For him, being surrounded by elementary school kids would be a welcome relief from dealing with her mood swings. At least he could scold them, send them to the principal’s office, or put them in time out. Not so much with a grown woman, when his boss—who was engaged to her sister—signed his paychecks. She almost felt sorry for Slone.
Almost.
If he didn’t jab at her constantly, maybe they could attempt a friendship. But he seemed unable to help himself, and she seemed unable to keep from rising to his bait. The most inappropriate things flew out of his mouth and dug under her skin. He was a good-looking rose with way too many thorns. The big, sexy jerk.
So why then, on evenings when he handed her a dish to rinse and their fingers brushed, did sparks fly through her and bury their electric energy in her core? How could she be so attracted to him—waking up in the middle of the night, tangled in sheets, desperate for his touch anywhere on her body—when they had nothing in common and she wasn’t even sure she liked him?
At least she’d decided on the doctor, so he couldn’t harass her about her “man files” anymore. No matter how agitated she became with him, she refused to cry. Then he’d win, and she felt unusually feisty and competitive of late.
Ugh, she missed her old self. Presently, her emotional tolerance was shot. She wasn’t fit for company, even Slone’s.
Dragging the afghan more snugly around her shoulders, she stared at the fire and the coals glowing like a vibrant family under the grate. Wait…that’s exactly what she needed. Her family. Real companionship with someone she knew and trusted. She missed her sister, spending time together, talking about anything and everything. The way they used to, finishing each other’s sentences like twins, totally in sync. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It read 12:30 a.m. Too late now, but tomorrow she’d call Kylie and they’d go to lunch or have dinner together.
As her mind wandered, she let herself dip into forbidden territory. What if she and Slone did have a baby?
From the start of her fertility treatments, she’d imagined what her baby might be like. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she’d always pictured a baby boy. She envisioned the moment the doctors handed over her son, after she’d given birth to him. Kylie and Cade would be in the viewing window, unless Kylie convinced the staff to let her in as Lindsey’s moral support and hand to hold. No doubt Kylie’s shark-like lawyer instincts would work in their favor. And Kylie was her closest family.
Lindsey would hold her newborn baby in her arms like the most precious miracle. She’d inhale his newborn scent. She’d kiss him a dozen times. And a dozen times more. She’d feel an overwhelming sense of love and devotion. Eventually, she would lift her baby to her breast, and they’d share an incomparable moment of bonding.
Oh, God, she ached for the reality. The added hormones in her system must’ve been driving her deeper into her fantasies of holding him, staring at her baby’s perfection.
Picturing the moment her newborn opened his eyes, she imagined herself peering down into them, her soul awash with love. And his eyes were gray-blue.
Wait, what?
Startled out of the fantasy, she sat upright. No. Slone’s gray eyes had no business appearing in her baby daydreams. Her imagination had no right bringing him into any of this. She wanted to berate Marissa for planting Slone in her mind as a potential candidate.
Disgruntled, she repositioned herself before the fire and forced Slone to the very back of her mind. Until he forced his way right to the front.
Damn him and his dreadful timing.
Beyond the hiss and snap of the fire, she swore she heard the hardwood floors creak upstairs. She listened closely.
With a short exhale, she hoped Slone was just using the bathroom. She heard the toilet flush and sighed with relief.
Then she heard his heavy footsteps on the staircase. Desperate for some peace and quiet with her thoughts, she curled her hands into fists.
“You still up?” he asked from the landing, his voice scratchy from sleep and completely sexy.
“I am.”
“Is this what you do at night? Sit around all bundled up in the dark?”
“I lit a fire. It’s not that dark.”
He offered a noncommittal grunt. “You do make a decent fire, for a girl.”
Her back tensed like someone had threatened her with a spinal tap. “Just get your glass of water and go to bed. I mean, you do this every night, usually at two in the morning. I don’t see why you can’t take a glass to bed with you and save yourself the trouble.”
“Now look who’s the observant one.”
“If you didn’t bound down the steps like a herd of elephants, I wouldn’t wake up and hear you.”
“Really.” Sarcasm drenched his tone. “Do I look like a guy who ‘bounds’ when he does anything?”
She scowled. “That’s beside the point.”
“Easy, sweetheart. I’m just going to the kitchen for water.”
“Wait, that is my point. Why is it so difficult to plan ahead and take it with you so you don’t have to disrupt the entire house in the middle of the night?”
“I wake up every night,” he said calmly, “and come downstairs to make sure everything’s all right. I test the locks on the windows and doors. I scan the cars parked outside for anything suspicious. I look for the guy who walks his dog at that hour like clockwork, puffing on cigarettes, as if his wife won’t notice he smells like smoke. I check on you. Do you find any of this a problem?”
Well, when he put it that way… “I guess not.”
“Good. Because it’s my routine and I’m not changing it.”
“Is your routine for me, for your job—or for you?” she muttered.
“I heard that tone,” he called from the kitchen over the running tap water.
The sink shut off and he returned to the wide opening between the living and dining rooms. “You know,” she said, “you should use the filtered water pitcher in the fridge. It’s cold, plus you’ll avoid all the chlorine and fluoride they unnecessarily inject into city water.”
“Worried about my health and longevity?” he asked, a grin in his voice.
Why? Why did his careless disregard for himself irritate her so much? “God forbid someone look out for your best interests.”
“The same way I look out for yours.” He spoke with quiet intensity.
Unaccustomed to the fond note of caring in his words, she glanced over her shoulder at him. Then she wished she hadn’t. Slone stood bare-chested, leaning one broad shoulder against the crown molding. The light dusting of hair across his pecs helped define the chiseled contours. His bare feet were solidly planted on the floor, and a pair of loose flannel pants cinched his lean waist.
The blood heated in her veins and began pumping to all the wrong places. She clamped her thighs together, despising her indiscriminate libido. This was an impossible attraction, and she knew it. Her body didn’t seem to care.
“Can I join you?” he asked, gesturing at her with his glass of water. The low rumble of his voice reverberated in the air around her.
She shrugged as if his nearness didn’t affect her, or send her pheromones pinging off the walls. “If you want to.”
He strolled to her. “If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“Okay, Captain Obvious.”
A grin curled his lips. “Not sure they have that rank in the military.”
“If they did, you’d be in charge of the entire unit. Worldwide.”
His smile widened showing a flash of white teeth. “That’s one hell of an honor.”
The closer he drew, the more she noticed the play of firelight on his handsome features. The orange glow picked out the natural blonde and auburn highlights in his thick chestnut hair. He had grown it longer since they’d first met, when he’d sported a military style buzz cut. She liked the way the front now sloped toward his forehead with a natural wave, sticking up in some places where he’d finger-combed the strands.
No, I don’t like it. I don’t like anything about him, she told herself. But the lie rang hollowly inside her.
“Want me to throw on another log?” he asked.
“Depends on how long you plan to stay.”
Without replying, he passed her and grabbed a log from the pile at the edge of the stone hearth. She couldn’t help watching the way his muscles worked beneath the scarred skin of his back. How would those muscles feel beneath her hands as he moved over her in bed?
Her pulse raced. She licked her lips, realizing too late that inviting him to sit with her had been a bad idea. Too much temptation. God help her, if he reached out to touch her right now she wouldn’t stop him.
But he didn’t.
He sat on the floor a few feet away, leaning his back against the sturdy leather ottoman.
Slone inspected Lindsey from a safe distance. He noticed the way the firelight softly bathed her face. Her profile glowed as if she’d come to Earth from a distant, magical world filled with sunshine and misty meadows, where wishes came true and darkness never reached. The type of darkness he knew all too well. Goddamn, she was beautiful. Too beautiful for his eroding self-restraint. Though he didn’t like the worry that shadowed her mesmerizing eyes.
Setting down his water, he curled his fingers on the tops of his thighs. He battled the urge to gather her between his legs, fold her in his arms, and breathe her in until she filled all his senses.
Just like her sister Kylie, Lindsey held her problems close to the vest, yet wore her emotions too close to the surface, and never failed to prove her strength and inner fortitude. The fascinating combination tugged at his protective nature, made him want to peel back the forbidden layers to explore all the hidden secrets beneath.
Then again, what right did he have wanting her to bare herself before him, when he had no intention of doing the same?
The longer the silence drew out, the more he longed to hear her voice. Sometimes he picked little fights with her just to get her to respond to him. Any response—positive or negative—as long as she acknowledged him as part of her life.
There had been countless nights overseas…he and his men sitting around a fire, talking trash, telling stories that were half-true and mostly embellished, while he yearned to have what they had…a loving family, a wife or girlfriend, kids at home desperately awaiting their return. He never let on to any of them how much he envied their lives, that sense of belonging in one place, belonging to someone who cared whether he lived or died.
He’d wanted that then, and he wanted it even more now. Now that he was in a better place in his head, in his life. Today he could actually offer something close to resembling normalcy and structure and steadiness, outside of the military where the divorce rate for Navy SEALs crested ninety percent. He’d refused to put a wife and kids through that life. But now…
Now…
“Were you a girl scout?” he asked, shattering the suffocating silence.
She glanced at him oddly. “Why?”
“Because you make a damn good fire.”
“No, but I was part of the Indian Princesses with my dad for a few years.” A smile brightened her face, chasing away the darkness at the edges of his mind. “My dad was a card dealer at a Las Vegas casino, so he worked weekends. But occasionally he’d take me and my sister out of school for a few days of camping in one of the National Parks surrounding Vegas. Those days seemed so special, like a spontaneous vacation. We pitched a tent, he showed me how to build fires, and we’d sit out under the huge sky, filled with stars, and roast hot dogs and marshmallows. He was a great dad. I miss him. Especially now that I’m planning to have a child.”
He wanted to hear more about her family, her past, all the places where she grew up and the events, small and large, that made her who she was. Instead he let her memories spill out however she needed them to right now.
“There’s so much I want to ask him. He always had the best advice—never telling me what to do, just offering thoughtful ideas, letting me decide what choices to make.”
“What about your mom?” Slone knew from the time he’d spent as a bodyguard for Kylie the girls’ mother hadn’t been much of one. Still, he wanted to hear Lindsey’s perspective.
“Kylie and I don’t talk about her.” Lindsey’s voice sounded distant even though she sat cocooned in a blanket a few feet from him. He could’ve reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers across her shoulder, but he presumed she wouldn’t welcome his touch.
“So it’s the two of you against the world.”
She let out a short laugh. “I’d rather think we’re flowing along in the Cosmic Grand Scheme of things.”
“Don’t go all Zen yoga, or whatever, on me. We were having such a nice conversation.”
When she rolled her eyes, the firelight tipped the thick fringe of her lashes in gold. “Okay, great warrior, it’s me and my sister against the world.”
He nodded. “Better.”
“I take it your experiences in the military didn’t give you any philosophical perspective on life.”
“On life, nah. On death…yes.”
She turned forty-five degrees toward him and rested her chin in her palm. “Like what?”
On the receiving end of those hypnotizing eyes, he felt his heart lurch. He arched an eyebrow. “You really want to hear my philosophy on death?”
“If you have any philosophy at all, I want to hear about it. Go on, surprise me.”
He snorted. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She didn’t say a word. Her face looked soft and open, eager to hear his thoughts. Now that he’d gained her undivided attention at last, he wasn’t about to let go. “I believe whatever’s on the other side is a damned sight better than what we have going on down here.”
A divot formed between her eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”
“I’ve seen men die. Some I’ve even held while their light goes out. Just before they go, there’s a peace that settles over them, like dawn cresting the horizon after the darkest night. The best I can describe their expressions is joy—pure, undefeatable joy.”
“How beautiful,” she whispered, her gaze unfocused and dreamy. It almost hurt to look at her, she looked so lovely in this moment.
“A medic on my team during one of my Black Ops deployments told me something. He said the human body weighs two-thirds of a pound less after a person dies than right before death. Two-thirds of a pound is the weight of a human soul. I believe him.”
She tilted her head adorably. “I never would’ve guessed you to be a spiritual man. Are you still a practicing Catholic?”
Shrugging, he stared into the fire, as the log he’d placed there crackled and hissed. “I believe in purgatory. It isn’t just for the afterlife. It can be experienced here and now. I definitely know for a fact there is evil in this world. I’ve looked it in the eye and killed it, knowing it’ll come back in another form, in some other person who’ll perpetuate it. So if I believe in evil, I guess I believe in a benevolent power, too.”
She smiled sweetly. “I’m sure the Almighty appreciates your overwhelming vote of confidence.”
“I haven’t been to Confession in twelve years.”
Scooting closer to him, she rewrapped the blanket around herself, the ends brushing the tops of his feet like an intimate caress. What he would give to feel her touch on his skin. He craved her softness, her radiance, wondering what level of deliverance she’d offer with her body pressed against him.
“Why not?” she asked.
It took him a moment to regain the thread of their discussion. “Because ten thousand Hail Mary’s won’t make up for the shit I’ve seen and done.” The roiling vat of self-disgust he carried deep inside him bubbled toward the surface. He shoved it back down and locked it away where it belonged.
When he glanced at her, he saw the pity on her face. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I don’t want your pity.”
Her eyes rounded, but s
he didn’t draw back as he’d expected. “It’s not pity, Slone. It’s compassion.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t want it. And I never want to see that look on your face again. Not for me.”
Abruptly she shifted her position and lay down perpendicular to him, cocooned in the blanket, her head resting on his thigh. “I like you much better when you’re being real.”
“You mean emotional.”
“No, just…human. Now I know you bleed like the rest of us mere mortals.”
He stared down at her. “What made you think I didn’t?”
She lifted her shoulder. “I’m just saying it’s nice to know the real you. Not the external you, who uses sarcasm to keep people at arm’s length.”
He pressed his hand on her shoulder and assessed the distance. “Don’t worry, you’re still outside my range.”
She giggled and moved two inches closer. “There, tough guy.” She looked up at him in challenge. “Now what are you going to do?”
Oh, hell. His mouth went dry, his muscles froze, and his erection throbbed beneath the draw string of his pants. Damn, he hoped she didn’t notice the last physical alteration. That would definitely make her leap away and run in the opposite direction. His voice came out gruffly. “If I bend my elbow, we’re still good.”
When she laughed it filled his soul with music. “Don’t worry, you’re still impossible.”
“Good. That’s what I was going for.”
She sighed. “You have to admit, some parts of the religion we grew up with will always be ingrained in us. Can I ask you something?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
“Do you think what I’m doing is wrong? I mean, from a spiritual standpoint. Trying to become pregnant without a partner, a ring, or a wedding.”
He played with a curl at the end of her hair. “Of all the things wrong in this world, bringing life into it—however you go about it—is pretty far down on that list. And if it’s a child who will be wanted and loved, I don’t see how that could be wrong.”
She wriggled her shoulders up against his outer thigh, snuggling into him. “I appreciate your thoughts.”
He tamped down the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to his bed. “You don’t need my approval or blessing for anything you do.”
The Bodyguard's Baby (Billionaire Bodyguard Series) Page 4
