The Protected (Fbi Psychics)

by Walker, Shiloh

  Anger and grief rolled from her, and he felt frozen there. Guilt flooded him and part of him wanted to slip out of the room, disappear, and leave her alone with whatever hurt her.

  The other part of him wanted to go to her and haul her against him, make her tell him what had hurt her . . . so he could kill it. Fix it. Whatever. He didn’t know which one he was supposed to do. He was good at killing things, but fixing them? Not so much.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  He wasn’t supposed to care . . . not for anything or anybody.

  She wasn’t supposed to matter, yet she did. More than anybody or anything, save for Alex.

  He didn’t want this inside him, but there it was.

  She slammed her fist against the door and screamed, and he just couldn’t take it anymore. Shoving off the wall, he crossed the floor. He didn’t know what he was going to do, what he was going to say—

  “Damn you, Gus.” The words came out in a ragged sob.

  His heart jumped into his throat.

  She was crying . . . over him.

  He almost tripped over his feet, his shoes scuffing on the hardwood floors.

  She gasped and whirled around.

  He saw her hand go to the weapon strapped to her waist, and he moved, catching her wrist and pinning it to the wall.

  Her eyes went wide, damp and glinting with tears, as she stared at him.

  “Gus . . .”

  “Damning me finally?” he whispered.

  She sucked in a breath and reached up, fisting her hand in his shirt. “You . . . you’re okay.”

  Reaching over, he caught the weapon and tugged until she let go of her Glock. He laid it down on the small table to his left. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Why are you crying, Vaughnne?”

  She sniffed and reached up, swiping the tears from her face. “I’m not.” She lifted her chin and glared at him.

  “Of course you’re not.” Unable to resist another moment, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers. She tasted of tears and her and he was starved for her. He lifted his head a fraction. “If you don’t want this, then you better stop me . . . now.”

  Her response was to reach for his shirt and strip it off.

  If he were any sort of decent, he’d slow this down. Talk to her. He’d be lying if he tried to tell himself he hadn’t come for this. He hadn’t come only for this. He’d wanted to touch her, feel her underneath one more time . . . to take her in a bed and take his time with her.

  One night. One night when he didn’t have to worry about all the burdens he’d carried for so long. One night when all that mattered was the two of them.

  But Gus had stopped worrying about being decent a long, long time ago. So as his shirt fell to the floor, he reached for the neat little line of buttons marching up the center of her prim white shirt. “You look so neat and put together, Vaughnne,” he murmured, freeing first one button, then another, watching as he bared one inch of skin at a time. “I’m going to enjoy watching you come apart for me.”

  She leaned back against the door, her hands falling to hang loose at her sides. “I’ve been doing that almost since the first second I laid eyes on you, sugar.” A smile curved her wide, sexy mouth, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and if he’d let himself look, he knew what he would have seen.

  She knew, he realized. Had some idea of just why he was there.

  And it just made him that much more of a bastard. But he didn’t care.

  When he reached the final button, instead of pushing the shirt off her shoulders, he let it hang open, revealing the narrow line of her sleek torso, the lace edging of her bra. He traced one finger down the midline of her body, stopping when he reached the waist of her trousers, the sturdy leather of her holster. Still holding her gaze, he unbuckled it, unbuttoned her trousers.

  Vaughnne stood there, silent and watching him with solemn eyes. He leaned in and nipped her lower lip, pressed a kiss to her neck, moving in a line straight downward until he was kneeling in front of her.

  She wore a pair of low-heel ankle boots and he tugged them off, setting them neatly by the door. Vaughnne kept a tidy little nest, something he’d noticed when he let himself inside. He wouldn’t leave any sign of himself when he left . . . other than what he was doing to her now. Glancing up at her, he saw her lashes were closed, her head was tipped back, and her hands were braced against the door, curled into tight fists that left her knuckles bloodless.

  He wanted her clutching at him that tightly.

  Wanted to hear that smart mouth, the cocky attitude that had driven him insane the past few weeks.

  But when he tried to reach for the words to say something, anything to tease it out of her, he couldn’t find them. So instead of saying anything, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her belly as he caught the waist of her trousers and dragged them down over the swell of her hips, her thighs, down until she could step out of the puddle of material.

  Rising, he stood in front of her, arms braced on the door by either side of her head, waiting for her to look at him.

  Seconds ticked away, and finally, she lifted her lids, staring at him with dark, unreadable eyes.

  He opened his mouth, determined to find something to say. Something. Anything. It shouldn’t be this hard to find a handful of words. He’d lived most of his life by them. Glib lies, charming little half-truths . . . all of them said to people who meant less than nothing. And here he stood with a woman who meant everything and he couldn’t find anything to ease the pain he sensed was inside her.

  Before he managed to find even one damn thing to say, Vaughnne reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. “Take me to bed, Gus,” she said quietly. “We can have that one night now, right?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  HIS face was stark, his eyes so hungry and hot, they burned as he stared down at her.

  For the first time, she felt almost nervous. Almost anxious. It seemed like there was something brewing inside him. She could feel the storm of it, but whatever it was, Vaughnne knew it wasn’t going to change anything.

  She’d realized why he was here within seconds of laying eyes on him.

  He was here to say good-bye.

  Maybe he was going to say thanks. Maybe he was going to tell her to stay out of his way. Maybe he was going to tell her to stay silent. Maybe he’d say a lot of other things. But one thing he’d definitely say . . . good-bye.

  Fine.

  She could live with that, because she knew what mattered the most . . . he was alive. Whatever had happened in Mexico after she’d gotten Nalini out of there, he hadn’t died. Gus was alive and she would be okay with whatever else might come. Because she knew he was alive. Maybe she’d never get all the answers she needed, maybe she’d never have anything more than this . . . but she knew he was alive. And he’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d made sure Alex was safe.

  Slowly, he reached for her, and as he wrapped his arms around her, she curled hers around his neck, shuddering at the feel of his body pressed against hers again. Over the past few days, she’d missed this . . . wondered if she’d ever feel it again, and it had sucked. But then Moran had shown up and she’d had to wonder if Gus was just gone. That vivid, burning blaze of him gone . . . and that had hurt so much she had thought she was dying inside.

  He boosted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her breath catching as it brought him in contact with the sensitive flesh between her thighs. She pressed her brow to his. “My bedroom is down the hall.”

  He found it unerringly and she realized he’d probably spent some time poking around her house while waiting for her. She should be pissed about that. She might be later. Matter of fact, she’d almost make a mental note to do that, just to distract herself from the misery that waited for her. But for that moment, she didn’t care. He w
as here. One more night. They were together. One more night. That was all the mattered. She’d worry about everything else after it was over.

  Once they were inside her room, she unhooked her legs and let him guide her to the floor. Settling down in front of him, she rested her hands on his chest, vaguely aware that she’d started to shiver.

  Gus noticed. He stroked his hands down her arms. “You’re cold.”

  “No.” She wasn’t cold, at all. Emotion crashed and swelled inside her and she ached, so full of want and hunger and need and confusion. She didn’t know exactly what she was. But it wasn’t cold.

  Swallowing, Vaughnne smoothed her hands down his chest and hooked them in the front of his jeans, tugging him closer.

  He came and they tumbled back onto her bed. The feel of his weight on her was almost a painful pleasure, and she curled her fingers into his arms, arching up against him, clutching him closer. “Naked.” His hand tangled in the front of her shirt, dragging it out of the way, down her arm until the material caught around her elbow. “I should have gotten you naked before I let you get us on the bed.”

  She ran the insole of her foot down his calf. “Look who’s talking. You’re still wearing your jeans.” She might have said something else, but he’d tugged the cup of her bra down and dipped his head, catching her nipple between his teeth. As he tugged on it, pleasure blistered through her and the ability to speak died. The ability to think seemed to die.

  Gasping, she shoved a hand into his hair, held him close.

  He rolled on the bed, bringing her on top of him. Then he stripped her shirt and bra away and forced her to sit up. Vaughnne groaned, bracing her hands on his shoulders and glaring at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He cupped her breasts in his hands, plumping them together and circling her nipples with his thumbs. His touch, the way he watched her . . . she looked down and stared at his hands. Those beautiful hands, stroking over her flesh, bringing her more pleasure than she’d thought it was possible to feel.

  * * *

  HUNGRY for everything he could get, Gus watched as Vaughnne’s head fell back, the ends of her long, dense curls falling almost to her ass. Grabbing the skimpy strings that rode high on her hips, he jerked, tearing her panties away and tossing the scrap to the floor. He surged upward and tangled a hand in her hair, twisting it around his fist and tugging her mouth to his. “Unzip me.”

  She watched him, her eyes heavy-lidded. Then she eased back, wiggling around until she could work the button, the zipper of his jeans. The light brush of her fingers against his flesh was a painful, sweet little tease and he wanted more. Needed more, a lot more than the one night he was going to give himself.

  Once she’d eased the zipper down, he nudged her away and pulled a rubber from his pocket. Yeah, he’d come here for this, no denying that. Tossing it onto the bed, he shoved his jeans down, kicking them and his shoes off before rolling onto his knees and kneeling above Vaughnne. Her hair spread out around her, one thick lock curving around her breast. The dark circle of her aureole peaked through. She had a smile on her face. A sexy, female little smile . . . one that said she knew what he wanted, one that said she wanted the same thing, and it only made the hunger inside him burn that much brighter.

  It was a picture he’d keep with him, he thought. Much better than that last one that had haunted him ever since she’d walked away in Mexico.

  He tore the condom open and his hands actually shook as he unrolled it down over his length, fumbling more with the damn thing than he’d done since he was a teenager. And all the while, she watched, the smile slowly fading from her face until there was nothing on her face but need. He came down over her. “Hold on to me, mi vida. Hold on.”

  As she wrapped her arms around his neck, he settled between her thighs, shuddering at the heat waiting for him. Warm and welcoming . . . so soft.

  He reached between them to guide himself home, groaning at the feel of her, shuddering as she yielded to him, the tight, clutching fist of her pussy closing around him as he slowly sank inside.

  He sought out her mouth and the pleasure was like glory as she sank her teeth into his lower lip, as she rocked up against him, her hands, her body, urging him on. He sought out her wrists, guiding them over her head and pinning her in place.

  “Slow down.” If all they had was tonight, then he’d make it last.

  At least, he’d try.

  Vaughnne twisted beneath him, clenching down around him so that all those tiny little muscles inside gripped him, stroked him. He shuddered and withdrew. “Carajo . . . stop it, Vaughnne,” he rasped against her mouth.

  Her response was to catch his lower lip between her teeth again. When she bit him, he swore and surged deep inside her.

  She cried out, the sound of it echoing through him. Her hands strained against his hold and she twisted, arching closer, harder. A flush spread out under the soft, warm brown of her skin and he dipped his head, pressing a kiss to the elegant line of her collarbone.

  “Let go of my hands,” she demanded.

  * * *

  HE stared down at her, the misty gray of his eyes boring into hers, hot as molten steel. Slowly, his fingers uncurled from her wrists, the pads of his fingertips tracing down over one arm, across her shoulder, and up her jawline until he could cup her face. He arched her jaw upward and took her mouth, his tongue echoing the rhythm of his body as he started to pump deep, deep inside her.

  She wrapped her arms around him, sinking her nails into the ridge of muscle along his back, a scream rising inside her, only to lodge, breathless, in her throat. Too much . . . too much . . .

  He drove into her, so hard, so fast, stealing the breath out of her.

  And climax shimmered right there . . . just out of reach. Then, just when she was certain she would die from the painful pleasure of it, he shifted, moving higher on her body and changing his angle. At the same time, he tore his mouth from hers and set his teeth on the curve where her neck met her shoulder. As he bit down, the climax exploded through her and she thought she was just going to die from the pleasure of it.

  * * *

  THE faint, gray light of dawn was streaming in through the slit in her curtains when Vaughnne awoke. There wasn’t a sound, but she came awake the moment Gus rolled away from her. She already ached for him; he hadn’t even left yet and she was lonely.

  She was going to miss him.

  Every day for the rest of her life. It shouldn’t happen like this. Damn it to hell, it shouldn’t happen like this. If she was going to fall for a guy, why couldn’t she have fallen for one she could keep?

  She rolled onto her side and watched him climb out of the bed and her heart skipped a beat. Wistful, she bit back a sigh. Then again, she was being stupid. She had absolutely no desire to undo a minute with him. Maybe she couldn’t keep him, but the days she’d spent with him burned brighter on her memory than any other she could recall.

  If she had to settle for something vivid like this that would end in heartache, or something just . . . mediocre that she barely recalled a few months, a few years later? This was better, she thought. She hoped she could remember that later on down the road when she was cussing him out for leaving her.

  He didn’t speak as he dressed. She didn’t bother saying anything. There was no point in trying to get him to change his mind. He’d already decided what he needed to do. He wasn’t there looking to see if she wanted him even. If he’d shown any sign of that, then she’d be all over him, giving him all the reasons he needed to stay.

  But he’d come with a purpose in mind.

  So fine.

  Let him go.

  Swallowing around the knot in her throat, she told herself she could get through this. The first few days would be the worst, right? After her father had thrown her out, once she’d gotten through the first few weeks, the first month or so, she’d figured out how to get along and she�
��d been okay. This couldn’t really be any worse than that.

  In the dim light, he turned to face her after he’d pulled his shirt on, and she rolled onto her back as he came to sit on the side of the bed.

  He reached up and touched her cheek. “Thank—”

  “If you say thank you to me, I’m going to break your nose,” she warned softly.

  A faint smile danced across his face, there, then gone. “Do you really think I can leave without saying thank you for helping me with Alex?”

  She sat up and leaned in until they were nose to nose. “Anything else and I’m punching you, Gus. I did my job. Period.”

  “Your job . . .” He sighed and pushed her hair back from her face. “What you did, were willing to do, was so much more. We both know it. But if that is how you want it . . .” He shrugged. Then he reached over for something on the nightstand.

  She hadn’t noticed it before. The sight of it made her heart slam against her ribs for some reason and her chest ached.

  It was stupid, maybe. No reason for a piece of paper to make her hurt, she thought. Especially when she hadn’t seen what was on it. But she already hurt, just seeing him hold it, his head bent as he stared down at it. Although it was too dark for him to read it, it was as though he was committing whatever words were on that paper to heart.

  “Alex is with your boss.”

  And the pain in her heart ripped deeper through her, if that was possible.

  Swallowing, she nodded slowly. Unable to sit there, naked save for the sheet and blanket pooled around her waist, she climbed out of bed and padded over to her dresser. She tugged open a drawer and pulled out a shirt at random. It fell to mid-thigh, covering her decently, but she still felt exposed so she pulled open another drawer and fished out a pair of yoga pants. “Yeah, he’s still with Dez and Taylor. He’s made some progress from what I’ve heard.”