Bodyguard Daddy

by Lisa Childs

  “Lose control,” she said. And she reached for him. She skimmed her hands down his chest to his belt and lower. She rubbed her palm over the erection already straining against his fly. And she dared him, “Lose control!”

  “Amber...” The hesitation was in his voice and in the tension in his body. He didn’t trust himself.

  But she trusted him. She stepped back.

  And disappointment flickered in his gaze. He thought she was changing her mind. But she had no doubts about him. She lifted her sweater and pulled it over her head. She dropped it onto the paint-spattered floor. Then she undid her jeans and kicked them down her legs, pushing her panties down with them. She unclasped her bra next and let it fall, too.

  Milek’s breath hissed out between his teeth. “Amber...” His voice had gone gruff with desire.

  “Milek...” She stood before him totally naked, totally vulnerable. But then she made herself more vulnerable. She touched herself—with him watching. She touched her breasts.

  He groaned. “You’re killing me...”

  Then she moved her hand lower.

  Instead of reaching for her, he reached for his shirt. He tore the T-shirt from the hem to the collar so it fell off. His chest heaved with his deep pants for breath.

  His jeans went next, shucked down his legs along with his boxers. And he stood before her as naked as she was. When she touched herself—where he had touched her so many times—his control snapped.

  He dragged her up against him. And he lowered his head. He didn’t just kiss her. His mouth marauded hers, his tongue driving deep.

  She gasped.

  And he tensed.

  But she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding his head down—holding him against her. “Don’t stop,” she implored him. “Please don’t stop.”

  He kissed her again—passionately. Then he touched her where she’d touched herself. His hands moved over her breasts, his fingertips teasing the already taut nipples.

  And Amber felt her own control snap. She dug her nails into his shoulders as she arched against him, rubbing her belly against his erection. She wanted more. She skimmed her nails down his chest, making his muscles ripple. Then she closed her hand around him.

  As her fingers wrapped around his erection, his fingers slid inside her—as his thumb teased the most sensitive part of her. She came apart at his touch, screaming his name.

  Then he lifted her. But he didn’t carry her far—just until her back came up against a wall—up against a canvas. Before she could protest that he might ruin his art, he was inside her.

  And she forgot everything. She forgot her own damn name until he called it. He thrust inside her—in and out, his hands holding her hips—driving her up and down.

  Pressure built inside her—winding tightly from the tips of her nipples to the core of her—the core he stroked with his erection. She arched, taking him deeper. She met each of his thrusts.

  His fingers dug into her hips and then her ass cheeks. He lowered his head and kissed her again. Her mouth. Her shoulder. Then he bent lower and pulled a nipple into his mouth. He nipped it lightly with his teeth.

  And she screamed.

  He tensed, as if worried he’d hurt her. But she was coming—her body shuddering with the powerful orgasm he’d given her.

  “Milek!”

  His grip on her butt tightened. He drove deeper and deeper. Chords stood out in his neck and his arms. His body tensed—then pulsed—as he came, filling her. He shouted her name, his voice cracking with emotion.

  * * *

  He’d lost control. And it had never felt so wonderful. Not just that first time they’d stood up and made love, but again, rolling around on drop cloths he always forgot to lay on the floor when he painted.

  The cloths had wrinkled and curled beneath them. He had a bruise from the concrete. And they were both spattered with the paint he’d been using.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked—concern filling him as she lay limply on top of him, her back slick with sweat and paint. “Are you okay?”

  “I think I passed out for a moment,” she murmured.

  He wound his fingers through her tangled hair, gently feeling for lumps on her skull. His guts tightened with dread over the thought that he had hurt her. “Did you hit your head?”

  She giggled. “No. I blacked out from pleasure overload.” Then her hand slapped his shoulder. “You’ve been holding back on me.”

  “Not anymore,” he promised. He’d been such a fool. “I’m sorry...”

  She lifted her head from where she’d burrowed into his neck. “You didn’t hurt me,” she assured him. “You made me feel incredible. Loved...”

  And she hadn’t felt as though he’d loved her before—because he’d broken her heart.

  “I didn’t hurt you now,” he said. “But I hurt you five years ago.”

  And he would never forgive himself for the pain he’d caused her. Needlessly. He’d let the opinion of others affect his judgment. He’d let them judge him as harshly as he’d judged himself.

  Too harshly.

  “I understand,” she said. “And I’m sorry...”

  His arms tightened around her. “Why? You did nothing wrong.”

  “I should have figured out what was wrong,” she said. “I shouldn’t have doubted your love or your feelings for me. I should have known something else was going on.”

  “Amber...” He hated that she was blaming herself now. “I should have told you what was going on. But I was worried you’d talk me out of breaking up. And I didn’t want to ruin your life.”

  Her breasts pushed against his chest as she uttered a heavy sigh. “For a while I thought you had... It hurt so much...”

  Guilt twisted his stomach into knots. “I’m sorry. I really thought I was doing the right thing for you. That I was protecting you.”

  “You would have never physically hurt me or our son,” she said.

  “But I hurt you emotionally.”

  Tears glistened in her green eyes. “I loved you so much.”

  “Loved?” he asked. “Are you over me?”

  She shifted against him, rubbing her naked body against his. “Technically I’m on top of you,” she teased. “But I’ve never been over you.”

  If she still loved him, maybe she would be able to forgive him. He stroked his hand down her back and asked, “Do you want to see what I was painting?”

  She smiled brightly. “I’d love to. I’m so glad you’re still painting.”

  “I stopped showing and selling my art,” he said.

  “Because of that stupid review,” she surmised.

  Correct.

  “But I never stopped painting,” he said. “It started as therapy—when I was in juvie.” And he’d needed therapy even more after he’d broken their engagement.

  “You’re so good,” she said. “I can’t believe you’ve never had lessons.” She wriggled out of his arms and jumped up. Wrapping one of the drop cloths around herself, she headed toward the canvas he’d been working on.

  He knew what it looked like, so he focused on her face—her beautiful face as she stared in awe at the canvas. Tears glistened in her eyes again before brimming over to trail down her cheeks.

  He read what he’d painted for her. Will you marry me?

  Despite her tears of emotion, she laughed. “I came tearing in here with that newspaper as my first exhibit. And you’d already changed your mind before you ever heard my argument.”

  He wasn’t certain whether she was happy or disappointed. But she laughed again—at herself—and his breath caught at the beauty of her happiness.

  She was relieved. If she hadn’t seen the painting, she might have always worried he wouldn’t have changed his mind on his own—that he wouldn’t have tr
usted their love more than his fears.

  “You won your case before your opening remarks, counselor,” he told her. “But I wasn’t sure you would say yes.” He’d worried she would laugh at the painting—but with derision, not happiness.

  “What makes you think that I will now?” she asked.

  He wouldn’t blame her if she said no. He’d hurt her—even more than he’d realized.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her curvy body. Instead of stiffening in his embrace, she leaned back against him.

  “I can’t make up these past five years to you.” But he wished like hell that he could—that he could take back every minute they’d spent apart. He’d wasted so much time. If she had really died...

  He shuddered to think of what he would have lost—of how he would never have had the chance to plead his case for her to trust him again.

  “I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you,” he promised. “If you’ll let me...”

  “Oh, I’ll let you,” she said. And she turned in his arms so she could loop hers around his neck. She pulled his head down for her kiss. Her lips moved over his, pushing his apart so her tongue could slip inside—over his. Panting for breath she pulled back and said, “Especially if you keep making up for it like you just did.”

  “I’ll make it up whichever way you’d like,” he said, “as long as you give me the chance, as long as you’ll become my wife.”

  “I still have my ring,” she said.

  He was surprised. She’d tried to give it back to him. But he had refused. Since she hadn’t broken the engagement, she’d been entitled to keep the ring. But he hadn’t actually thought she would. He figured she would have tossed it out years ago.

  “I will have Stacy make you a new one,” he said. He didn’t want the ring she wore to be tainted by what he’d done—by how stupid he’d been.

  “Stacy made that ring,” she said. “And I love it.”

  “But...”

  She pressed her finger over his lips. “It’s perfect. And from now on our lives will be perfect, too. And we’ll appreciate more how wonderful it is because of the years we spent apart.”

  He kissed her finger and closed his hand around hers. “I hope you’re really not planning on perfection,” he said. “I am still a Kozminski.”

  “Milek—”

  “I think Nick gave me that commendation and issued that press release to try to repair my reputation,” he said, “because he heard what Evelyn Reynolds told you, too.” The FBI agent’s last name wasn’t Payne, so he wasn’t related by marriage or blood to Milek. But he was family now.

  Amber sighed. “I feel bad for ever doubting him. I was right to trust him.”

  “You were,” Milek agreed. She might not have survived the past year if she hadn’t trusted someone. He tightened his arms around her, holding her closely. He couldn’t let her go again. But he was still worried.

  “There’s no guarantee it’ll work,” he warned her. “There’s no guarantee my reputation can ever be repaired. Marrying me could hurt your chances of becoming district attorney.”

  She shrugged as if she didn’t care.

  He hooked his finger under her chin and tipped up her face to his. “I know you want that job.”

  She nodded. “I do. And I’ll get it,” she assured him. “And your love and support will help me accomplish more than I ever could have on my own.”

  “Amber...” He loved her more every moment he spent with her. “I don’t want to wait to get married.”

  She shook her head. “Me, either. We already waited five years.”

  “Let’s start our life together as soon as we can.”

  * * *

  Penny Payne hung up the telephone and clapped her hands together in triumph. The little boy playing on the floor near her desk looked up at her, his silver gaze inquisitive.

  She couldn’t tell him why she was so happy and ruin his parents’ surprise for him. She was finally able to plan their long-overdue wedding.

  She clapped again and praised the little boy’s artwork. “That’s a wonderful picture!”

  He picked it up from the floor and brought it to her desk. Then he wriggled onto her lap. “That’s me and Mommy and Daddy,” he said.

  They weren’t the crude stick figures most children—heck, Penny herself—were capable of drawing. These images were fully fleshed out.

  Penny glanced up at the canvas on the wall of her office. Milek had painted the portrait years ago. His son had obviously inherited his artistic talent.

  Milek’s portrait was of family, too. Penny’s family. He’d painted her three sons and her daughter for her. And there was such longing in every brushstroke. He’d wanted to be part of a family like hers.

  Did he realize he was now?

  She would have to have him paint her a new portrait—of the entire family. All her daughters-in-law and all the Kozminskis, Garek and Candace, and Milek and his bride and their son.

  Nick had to be in the portrait, too. He would protest. So would Nikki. But she wanted him included. Nick had spent too much of his life on the outside looking in; she wanted him to know he was part of her family.

  She smiled down at her new grandson. Little Michael would be so happy to have his parents together. She suspected Nick had had quite a bit to do with their reunion. He was not related to her by blood but somehow he took after her more than her own children did.

  He knew how others felt—what they wanted and needed. But she suspected he was like her in another way. She suspected Nick didn’t really know what he needed. Or maybe he was so worried about everyone else that he didn’t acknowledge he had needs, too.

  Wants...

  What, or whom, did Nicholas Rus want?

  * * * * *

  Look for the next thrilling installment in the

  BACHELOR BODYGUARDS series, coming soon!

  And if you love Lisa Childs, be sure to pick up

  her other stories:

  THE AGENT’S REDEMPTION

  AGENT TO THE RESCUE

  AGENT UNDERCOVER

  THE PREGNANT WITNESS

  Available now from Harlequin!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from MIDNIGHT SECRETS by Lisa Marie Rice.

  When there’s danger lurking, count on the Men of Midnight to save the day.

  MIDNIGHT VENGEANCE

  Men of Midnight, book one

  “A long-awaited return to Lisa Marie Rice’s beloved series.” —Fresh Fiction

  Morton “Jacko” Jackman isn’t afraid of anything. He’s a former Navy SEAL sniper, and he’s been in more firefights than most people have had hot meals. Lauren Dare scares him. Gorgeous, talented and refined, she’s the type of woman who could never be interested in a guy like him. So he’s loved her fiercely in secret. Until now.

  MIDNIGHT PROMISES

  Men of Midnight, book two

  “I’d highly recommend Midnight Promises to any romantic suspense reader. You won’t be able to put it down.” —Harlequin Junkie blog, Top Pick

  Felicity Ward is no stranger to secrets. Raised in the Witness Protection Program, her whole childhood was a lie. But she couldn’t have known that her family’s secrets—secrets she didn’t even know she was keeping—could spark a nuclear war. And nothing could have prepared her for the tough, sexy warrior who first saves her life and then vows to protect it, no matter what.

  MIDNIGHT SECRETS

  Men of Midnight, book three

  “Every now and then a book falls in my lap that keeps me up all night. Midnight Secrets did that exactly!” —Bitten by Love Reviews

  Former Navy SEAL Joe Harris nearly died—twice—on a medevac helo after being blown up by an IED. He’s not moving too grea
t these days, but if there was ever a woman designed to jump-start a man’s hormones, it would be his new neighbor. Meeting Isabel—loving Isabel—brought Joe back to life, and he’s not going to let anyone take her from him, not even a high-powered politician who needs to keep Isabel from remembering what he’s done.

  MIDNIGHT FIRE

  Men of Midnight, book four

  The boy Summer Redding loved and thought dead is back—now he’s a hardened warrior, a man out for revenge, and he’ll fight to the death to protect what is his, and that includes her.

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  Former navy SEAL Joe Harris has been to the abyss and back. But meeting Isabel—loving Isabel—brought him back to life. Read on for an excerpt from MIDNIGHT SECRETS, available now from Lisa Marie Rice and Carina Press.

  Midnight Secrets

  by Lisa Marie Rice

  Portland, Oregon

  THERE SHE GOES, Joe Harris thought. Isabel Lawton. The most beautiful woman in the world, and his next-door neighbor.

  And she cooked for him.

  Isabel Lawton, gorgeous mystery. One huge question mark. And a wounded woman.

  Something bad had happened to her, something she never talked about. Of course, she didn’t talk about much of anything personal, but she particularly didn’t talk about whatever had happened to her.

  Joe kept tabs on her. Because she was a wreck—weak and vulnerable. And because…well, because.

  Joe’s house was surrounded by vidcams. As a former SEAL, he believed there could never be such a thing as too much security. And he lived by the specops maxim: one is none, two is one.

  So he had 360-degree coverage that he could access at any time and was always on view on a monitor in the kitchen. He was sipping a cup of coffee leaning against the sink when he saw movement on the monitor.

  Isabel. Dressed for a cold-weather walk. Carrying something almost too heavy for her. He had to clench his jaw and mentally nail his shoes to the linoleum floor to keep from opening his door and taking that heavy thing she was carrying from her.