Covert Makeover

by Mallory Kane

  A dangerous impulse made him reach out and touch her temple again. He hadn’t noticed the bruise earlier in the day, but it was turning dark now.

  When he touched her, she flinched, then froze.

  “This is going to mar your pretty face.”

  Her wide blue eyes met his, and he saw suspicion, wariness and something else in them.

  “Who are you, Sophie Brooks?” His thumb caressed the soft, discolored skin near her hairline, even while he cursed himself for acting on the instant attraction that had been growing since the moment he’d seen her long sleek legs and delicate features from across the wedding salon.

  Then all day today, as much as he’d tried to fight it, she’d insinuated herself into his consciousness. Everything about her fascinated him. She was beautiful, intelligent, remarkably capable of taking care of herself. But she also had a false side—the sultry, danger-loving side that reminded him of his ex-wife. And he didn’t like that.

  She shook her head, a faint glint of alarm visible in her clear blue eyes. “I’m nobody. Nobody at all.”

  And that was the enigma of her. She was such a contradiction. She had to be hiding something.

  God help him, he had to know what it was.

  He slid his fingers down her creamy soft cheek to her chin and lifted it. “Now that’s one thing I know is not true.”

  She lowered her gaze.

  “I saw you reach for your weapon.”

  She went totally rigid. “What are you talking about?”

  He urged her chin up. He wanted to look into her eyes, see her reaction to his words. “When you dove in the parking lot. You slapped your back, right where a paddle holster would be.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “I can show you on the tape.”

  “I have to go.” Her voice was tinged with panic. She pushed away his fingers.

  He caught her hand and turned her palm up, still not sure why he was torturing himself.

  He did want her to leave. If she stayed any longer, he was afraid every inch of him, and everything in his apartment, would be branded by her. She interested him far too much.

  He wanted his quiet haven back. His sanctuary, where it was just him and Michaela, and Rosita to take care of them.

  “I’m sorry you were hurt.”

  She didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  He turned her arm and looked at her elbow. “That gash looks nasty. Did you put antibiotic ointment on it?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Let me rebandage it for you.”

  “No. Please let me go.” Her face contorted with fear. Real fear.

  What had he done? “Sophie, what’s wrong? What are you afraid of?”

  She shook her head, and tears glistened in her eyes. He felt something inside him crack when a single tear slid down her cheek.

  He bent his head and pressed his forehead against hers. “I need to know who you are, why you know how to carry a weapon, why you don’t like to be touched.”

  She stood there as if his brow touching hers had rendered her incapable of moving. Then she shook her head slowly, a negation that was almost a caress against his forehead.

  The innocent contact sent a spear of desire through him. A part of his brain protested the stupidity of acting on that desire. He ignored it.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sophie—”

  Another tear fell, and he kissed it away, its salty taste stirring a flame inside him. None of this seemed real. He felt as if he were in a fairy tale, dreaming about unwrapping layers upon layers of protective shell from around a lovely imprisoned princess.

  A tiny sound like a sob escaped her lips, so he kissed them, too, and the flame inside him ignited into a fire-storm. Her soft lips trembled under his. His body reacted, and his arousal grew hard against her.

  She gasped and put her hands against his chest.

  Before she could push him away, he covered them with his and kissed her again, more deeply.

  Her breath was short and sharp. The fine trembling returned to her limbs, and her cheeks were wet from her tears.

  “I can’t do this,” she said brokenly, trying to extricate her hands from his grip.

  He let her pull away. Then he lifted his head and gave her a small smile. “Too much danger?”

  She wiped a finger under each eye and swallowed. “You could say that.”

  Then she broke down completely.

  Surprised, Sean caught her and swung her up into his arms. She was tall but slender, and her body felt strong and supple and right against his chest.

  He turned toward the sofa, then changed his mind and took her into his bedroom and laid her gently on the bed.

  She curled up in a fetal position and covered her face and cried.

  “What is it, Sophie? What’s wrong?” His mind ran through a litany of reasons that would explain why she’d suddenly cracked here and now, and not during the peak of the danger or the inevitable reaction afterward. There weren’t many possibilities, and most of them had to be related to him.

  On an impulse he refused to examine, he kicked off his loafers and climbed into bed behind her. He rolled onto his side, fitting his body against hers but careful that his still hard arousal didn’t touch her. Gingerly, he put an arm around her.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “It’s nothing,” she said brokenly, making a halfhearted attempt to rise.

  He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and gently turned her onto her back, then took her hands in his and pulled them away from her face.

  She closed her eyes.

  “Are you hurt more than you let on?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Just let me go, please. This is wrong. I have to go. I can’t be here.”

  His gut twisted in irony. “Wrong? Ah. Are you married? A fugitive? A secret agent?” He smiled crookedly.

  A secret agent. Sophie’s body jerked involuntarily, and her eyes flew open. Her field of vision was filled with his harshly handsome face. That crooked smile bathed her in a warmth that she had never felt before. It was kind and teasing and gentle and, yes, protective.

  With dread squeezing her heart like a giant fist, she reached up and wrapped her hand around his neck. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, and yet it felt right.

  He kissed her gently, barely touching her lips. She drew in a short surprised breath as longing flowed through her, centering with frightening speed into the deepest core of her being. She trembled.

  He lifted his head, his gaze cautious.

  She moistened her lips, still afraid, and dared to do what she’d wanted to do since she’d seen him this morning in his sleeveless T-shirt. She ran her hand down his shoulder and over his biceps. It was as strong and sleek under her fingers as she’d known it would be.

  His smooth, hot skin jolted her out of her passion-filled haze. Memories flashed through her brain. Guilt and fear crowded out the passion.

  And she hit the wall she inevitably hit. The reason she couldn’t do this.

  She’d have to undress. She’d often tried to imagine seducing a man so thoroughly he wouldn’t bother removing her clothes to get to her, but even if she thought she could have that effect on a man, the idea had always seemed sleazy and impersonal.

  Yet the alternative was unthinkable.

  Sean kissed her again, more thoroughly, driving all rational thought from her mind. She grasped at the sleeve of his T-shirt and to her shock, her body arched against him.

  Molten, liquid desire flowed over her as his lips sought out the secret places that had never been loved. The places she suddenly realized were aching for his touch. The soft skin behind her ears, the underside of her jaw, the sensitive place just under her chin. Running the tip of his tongue along her lips, he urged them apart and took her mouth in a deep, probing kiss that left her breathless.

  Then he turned away.

  She lay still, waiting. Maybe he’d come to his senses. He didn’t wan
t her here. He was about to throw her out.

  She moved to sit up.

  “I’m just turning down the baby monitor,” he said, turning back to her.

  Baby.

  She’d forgotten about Michaela. Her heart leapt into her throat. He had a baby. A family. “Oh, no. I can’t do this—”

  “Hey, it’s okay. Rosita’s with her. They’ll sleep all night. We won’t wake them.”

  But waking the little girl wasn’t what worried Sophie. She was getting in too deep. The baby, the warm loving family, the normalcy.

  And Sean.

  “Still,” she said. “I can’t—I don’t do this. I need to go.”

  “Shh.” He ran his palm down her leg, down her calf near her ankle. His hot strong hand sliding along the sleek material of her stockings stirred her desire again.

  If she wasn’t careful—

  He growled softly, deeply.

  —he’d make her forget—

  “Sophie—damn, I love these stockings.” His voice was ragged.

  He curved his body over hers and lifted one leg, laying his cheek against her calf and tracing it up to the surprisingly sensitive skin behind her knee with his fingers. Then he tenderly kissed the bandage on her knee, and slipped his hand up under her skirt. “Most women think they’re too hot—”

  Sophie had no idea what he was talking about.

  His breath caught when he encountered the elastic band at her thigh, and the bare skin beyond.

  “—too hot to wear in the summertime.”

  “Sean—” she said desperately, her body arching in shock and pleasure as his fingers brushed her bare inner thigh.

  He straightened and tugged off his T-shirt. The perfection of his body made her shiver. Then he unbuttoned and pushed down his jeans. He was naked, exposed, totally open to her. There was no doubt how much he wanted her. No question.

  Sophie put her hand over her mouth, feeling trapped. She’d gone too far. How had she let this get so out of hand?

  He reached for the top button on her blouse and she grabbed his wrist.

  “Please, Sean—”

  “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, feathering her mouth and cheeks with kisses as his fingers easily worked the buttons.

  She couldn’t speak. All she could do was lie there and wait for the inevitable. The shock, the pity, then the shutdown.

  He pushed her blouse aside and unfastened the front clasp on her bra, touching her breasts reverently, then tasting each one in turn.

  “Oh, please—” Sophie gasped in astonishing pleasure. She couldn’t think, couldn’t reason. Her cloak of self-preservation had been dissolved by the wet, erotic sensation of his mouth on her breast. All that was left was his gentle presence and the feeling that she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

  When he undid the clasp of her skirt, she stilled his hand again, a halfhearted gesture.

  He gently lifted her hand and placed it on his taut belly, then kissed her nose and smiled at her. “You okay?”

  To her surprise, she nodded.

  His smile grew wider. “You look scared.”

  Her fingers curled against his skin. “I am, more than—”

  A deep, searing kiss cut off the rest of her words. He never stopped kissing her as he pushed her skirt down and ran his hands over her stockinged legs again.

  Then he sat up and lifted her to push the blouse down off her shoulders.

  Hardly able to breathe for wanting him, her heart thudding with fearful anticipation, Sophie lowered her head and closed her eyes. She’d never gone this far before. Usually the undressing was the first order of business, and she’d never made it any farther.

  But Sean’s hands, his mouth, were mesmerizing. No man had ever given her so much and demanded nothing in return.

  She took a deep breath and waited.

  He slid the blouse down her arms and bent to kiss her shoulder.

  She shuddered.

  He froze.

  She tried to reach for the discarded blouse, but he stopped her fumbling fingers.

  He wrapped his hands around her arms and lifted her bodily, pulling her into his lap with her back to him. His arousal pulsed against her hip.

  She bowed her shoulders and covered her face.

  For a long time there was nothing but silence, broken by his harsh breathing and her quiet sobs.

  Then she felt his hot hand on her back. He spread his fingers across her shoulder blade. Her skin tightened as she flinched.

  “Don’t,” he whispered raggedly. “Please don’t be afraid of me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching again for her blouse.

  “You’re sorry. For what?” Steel rang in his voice. Anger. Shock. “Who did this?”

  His palm scraped across the little ridges of her scars as he slid it slowly, gingerly, across her back and down to her waist.

  “My foster mother was—strict,” she said, her voice small.

  He was stunned. “Strict.” He spat it like an oath.

  Sophie cringed. Here it came. The shutting down, the withdrawal.

  “This isn’t strict,” he growled. “It’s a crime!”

  He gripped her shoulders in his hands and to her shock, she felt his lips against her shoulder blade, against one of the worst scars, where a belt buckle had drawn blood so many years ago.

  “Lie down.” His voice was tight, controlled. He urged her down onto her stomach.

  “Oh, don’t. Please.” Terror rasped in her throat. “This shouldn’t have happened. Please let me go.”

  “Hush,” he demanded as he lifted himself over her and proceeded to kiss each and every scar while she cried.

  Sean touched his lips to Sophie’s ruined skin, over and over, not missing a single scar. As he’d noticed earlier, the scars were old. Years old. It had happened when she was a child.

  No wonder she’d looked so stunned when she’d seen Michaela. No wonder she’d asked if Rosita was strict.

  Anger boiled in his chest, almost crowding out the horror. Almost pushing away his desire. He doubled a fist and cursed, wanting to hit something. But Sophie was so fragile, so panicked right now.

  He forced himself to calm down. The fierce protectiveness he’d felt for her this afternoon when she’d nearly been shot engulfed him as he worked his way down her spine to the curve of her bottom, where more faint ridges swelled.

  Her chest heaved with sobs and she lay stiff and unyielding under his caresses. Slowly, he rolled the sexy black stockings down her legs, holding his breath.

  More scars. On the backs of her thighs.

  He cursed as he traced each one with the tips of his fingers. Most were hardly noticeable, faded with time. But taken altogether, they spoke of a legacy of pain and fear that he couldn’t even imagine.

  He slid back up, torturing himself as he slid against her thighs, her bottom. He gently turned her over. She pressed her palms against his chest and the bandages scratched his skin. She met his gaze warily, shame and trepidation shining in her eyes.

  He tried to compose his face. He knew anger and horror were painted there, but he needed her to know none of it was directed at her.

  “Who was this monster? Why didn’t anyone stop her?”

  “It was the way it was.”

  “No one has the right—”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  But he knew it did.

  Cradling her head in his arm, he bent and kissed her with as much tenderness as he could muster. Her face was wet with tears, but finally, he felt her eyelashes brush his cheek, and experienced a surge of triumph and desire when she began to kiss him back for the first time.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, sliding his hand down between her legs, seeking to stir her excitement until it matched his.

  “No,” she gasped, as he touched her intimately. “No, I’m not.”

  Her body told him she was ready, but she still held back.

  He delved deeper, spurred b
y his own desire, caressing her, establishing a rhythm, hoping he could make her believe he was telling the truth. She was lovely.

  She’d been damaged, deeply damaged. He’d figured out hours ago that something awful had happened to her. As bad as her foster mother’s abuse was, he was deathly afraid it hadn’t been the worst thing she’d had to experience.

  He nuzzled her breasts as he continued stroking and caressing. He pressed his arousal against her and rocked gently, torturing himself with stimulation he didn’t need.

  Then at last, her legs tightened and she gasped. He looked at her and saw a light in her eyes—the light of passion.

  Slowly, carefully he lifted himself and slid into her, watching her face. She was tight, hot. And a shadow of fear still darkened her face.

  As he gently sank deeper, her eyes widened and her lips parted. She clutched at his arms and thrust herself against him.

  “Sean—”

  “Shh. Just follow me.” He slid back and forth, back and forth, gritting his teeth, enjoying the exquisite torture of holding back as much as watching her respond.

  Her eyes fluttered shut and she made a little noise at the back of her throat.

  “That’s it, Sophie. Just a little more.” A lump grew in his throat when she peered at him through heavy-lidded eyes and arched her neck and moaned.

  No longer able to hold back, he plunged, praying it wasn’t too soon, hoping he hadn’t frightened her. But she clung to him and her body clenched around him, squeezing every last bit of fluid and strength away from him.

  He rested his forehead on her shoulder and sighed as she slid her fingers through his hair.

  She said something, too low for him to hear. After a few moments, he lifted his head. Her wide blue eyes watched him. Her mouth was soft and full, and for the first time, her body wasn’t tight or stiff. It was supple, soft, and molded completely, delightfully, to his.

  He kissed her on the nose and rolled onto his back, pulling her into the shelter of his arms.

  SEAN SLAPPED AT the bedside table as the annoying chime of his cell phone grew louder.

  It wasn’t there.

  He sat up and squinted at the clock. Five o’clock in the morning. Where the hell was his phone?