thrusts.

  Her body shuddered as she came. Moments later, with a deep groan, Milek joined her in pleasure. She’d needed the release more than she’d realized. She wasn’t nearly as tense as she’d been. Milek was, though. His body was rock hard next to hers, his heart beating fast.

  Then she heard what he must have already. Something creaked and then clattered as it tumbled across the hardwood floor in the living room.

  Despite all that security, someone had made it inside the condo.

  Chapter 18

  “What were you doing?” Milek asked his son as he carried him back to his bedroom. Had the little boy been sleepwalking in the dark? He’d bumped into the coffee table and sent a water glass clattering across the floor. He’d also sent Milek’s heart into overdrive.

  Not that it hadn’t already been after making love with Amber.

  Michael’s arms looped around his neck as the little boy cuddled close and sniffled. Milek had never known such pain; his son’s tears affected him like someone reaching inside his chest and squeezing his heart.

  “I had a bad dream,” Michael admitted.

  Milek’s arms tightened around his son. He could protect him from physical danger—he hoped. But what psychological damage was being done to the child?

  What fears and insecurities would he have because of this ordeal? A year ago he’d had to leave his home, his school, his friends and pretend to be someone else. And that was after someone had fired shots into his home.

  Then he’d been run off the road and shot at again. It was a miracle he hadn’t had more nightmares after what he’d been through.

  “It was just a dream,” Milek assured him. But he worried it wasn’t—that it was, instead, the boy’s memories of the nightmare he was living. He wanted to promise that nothing bad would happen again. But that was a promise he couldn’t keep—not until they figured out who’d hired Campanelli to take out the mother and the child.

  What kind of sick son of a bitch would order a hit on a little boy?

  Milek pulled back the blankets and laid his son back in his bed. But Michael’s arms stayed locked around his neck, pulling him down with him.

  “Can you stay with me?” he asked.

  “Sure...” Milek would do whatever necessary to make the little boy feel safe again.

  Michael scooted over and patted the bed beside him. “Lie down with me like Mommy does.”

  Milek had watched Mommy do that—had watched how well Amber soothed all the little boy’s fears and made him feel secure again. Milek wasn’t sure if he was capable of the tenderness she showed their child.

  But he lay down next to him. Michael snuggled against his side. And Milek felt the little boy staring up at him. He turned to his side to face him. Michael looked so much like him—with those thickly lashed silver eyes.

  Michael blinked—fighting sleep. Probably because he was afraid he would have another bad dream.

  Milek searched his mind, trying to come up with a story to tell his son. But all the fairy tales he remembered were more violent than the scrapes the little boy had had with the bad man. Milek could draw pictures with him, but he would need to get out of bed to retrieve the crayons and paper. And it felt very right lying next to his son.

  “You’re Aunt Stacy’s brother?” he asked.

  Milek nodded.

  “Like Uncle Garek,” the little boy said. “So doesn’t that make you my uncle, too?”

  “No,” Milek replied.

  And maybe he should have had this discussion with Amber first; maybe he should have gotten her permission. But like so many times before, he ignored what was probably the right choice and said, “I’m your father.”

  The little boy’s eyes widened, but it wasn’t with surprise, because he said, almost exultantly, “I knew it! I knew it!”

  His arms locked around Milek’s neck again as he clung to him. “You’re my daddy!”

  His hand trembling slightly, Milek patted the little boy’s head. “Yes, I’m your daddy.”

  A slight noise drew his attention to the bedroom doorway. Amber stood there, tears streaming silently down her face. His stomach lurched with dread.

  Was she upset with him?

  He hated that he’d made her cry again—the way he had five years ago. He’d never meant to hurt her then. Or now. He’d only been trying to keep her safe. Then.

  And now.

  * * *

  The bedroom door creaked open, and Amber tensed. She knew it was Milek, though. Nobody else would get past security. Or him.

  After seeing him cuddling with their son, she’d hurried back to the master bedroom. She hadn’t wanted Michael to see her crying as Milek had. She wasn’t certain she could talk even now, with emotion overwhelming her.

  He settled onto the bed next to her, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. He didn’t believe she was sleeping—despite her efforts to be still—because he asked, “Are you angry I told him?”

  Amber shook her head. She was relieved. She’d thought Milek might never claim his son. She was also overwhelmed. It wasn’t just a suspicion anymore. She knew without a doubt she’d fallen in love with Milek all over again.

  Or maybe she’d never gotten over him. Despite Schievink’s best efforts, she’d never been tempted to cross the line with him. Of course, he’d been married, and she would never commit adultery. But even if he’d been single, she wouldn’t have been tempted. She had only ever really loved one man: Milek.

  “No, I’m not angry,” she said. “Our son deserves to know who his father is.”

  “He deserves a better father,” Milek
murmured.

  Maybe that horrible review had affected him. Or all the rumors that had always circulated about his family. He had to know he wasn’t the man any of that stuff had painted him as being.

  “You’ve saved his life and mine over and over,” she reminded him. “That’s what a good father does—he protects his child.”

  He touched her then, brushing her tears away with the pad of his thumb. “You did that,” he said. “You gave up everything—the job you loved, your friends, your home—you did everything you could to keep him safe.”

  “You’ve nearly taken a bullet for us,” Amber said. “You’re a good parent, Milek.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ll disappoint him. That I’ll let him down...”

  Her heart ached for the fear in his. He was really afraid of being a father. He hadn’t denied his son because he hadn’t loved him, but because he had.

  “I need to find out who’s after you both,” Milek said. “That’s the only way I can really protect you—the only way you’ll be safe.”

  Remembering what she’d heard him tell Agent Rus earlier, she assured him, “We’re not in danger because of you.”

  “You made that clear, counselor,” he said with a slightly bitter chuckle.

  She had been pretty brutal in her argument with him earlier. But then she’d been accused of being a ruthless assistant district attorney. She hadn’t shown much leniency. But she’d learned that from Gregory. Tough sentences for tough crimes.

  There had been only one time they’d disagreed. But she’d had to accede to his decision, since he’d been her boss. Not that the judge would have listened to her anyway. Both he and Gregory had been determined to send the perpetrator to prison. He had been convicted of two counts of manslaughter—after driving into a crowd outside a nightclub. He’d been drunk, his first offense. She’d wanted to send him to rehab. She’d known he wouldn’t last in prison.

  She hadn’t known the reason he wouldn’t last was that he would take his own life. He’d been sentenced to five years. He hadn’t made it five days.