DOMINIC (Dragon Security Book 3)

by Glenna Sinclair

  “You know I will.”

  ***

  Donovan’s house wasn’t even big enough to really call it a house. It was a box with a couple of windows, a door, and less than a thousand feet of living space. There was a small living room where he’d crammed a couch and a recliner in front of a flat-screen television, a kitchenette that was only big enough to hold a full-sized refrigerator, a two-burner stove, and a bar sink. The bedroom and bathroom were tucked into the back. There was a queen-sized bed and a small dresser in the bedroom that you could walk past if you turned sideways. The bathroom was the only truly spacious place in the house with both a shower and a separate tub, but even in there you had to really be conscious of the way you walked around or you’d slam your shin against a bit of porcelain.

  “Take the bed,” Donovan practically ordered.

  “It’s your bed.”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  The way he was looking at me, I knew there was no point in arguing, but some part of me really wanted to. I bit my tongue and settled on the edge of the bed, watching him shove the few discarded items of clothing that had been lying around in their proper places.

  “Not as tidy as your bedroom back at your parents’ place.”

  “Don’t have a compulsive maid following me around this place.”

  “Don’t suppose you have a maid at all.”

  He didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he grabbed a pillow and blanket from the closet and headed for the door.

  “I’m here if you need me.”

  And then he was gone.

  I couldn’t resist walking around, touching small objects that were sitting on the dresser, the side tables, wondering where they’d come from and why they mattered enough to him to keep on display in his private space. Some were pretty easy to deduce. A bullet fragment in a jar probably came from a wound he sustained, or a friend. A framed letter from a general whose name I couldn’t quite read and a shadow box filled with military medals, clearly things that were important to him. Not so obvious was a paperweight from meteor crater in Arizona. A root beer bottle stuffed with what looked like concert and movie tickets. A small, torn rag doll.

  Standing there, looking at these things, I realized how little I knew about this person I’d known my entire life. So much had happened to him these last ten years. Would I ever know the full impact of those years and those experiences on his life? Would I ever understand what it was he went through in that time?

  My life had been pretty uneventful. I went to college. I got a job. Nothing major or out of the ordinary. I didn’t learn how to shoot people; I didn’t go to a war-torn country and try to aid in keeping the peace. I dated a few assholes, but my experiences couldn’t come anywhere close to what he must have gone through.

  Was that what caused his nightmares? Was it like that for Ash and Kirkland and the others, too?

  I studied his medals, wishing I knew what they were for. I recognized the Purple Heart—and my soul ached. When was he wounded? Where was he wounded? Would anyone have contacted me if he’d died?

  It was a sobering thought.

  I slipped out of my borrowed jeans and crawled into bed, snuggling down against the pillows where he laid his head at night. How often did he sleep here? Was he off protecting some defenseless woman more than he was here? When he wasn’t doing that, what was he doing? Where did he go? With whom did he spend his time?

  All these questions kept swirling around in my head, making it impossible to close my eyes. I wanted to ask him, but then I realized that I’d burned that bridge. When I told him to disappear, I lost any right I might have had to know him, to know what his life was like. And that made something deep inside of me hurt.

  I tossed and turned for the better part of an hour. Maybe longer. And then the tiny house was filled with his voice. At first it was just a low groan. And then the groan grew into something like a growl. There were words, words I couldn’t quite make out, and then a bellow.

  He was telling someone to get back. To watch out.

  I didn’t hesitate to climb out of bed and pad into the living room. He was sprawled across the couch, his shirt and shoes set neatly on the recliner, the blanket he’d brought out with him tangled in a heap on the floor. He was thrashing, turning on the narrow space, his hands pushing away some unseen threat. I went to him, took his hands in mine and forced them down against his chest.

  “You’re okay, Donovan,” I said as close to his ear as I could get. “You’re safe here.”

  His eyes burst open, but I’m not sure he saw me at first. He jerked his hands from mine and grabbed my wrists, jerking me so that I fell hard on his chest.

  “Donovan, it’s me. It’s Kate!”

  His grip on my wrists was painful. It felt as though he was trying to rub my bones together. I wasn’t sure what to do,but then I realized that if I fought him, I would alarm him even more. Instead, I went limp, molding my body to his.

  “It’s me,” I said again. “I’m here and you’re safe.”

  Then I kissed his chest and pressed my lips to that place above his heart where my brother’s initials were permanently inked into his flesh. More kisses, moving slowly down, my tongue teasing his nipple before I moved to the center of his chest, playing in the fine hair that dotted his chest there. I felt his breathing slow and then a little hitch when I moved to his other nipple, teasing it a little before tugging it between my teeth.

  “Kate,” he said as he released my wrists. But he didn’t really let me go. He buried his fingers in my hair and lifted my face to his. I think he only meant to make sure it was me,but I was beyond that. Maybe I’d been beyond that for a long time.

  I kissed him, nibbling on his bottom lip before tasting him, before feeling the warmth of him envelope me. He responded to my kiss with just as much passion, just as much pent up desire as he had before. And his hands felt so right as he guided my movements, as he slid his bare hand under my borrowed sweater and explored my bare back.

  Sometimes, late at night, I remembered our touches. I remembered the way he kissed me, the way his hands felt when they dared to slip under my shirt. I remembered how sweet it was, the way he hesitated before doing something we hadn’t done before. Any other boy would have done what he wanted and asked permission later. But not Donovan. And that’s how I knew that Donovan was more than just another teenage crush, a puppy love that would die with the test of time.

  I should have remembered that.

  He sat up and tugged me into his lap. I straddled his thighs, my hands moving over the perfect egg shape of his head, over his shoulders. I loved the feel of his bare skin, the taste of it when I nibbled at his chin, when I ran my tongue over the stubble dotting his wide jaw. And his hands, those beautiful hands, sliding over my belly and up, taking whole handfuls of my breasts, squeezing them just enough to send shivers of pleasure through my entire body.

  Was it possible to want someone this much? Was it really possible to need someone as much as I needed him right now? I couldn’t breathe; I wanted his touch that much. I almost cried out in relief when his hand slid down my belly, when his fingers slipped inside my delicate little panties.

  But then he was picking me up, carrying me through the tiny house. I moaned in protest, but he ignored me and nibbled at my throat. And when we were in the bedroom, he snagged the bottom edge of the sweater and tore it from me as I fell back onto the bed. There was hunger in his eyes as he studied me. And then he was tugging at the snap on his jeans as he climbed onto the bed with me. I slid my hand inside the space he created when he undid his jeans and gripped him through those boxer briefs he was so fond of. He moaned against my mouth, as he stole another kiss before stepping away again.

  He hooked his fingers under the sides of my panties and pulled them slowly from my body. I twisted a little on the bed, covering myself with my hands and my thighs as he bent to tug that flimsy material from my toes. He watched me for a second, running his hand gently over my ass. And then
his pants were gone and his underwear hit the floor as he climbed back onto the bed behind me.

  He peppered my shoulder with kisses, his arm slipping around my waist and tugging me back. I leaned back and stole another kiss, our tongues dancing as his fingers sought the prize I still held under my hands. I could feel him, feel every inch of him pressed against me; I could feel the barely controlled urgency that was hidden in his gentle touch. But then his hand was on my thigh, tugging my leg up over his thighs and his thickness was pressed against me, against that place that needed him so desperately.

  I closed my eyes, a soundless moan trying to slip from between my lips. He moved painfully slow, coming inside of me by inches, waiting for my body to open to him, to welcome him to where he belonged. I pushed my hips against him, tugging his arm up against my chest, holding on to him like a lifesaver in the middle of the sea. Pleasure rocked through me, pleasure that was so unique and so rare that my body wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible.

  And then he was there, he was inside of me, his breathing harsh against my ear. We lay still, both of us afraid of moving, of breaking this spell. But then he couldn’t help himself. He began to rock against me, his mouth buried against my shoulder to stop the noises he so desperately wanted to make. And I was pushing back against him, grinding my body against his, needing that pressure, needing that release. And it was there. I could feel it so close that it was like mirage in the desert. It couldn’t possibly be that easy. Couldn’t possibly be that perfect.

  Just when I thought it couldn’t be any better, he pressed a single fingertip against that one place that had the power to send me over the cliff as if I was dropped from a helicopter. He rubbed my clit with just the right amount of pressure. Not too hard. Not to gentle. And the waves began, coursing through me like electricity following a current.

  I don’t think I’ve ever experienced an orgasm quite like that. But again, it probably didn’t count when most of the orgasms you ever experienced came from your own hand.

  I was still riding the wave when Donovan could no longer contain his moans, when he pressed himself as deep against me as he could and began to ride a wave of his own.

  He was my first. But I never thought we’d find our way back to one another.

  This sure complicated things. But I was riding a wave.

  Chapter 14

  Donovan

  Her skin was like silk. I ran my fingers over her shoulder again and again, loving the way it felt against the roughness of my fingertips. I loved the little freckles that were scattered along her shoulder blades, the tiny blemishes that danced along her spine, growing fainter and fainter the further down they went until they completely disappeared. I loved the way her bottom was so round that it was like playing on a motocross trail when I ran my finger down her spine and up those gorgeous cheeks.

  “I’ve never known anyone who was so fascinated with my back.”

  “Then you haven’t been hanging out with the right people.”

  She peeked at me from under her arm, hiding the smile that the tiny dimple in her cheek gave away.

  “What do you know about the people I’ve been hanging out with?”

  “If they didn’t love this back, then they were the wrong people.”

  She laughed, the sound like the tinkle of a bell.

  I leaned close and kissed her shoulder. She turned quickly, catching me by surprise, and stole a kiss. I sighed against her mouth, tugging her close for a minute.

  “We should probably think about heading back up to the main house,” I said after a minute.

  “Do we have to?”

  “If we don’t want them coming down here to retrieve us.”

  She groaned,but she flipped over on her back as though she was going to get up. But she didn’t. She stared up at the ceiling as though there was something fascinating stuck up there.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Depends,” I said, propping myself up on my elbow and using the very tip of a fingernail to trace a pattern around her nipple. It immediately puckered, turning her flesh into this dark pink field of lines and dots.

  She pushed my finger away. “How did David end up in the wheelchair? Was he military, too?”

  “No.” I lay back down, turning onto my back and staring up at the ceiling, too. “He was FBI. But that has nothing to do with his injury.”

  “How was he hurt?”

  “Car accident. He was in Austin, Texas, celebrating his father’s election to Congress when they crashed their car after slipping on some black ice.”

  “Was he driving?”

  “Yeah.”

  She shook her head. “That’s too bad.”

  “What’s really too bad is that the paralysis might be reversible. The doctors say it’s caused by bone fragments pressing on the cord. If he had them removed, he could walk again.”

  “Then why doesn’t he?”

  “Guilt, I think.” I rolled over to look at her again. “He feels guilty for what happened to his parents,so he figures life in a wheelchair is proper punishment.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you wrongly accept responsibility for something that was out of your control.”

  Her eyes darkened a little and her jaw tightened. She climbed off the bed, reaching down to grab her panties from off the floor.

  I reached for her, and she looked back at me. No smile. But no hatred beaming from her eyes either.

  “What’s the deal with Kirkland?” she asked.

  I shrugged, laying back to enjoy the show of her getting dressed. “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have at my side when there’s trouble,” I said. “He and Ash and Joss are the best at what they do. And he’s a charmer.”

  “I caught that.”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying not to remember that show this morning. “It comes in handy when we have a female target who’s falling apart. But it’s sort of like the wrap party of a porn movie having breakfast with him.”

  Kate started to laugh. But then she stopped in the middle of sliding her sweater over her head, her eyes wide when she finally tugged it over her head.

  “What?”

  “I think I just remembered something.”

  I sat up as she settled back down on the edge of the bed. I knew not to push her, but I was anxious to hear what she had to say. The sooner we got her out of danger, the better.

  “When you said porn…” She tilted her head slightly. “I remember I was thinking about a loan application that had come in over the weekend. A business loan.”

  “For a porn site? Does your bank do that?”

  She shook her head, raising a finger to silence me. “Brothel,” she said slowly, and then she smiled brightly. “It was an older gentleman who wanted to open a social club for men his age. But what he proposed was basically a brothel for senior citizens.”

  I laughed. “Well, I suppose equal treatment…”

  She glanced at me and smiled. “Would you go to something like that?”

  “When I’m seventy and my wife is dead? Hell, yeah!”

  She slapped my arm. But then that look came into her eyes again.

  “I was thinking about it as I walked to the parking lot. And then…”

  I waited a minute. And then two. Then three.

  “And then?”

  She sort of stretched her neck, doing this little thing that made it clear she was struggling with her thoughts.

  “I saw something.”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Someone was in the alley. I thought it was just the security lights glinting off of something, but then it moved. And I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t see who it was or what he was doing, but I knew something was off.”

  I slid my arm around her so that she knew she wasn’t alone. That she was safe. She shivered as she nestled against me, burying her head against my shoulder for a second.

  “I was scared. I r
emember that. But I don’t know why.”

  “Had something else happened?”

  She didn’t answer me right away, but I had this feeling deep in my gut that there was more to this story than anyone had bothered to find out. Even me.

  “Somebody broke into my car a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Kate—”

  She pulled back and looked at me. “This is Santa Monica. It’s not the crime capital of the world, but it’s not exactly a utopia either. I didn’t think anything about. They didn’t get anything that I could tell, so I didn’t call the police. I didn’t see the point of going through the hassle. But it left me a little spooked.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Two weeks ago Monday.”

  “Another Monday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Whoever this is must know you work late on Mondays. They must have been watching you for a while.”

  She shivered again. “Why would someone be after me? I’m a nobody.”

  “I don’t know. An ex-boyfriend, maybe, who wasn’t happy to see your relationship end? Or a customer who’s obsessed with you?”

  She shook her head. “I have had one boyfriend in the past three years and he…I don’t think he’d care enough to be unhappy. And I don’t really have customers. Just people I meet with maybe once and that’s when we sign papers. Most of our loan applications come in over the internet these days.”

  “Maybe it’s someone you just didn’t know cared that much.”

  “Maybe.”

  I pulled her into my chest and ran my hand slowly down the length of her back. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, babe. I promise.”

  We sat there like that for a few minutes. Then she slowly pulled away, kissed me gently, then stood and finished dressing. I followed suit, aware of her eyes on me when I turned my back to grab my pants. I knew she saw the scar. I knew she was wondering what had happened. But that wasn’t a story I was ready to get into.

  “Donovan,” she began.

  “We should go,” I interrupted. “Ash is probably back from your house, and he might have new information we need.”