Coveted
Kiss
Karen Tjebben
Coveted Kiss is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, o events is coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Karen Tjebben
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author. For information regarding permission visit: https://www.facebook.com/karentjebbenauthor.
First Published Edition: June 2017
Cover art designed by Christine Taylor MacLellan
Printed in the United States of America
Coveted Kiss is dedicated to my wonderful husband and precious daughters.
Michael, I didn’t realize what a patron of the arts you were when I married you. I bet you didn’t either.
Girls, you fill each day with laughter, hugs, and joy. I’m blessed to be your mother.
A special thanks to Beth Ramsey for her help and input on Coveted Kiss.
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
About the Author
1
Wednesday Morning – Day after terrorist attack at Savage Security
Jack Black glanced at Bella Chan as she slept in the passenger seat of his truck. The hospital meds had wiped her out. Her bruised face rested against the seatbelt, and her beautiful eyes were closed. The faintest sound of her breathing and the rising and falling of her chest settled him.
She was alive.
He gripped the wheel tighter as he focused on the street. Looking at her tore into his heart with the ferocity of a monster’s claws raking at the tender flesh of prey. He knew her wounds would heal, at least the ones that screamed for attention through their darkened colors and marred flesh. But he was worried about the wounds he couldn’t see. The wounds that shredded her heart and faith in mankind. The wounds that would ultimately rock her world at its core. Would she still radiate life and hope, or had Eric James managed to destroy her faith?
It didn’t matter. Jack would put her together again. Eric was a monster, but he was Frankenstein. He would breathe life into her and destroy the poison of hatred that Eric had mainlined into her system through his attack. It was Jack’s new mission to help Bella find her way back to herself.
He slowed the truck as they crawled over a speed bump in her apartment community. She moaned, a pained sound that caught his attention and reopened a wound on his heart. Her lips twitched. He wasn’t sure if they formed an actual frown or just a tight line. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled.
She didn’t respond, but her head lolled to the other side so that her head hung limply. He knew she wouldn’t last long in that position. It had to be uncomfortable for her neck without the seatbelt for support.
Her apartment building loomed ahead of them. The five-story building was in a good part of Carrisburg. The suburb of D.C. was an affordable option for young adults and new families. He wished he could take her to his place, but she would need her things and want the security of her own home. Perhaps, once she was feeling better he could convince her to join him at his house.
Pulling into a parking space in front of her building, he shut off the engine. “We’re here,” he said, focusing on her and setting his hand on her knee. He couldn’t resist giving her knee a little squeeze.
She grunted in response but didn’t open her eyes.
He slid out of the driver’s side and gently shut the door, careful not to jar her battered body. He walked around the front of the truck and opened her door. Watching her chest rise and fall, he set his hand on her knee again and said, “Bella, Bella, we’re home.”
She rolled her head and cracked open an eye. “Hmm,” she moaned softly. Her head was so foggy and heavy. It was hard to follow what Jack was saying to her, and she struggled to stay awake. Pain and exhaustion covered her like a second skin.
“You need to wake up. Let’s get you inside.” Jack could carry her, but that would put stress on her tender ribs as he cradled her against his chest. No, the best way for her to get into her apartment would be to walk in there herself.
He took her hand in his and brushed the pad of his thumb over her skin. “Bella, you need to wake up,” he cooed. “I’ll help you. Then you can sleep in your nice, comfy bed. Come on, sweetheart.”
Bed? That sounded wonderful. Opening her eyes, Bella’s lids fluttered as she tried to focus. One eye was badly bruised and swollen, but she managed to open it partway. Jack stared at her, the little lines around his eyes betraying his concern. She didn’t remember why Eric had attacked her, but she remembered who’d saved her. Jack.
“’Kay,” she groaned. Pain wracked her body. Talking was painful. Swallowing was painful. Moving was painful.
Jack reached across her body and pressed the release button for her seatbelt. Grabbing the strap, he gently eased it over her and let it roll back into place, out of the way. “Can you move? Can you twist your body so I can help you out?”
Her head was killing her. It pulsed with the deafening staccato of a bass speaker at a heavy metal concert. She leaned forward and shifted her legs. Pain splintered through her sides. Why did her ribs hurt so much? She kept moving until her legs dangled over the side of the seat and out the door.
Jack watched as pain washed over her face. He hoped like hell that Eric would resist talking. He wanted the coward to feel pain. He’d love to be in on Eric’s interrogation. As far as he was concerned, any man who attacked a defenseless woman and tried to plant bombs to destroy civilians deserved a little pain. But looking at Bella, Jack knew he was where he belonged. Helping her took priority. He’d leave Eric to the professionals.
Bella placed her hand in Jack’s and set her other hand on his shoulder. With his help, she eased out of the truck until her feet hit the ground. She couldn’t stand up straight. It pulled on her ribs too much, so instead she hunched over like an old woman with bone density issues.
“You good?” Jack asked. He noticed how she folded her body in on itself, as if making herself smaller would relieve her of pain. Before closing the door, he grabbed her purse from the truck floor.
They shuffled through the parking lot, surely slower than the famous turtle from Aesop’s Fables. Jack led her through the main lobby and hit the elevator button.
Bella leaned against the wall in the elevator as they rose to her floor. Jack stood next to her, watching her every move. When the doors slid open again, they walked out and down the hallway to her front door.
Jack dug in her purse while she leaned against the wall in a groggy haze. He found her keys at the bottom of her bag and slipped them into the keyhole. Opening the door, he helped her into her apartment.
The security alarm buzzed a steady tone, giving them time to punch in the code before the
alarm triggered a response from the security company.
Jack shut the door behind them and asked, “Can you put in your code, or do you want me to do it?”
Bella grunted and trudged over to the keypad and pressed in the code. The alarm shut off.
Jack glanced around the room. He’d never been to her place before. It seemed to match her, traditional and classy. The furniture was either a rich cherry wood or covered in leather. A plaid, wool blanket lay draped over the back of the leather sofa that was set against the wall. On the opposite wall, the television hung with a console table below it. A six-person table filled the small adjacent kitchen. A fake Christmas tree sat in the corner.
He looked down the hallway and saw two doors, and to his immediate right was another door. “Which way to your room?” he asked.
She pointed down the hallway and started her trek. She knew he was behind her even though the carpet muffled their steps. She opened the first door they came to. “Bathroom,” she whispered, pointing inside.
Jack nodded and peeked in. A nice vanity and large mirror took up the first section of the room. A pocket door was open and revealed a bath/shower combo with a toilet.
She kept walking and opened her bedroom door. She made it to her bed and stared at the Amish quilt. The quilt had been her grandmother’s, and at her passing, Bella claimed it. The blues and white made up the log cabin pattern.
“Here, let me,” Jack said, stepping beside her. He pulled back the quilt and sheet so she could slip into bed.
Bella stood there. She knew she was loopy. The pain meds they’d given her were the reason everything was so foggy. She couldn’t wait for them to take effect and ease her pain. She gripped the bottom of her shirt and tried to pull it over her head, but her ribs screamed in protest. Her arms dropped to the side, and she looked at Jack. “Help me?”
He stared at her for a moment as he took in her request. He’d wanted to see her naked so many times. She’d fueled his fantasies for months now, but at this moment, he was nervous. Did she even know what she was asking?
“You want me to help you take off your shirt?” He wanted to make sure that he understood her request.
At that moment, she didn’t care if he saw her in her bra. He was a co-worker, and sure, she usually reserved nudity or near-nudity for guys she was dating, but she couldn’t get her shirt off by herself. She nodded. “Yes.” She hoped he didn’t ask her too many questions. It hurt to think.
His heart thundered in his chest as he cradled her hand in his and carefully pulled her arm out of her shirtsleeve without raising her hand over her head. He repeated the action and then, while her arms were at her side, he worked her shirt over her head, careful not to catch her long, black hair in the material.
He purposely kept his eyes glued on her face, but her perfect chest covered in the lacy sheer bra was in his periphery. His blood heated, and he turned away. If he stood there and ogled her, he would be taking advantage of her drugged state, and she deserved better than that. “I’ll be on the sofa if you need me,” he scratched out.
She tried to bend her arms to unfasten her skirt, but the movement pained her. “My skirt, help,” she croaked out as she turned to offer him the button and zipper on the back of her skirt.
She was killing him.
He took a deep breath and turned around again. How many times had he wanted to take her clothes off? Too many to count. His hands shook as he unbuttoned her skirt and slid down the zipper.
Why was he so fucking nervous? He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was helping her, just like she’d asked. Her skirt fell to the floor, and she stood in revealing lace panties that cradled her perfect ass.
As if her beauty wasn’t hard enough to withstand, the bruises that discolored her neck and torso heated his blood in different way. He wanted Eric James dead. The man deserved a lifetime of misery in some government detention center.
He looked away and focused on the picture that hung over her bed. He wasn’t an art lover, but that huge painting of various colors splattered against the canvas was his salvation in this moment. The blues in the painting complemented the various shades of blue in her quilt. What was he doing? He didn’t give a crap about the different hues of blue.
She slid into the bed, doing her best not to move too much. She reached to pull the quilt up, but Jack already had it in his hand. He pulled the quilt around her, gently tucking her in. He hated the reason behind his first visit to her bedroom. He’d imagined getting in bed with her before, but in his fantasy, she was robust and excited.
She smiled at him. He was being so kind to her. Had she misjudged him? Maybe he didn’t hate her. Maybe he’d forgiven her for poking her nose into his business and telling him how to do his job.
“Get some sleep,” he said. Bending, he picked up her clothes and set them neatly over a chair by the window. Then, he walked out of the room, leaving his heart in her bedroom.
With a sigh, he collapsed onto the leather sofa. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he pulled out his cell. He knew this wasn’t the end of the mess that Eric had dragged them into. This was just the beginning.
2
Hazeem Ali breathed in and the cloth bag over his head rustled against his mouth. He couldn’t see, but his body pulsed with sensations. His head throbbed from where it had been smacked viciously against Bella’s desk by the big bastard who was in love with her. His shoulders were on fire from the gunshot wounds. The flames of pain licked down his arms and across his chest. His heart raced as adrenalin flooded his body. He’d soon drown in it if something didn’t settle him and reassure his nerves. At this moment, death by fear seemed a possibility.
The grip on his arm tightened and pulled him to a stop. The warmth of his own breath washed over his face inside the bag. Moisture dotted his upper lip. The buzz of a keyless entry door sounded, and then, with a jerk on his arm, he was walking again.
Hazeem moved slowly. His shackled feet shuffled across the floor. Not knowing where they were taking him frustrated and terrified him. Before they shoved the bag over his head, he’d seen the inside of a windowless van. Then they’d removed the bag only long enough for someone to attend to his wounds in a make-shift infirmary. He had no idea where they were taking him now, or what they’d do to him.
Coming to a stop, he stretched his cuffed hands out in an attempt to get his bearings. A gruff laugh sounded near him as the screech of a chair scratched across the floor and grated his nerves.
“Sit,” a deep voice ordered as he was shoved into the chair. He stretched his arms out to gain some balance, but they hit against something hard and flat.
Hazeem settled himself on the chair. It was foolish, but he looked around as if he could see. The bag was loose around his neck, and if he looked directly down, he could see light and what might be a laminate floor. A hand pressed into his chest and pushed him back against the hard frame of the chair. Reflexively, his head snapped up and to the side as he tried to face his captor.
Hazeem’s arms were tugged forward and forced onto the table, pulling his torso forward. Then he heard a click and didn’t feel the pressure of anyone’s touch on his body. He wiggled in the seat and tried to bring his hands closer to his chest, but they were restrained. He anxiously listened for any sounds that would provide him clues as to his surroundings. Trying to calm himself, he focused on slowing his breaths. The bag brushed against his face with each inhalation.
Another chair grated against the floor, and then a man’s voice spoke, “Remove the bag.” The voice spoke with calm authority.
The bag that covered Hazeem’s head was jerked off, scraping the bandage that covered the stab wound in his neck. He still couldn’t believe that Bella had stabbed him with a pen. He squinted as his eyes grew accustomed to the bright light that shone in his face. He moved his hands, hoping to shield his eyes, but his hands were shackled to the table on a short chain. He had some range of movement, but not enough to cover his eyes.
Across the table
from him stood an older man, probably in his late sixties. His white comb-over only partially hid his balding head. His long, thin nose dominated his clean-shaven face. He made a show of removing his suit jacket and then draped it over the back of the chair. His button-down shirt was crisply ironed and tucked into his suit pants. Then his lips turned up in the slightest way possible as he stared at Hazeem.
The man didn’t introduce himself, so Hazeem named him Suit. The old man carefully set his briefcase on the table and opened it.
Dr. Quinn saw anger in Hazeem’s glaring eyes, but he also noted the curiosity. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to Hazeem’s guard, Taylor Riggs. He liked working with Taylor. The man was a genuine professional. He never had to worry about Taylor taking things too far, but Taylor also had no trouble toeing the line either.
Dr. Quinn didn’t introduce himself. Instead, he pulled out a manila file and set it on the table. Then, closing the briefcase, he set it on the floor beside his chair. With a deep breath, he slowly opened the file and tapped his finger on the page.
Hazeem couldn’t make out what was on the paper. The light that shone in his eyes made it difficult to read the small lettering upside down.
As he looked at Suit, his nerves sizzled and fear heated his blood. Suit stared at him with a cool disapproval that seemed controlled and detached. He looked as if he could watch Hazeem suffer in pain with indifference and without a hint of guilt.
Hazeem turned his head to the side and noticed the hulk of a man beside him. The man’s meaty hands were clasped together at his waist. The cotton of his tight, black t-shirt strained under the breadth of his chest, and bulky biceps stretched the fabric of his short sleeves. His thick arms were covered in dark, wooly hair. Even his face was hidden behind a mask of dark scruff. His strong thighs pressed against the fabric of his pants. This one would be Wooly.
Coveted Kiss (Savage Security Book 3) Page 1
