Guarding Raine (Security Ops)

by Brant, Kylie

  He stared at her and reached up a hand to brush the hair from her forehead. The tenderness of the motion almost made her weep. Brushing a kiss across the skin he’d just bared, he began to withdraw from her body. She gasped a little at the feeling of desolation that swept her at the separation. As if reading her mind, he didn’t back away as he lowered her body down his. Instead he scooped her up, and regardless of the clothes strewn behind them, ascended the stairs.

  He didn’t stop until he’d reached her room. Then he knelt on the bed and laid her carefully down. She didn’t let go of his shoulders. She wasn’t going to let him leave her without saying a thing. He was going to have to speak the words, although if he apologized to her this time, she knew she would break down.

  He studied her face in the dim light that spilled into the room from the hallway. After several long moments be spoke. “I’m not sure this is what you needed tonight, Raine.” His voice was low.

  She scooted up to a sitting position. One hand went to his jaw. It was so rare to see him completely clean-shaven that she gave into an urge she’d had all evening and ran the back of her hand along his cheek lingeringly. Looking straight into his eyes, she murmured, “I needed you, tonight, Macauley. Only you.”

  He closed his eyes tightly for a moment. An emotion washed over him that he couldn’t identify, didn’t dare identify. She’d needed him. He knew she wasn’t talking about protection from the person threatening her. She meant him, Mac O’Neill. He’d never been needed like that before, wanted for himself only, and the feeling was gut-wrenchingly alluring.

  It was also quite possibly the most frightening thing he’d ever had to face.

  “I’ll be right back,” he muttered and pushed off the bed.

  Raine let out a shaky breath. She’d just taken a huge risk, and he’d almost run from her room. But not before she’d witnessed the effect her words had on him. They had meant something to him, she was certain of that. She just wasn’t certain what.

  She’d faced many of her own fears over the last few years. But learning to let another person walk up behind her and facing her fear of the dark hadn’t left her nearly as vulnerable as laying her heart out to this man. He wasn’t comfortable with emotion, not from others, and most certainly not from himself. She didn’t know why she’d expected any different reaction from him. Or why she let it hurt so much.

  He entered the room again, a wet cloth in his hand. Seating himself on the side of the bed, he bent over her and slowly, carefully drew the cloth between her thighs. They clenched reflexively at the intimate gesture. It was ridiculous to feel embarrassed after what they’d shared, but she couldn’t control the feeling. She looked into his face. His expression was a little grim, but determined. Slowly she relaxed and he completed the task, his face a mask of intense concentration.

  When he’d finished and pulled away, she forced herself to remain silent. She wasn’t going to beg him to stay with her; she wouldn’t allow herself to. Raine wasn’t sure she would be able to stop once she started pleading. His back was turned toward her as he sat on the edge of the bed, and she could see the muscles play across the broad expanse. He looked like a man fighting a war with himself, and her heart ached painfully for him.

  Then his muscles untensed. He turned deliberately and lay beside her, drawing her close to him. With one hand he pulled the sheet over the two of them. Then he arranged her against him, pressing her face to the hollow of his shoulder and anchoring her to him with one strong leg across both of hers. His arm wrapped across her waist.

  Recognizing the inner struggle that had taken place, she realized what this decision had cost him. Her heart squeezed with joy as she snuggled into his embrace. One lone tear trickled from the corner of her eye. “Macauley,” she whispered achingly.

  A feather-light kiss brushed against her hair. “Sleep, baby,” he ordered huskily. “I’ll stay. Just sleep.”

  Her breathing gradually slowing, her body relaxed against his. Mac fought slumber as he held her. The feel of her in his arms, soft and trusting, was too sweet not to savor. He stared into the blanket of darkness, waiting for the guilt to begin, for the regret to take over. Reason had a way of seeping insidiously back into a mind that had only moments ago been lost to passion. But the guilt, though hovering at a distance, for once stayed at bay. This had felt too damn right, too inevitable to regret. His mind was racing in furious circles, trying to reconcile what he knew was right with taking what he wanted.

  Because all he wanted was the woman cradled in his arms right now.

  Raine came awake to the delicious aroma of coffee. Her vision was the last of her senses to become alert. Slowly she managed to open her eyes.

  Macauley was sitting next to her on the side of the bed, waving a mug of coffee under her nose. Her eyes dropped again, a smile creeping across her lips. The happiness that filled her was idiotic, and impossible to suppress. “I’ve said it before,” she murmured lazily. “You’re a handy guy to have around.”

  “Always glad to be of service, ma’am,” he drawled.

  One of her eyes popped open and then the other. She studied him suspiciously. His face was impassive. There was no way of guessing if the double entendre had been intentional or not. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Sitting up in bed, she rested against the headboard and reached out for the mug he was offering her.

  “Mmm,” she said appreciatively, after she’d taken a sip. “Thank you. But where’s yours?”

  “I’ve already had half a pot.”

  He was wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else, but she could tell that he’d been up for a while. His hair was still damp, and curling slightly in back. And he had obviously had a recent shave.

  She reached out and ran a finger along his chin. “Twice in twenty-four hours,” she said teasingly. “What’s the occasion, O’Neill?”

  “If it calls for that kind of reaction,” he muttered, “I need to shave more often.”

  “Not on my account,” she assured him. “I’ve developed a real appreciation for that slightly sinister look you affect.”

  His look wasn’t amused, but she smiled anyway. “What have you been doing since you’ve been up? I mean, besides drinking gallons of coffee and pruning that beard of yours?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Sassy this morning, aren’t you?”

  She stretched, not quite innocently, and her leg beneath the sheet glided over to touch his hip. “Yep. What are you going to do about it?”

  He felt a jolt of electricity from her touch, even through the bedcovers. He wasn’t going to consider answering that question. What he would like to do about it didn’t bear thinking of, much less discussing. Having a conversation of any kind in her bedroom this morning probably hadn’t been a real wise move.

  His mouth twisted. Wise moves hadn’t exactly been his forte lately.

  “I thought,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse as he moved off the bed, “you might want to get away for a little while today. Unless you need to work, of course.”

  She studied him in surprise. That suggestion was almost the last she would have expected from him. Waking up to find him there with coffee had allayed her fear that he was going to withdraw completely, as he had the last time they’d made love. The fact that he wasn’t had fragile hope blooming inside her.

  “I think I can spare a few hours,” she finally responded. “Just don’t tell André I’m loafing, though.”

  “He won’t hear it from me.”

  “Actually, I’m almost done with my last piece. Just a few more hours will do it. So I’m okay on time.”

  “Good.” His voice was filled with satisfaction. “Then get cleaned up and dress for swimming.”

  “We’re going to the beach?”

  “That,” he said, as he moved toward the door, “is exactly where we’re going. We’ll have to stop on the way and pick up some lunch. How fast can you get ready?”

  “A half hour.”

  He stopped in the doorway and issued
her a disbelieving look. “There isn’t a woman on earth who can move that fast, honey. The truck leaves in an hour. Better get your tush out of bed if you want to be in it.” Mac ducked out of the room while she was still sputtering.

  “Chauvinist!” she called after him. She could picture the cocky grin on his face as his answer floated back.

  “Fifty-nine minutes and counting.”

  Muttering to herself, Raine flung back the covers and put on her robe. She’d make him eat those words by getting ready in half the time he’d given her. But to do so, she was really going to have to fly.

  Twenty-five minutes later she pulled a coverup over her swimsuit and slipped into a pair of sandals. As she picked up the beach bag she’d packed, she heard a male voice call her name from downstairs. “I’m coming,” she shouted. Running down the stairs, she scolded, “That wasn’t even a half hour, you’re not as patient as you—” She stopped in her tracks as Greg ambled out of the den.

  “Raine.” His earnest brown eyes were worried. “What in heaven’s name happened here? Your porch is a charred mess.”

  “I know,” she replied, biting her lip. The night she’d spent in Mac’s arms had successfully driven the trauma of the fire from her mind, at least for a while. “Someone drove out here last night and left several bottle bombs as calling cards. But I’m all right,” she hastened to add, stemming his next question. “Mac—I mean,” she stammered, “the police and the fire department came. There wasn’t too much damage done.”

  “This is horrible!” he exclaimed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “My God, Raine, you could have been killed!”

  “Things could have gotten serious,” she admitted. “I was fortunate that help arrived in time to keep the fire from spreading to the house. I really believe that some of the, um, security measures we’ve taken around here scared them off.” She supposed at the beginning Macauley’s presence in her life could be loosely defined as a security measure, she mentally excused herself. “Did you bring something out that needed my signature?” she asked quickly, nodding toward the file folder in his hand.

  Her change of subject didn’t entirely wipe the worry from Greg’s face, but he answered, “Well, yes, I thought it might be a good time to go over those papers I’ve been talking about, but I see you’re ready to go out.”

  It suddenly occurred to Raine that she was standing in the very spot where she and Macauley had made love last night. Color suffused her face, and she looked around surreptitiously. She released a relieved breath when she noted that the clothing they’d left strewn around had been picked up. Then her eyes lit on her panties, on the floor next to the staircase. Although Greg hadn’t seemed to notice, to Raine they seemed a banner proclaiming last night’s lovemaking.

  Turning her gaze to Greg, she said with an overbright voice, “Actually, I was planning to go to the beach today. But if we can run through this quickly, I can spare you half an hour or so. I’ll join you in the den.”

  He looked at her a little oddly, but turned to precede her into the room. As soon as his back was to her, she bounded down the rest of the steps and scooped the telltale scrap of material up, shoving it into her beach bag with shaky hands. Then, casting one more quick glance around for Macauley, she followed Greg into the den.

  “I’m glad we’re doing this now,” he was saying. “You really can’t afford to let this go much longer. Especially with your new exhibit coming up. You’re realizing some nice profits from your paintings, Raine, and since you won’t let me talk you into some new deductions . . .”

  “We’ve been over this, Greg,” she said dryly as she sat down on the couch. “I don’t need a second home. Or a boat large enough to house a family.”

  “That’s what I mean.” he continued doggedly. “So I’ve outlined some other ways that will help defer your tax load. When your new pieces start selling, we need to have a clear plan for investing that money in a way that will reap the greatest return for you.” He sat next to her and laid his folder on the coffee table in front of them. Spreading some sheets out in front of him, he explained his suggestions enthusiastically.

  Raine looked up in relief when Mac entered a half hour later. Turning to Greg, she said firmly, “It sounds great, as usual, Greg. You’re a genius. Now, show me where to sign and you’ll be able to get back to work.”

  “And we’ll be able to be on our way to the beach,” Mac drawled, drawing Greg’s attention to him for the first time.

  The man’s gaze swung to the door, then to Raine, then to Mac again. “O’Neill.” Greg’s voice was confused. “What are you doing here?”

  “He’s taking me out for some sun and sand,” Raine told him. At Greg’s shocked expression, she added wryly, “I really do have a life outside of painting, you know, although it doesn’t seem like it sometimes.”

  Her words seemed to finally filter through Greg’s shock. He looked at her, his puzzlement still obvious. “What? Oh, I know. I just . . . I didn’t realize . . .” He finally stopped stammering and looked at Mac, consternation written all over his face. “I thought you were finished with your work here.”

  “You did?” Mac murmured, his eyes intent on the other man.

  “I mean . . . the last time I was here it looked like you were getting done. Is there still a lot left to do?”

  “Just odds and ends,” Mac replied, smoothly forestalling a reply from Raine. “My only job today is to get Raine away from here for a while. She needs a break.”

  It was obvious that his answer didn’t satisfy Greg. He shot a troubled look at Raine.

  “Greg?” she asked quizzically. He always became flustered easily, but right now he was acting especially strange. “May I sign now?”

  “Oh, of course.” He hurriedly bent over the papers he’d been explaining to her.

  He indicated a few places, and she signed her name. Then she smiled at him. “Thanks so much for bringing these over today. You were right. I needed to make some financial plans, but I kept putting it off. Lucky for me you’re so dedicated.”

  Greg seemed reluctant to leave, and Raine walked him to his car. Mac grabbed the bag she’d packed and the cooler he’d set in the doorway and hauled them out to his truck. Raine joined him, and a few minutes later they were on their way.

  “Greg was acting odd this morning,” she mentioned, a frown on her face.

  Mac looked at her. “How can you tell the difference?”

  “Be nice. He’s a very pleasant young man, and an excellent accountant. He just gets easily agitated. I’m sure seeing the porch and hearing about what happened last night rattled him.”

  Returning his gaze to the road, Mac shook his head. “Greg Winters is not a young man. I’d bet he’s older than you. And if you want to know the cause of his agitation, look in the mirror.”

  It took Raine a second to grasp his meaning. Then she swung her head to look at him. “Me? Why would I fluster him? I’m about as threatening as a housefly.”

  “I didn’t say you threaten him, Raine. But you do bother him. Surely you’re not so naive that you can’t figure out why.”

  When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “C’mon. He hangs around you as much as he can, looking like a lovesick puppy dog. He comes up with excuses to leave his office when he should be working and runs out to see you. What do you make of that?” He could tell by her frown that she was uncomfortable with his pursuit of the subject.

  “We’re . . . just friends. Greg knows it will never be more than that, and he’s accepted it. He and I have talked about it before.”

  “You may have talked about it, but I wouldn’t be too sure about his acceptance of that fact,” he replied. “He was gibbering because he couldn’t figure out where I came into the picture, and he didn’t like the thought of you going anywhere at all with me.”

  Her brows lifted. “You mean you’ve had words with him, too?”

  “He hasn’t been as anxious to slit my throat as Klassen is,” Mac said thoughtfully. “A
lthough knowing that I’m going to spend the day with you probably has him harboring some homicidal thoughts toward me at the moment.”

  “You know, O’Neill, that suspicious nature of yours can be a real pain.”

  He resisted the urge to remind her that his suspicious nature was also quite possibly going to keep her alive. He pulled into the parking lot of a drugstore. “You’d better come in with me,” he said. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. He’d been outside talking to the men when he’d been radioed about Winters’s car’s approach up the drive, and had entered the house only moments after Raine had shown the man to the den. He’d felt like a spy as he hung around outside the room, but he’d been loath to leave the two of them completely alone. Especially after what Trey had discovered in the man’s apartment.

  With the idea of picking up some sunscreen, Raine obediently accompanied Mac into the drugstore. She wandered away from him and selected some sun block. Then she picked up a daily paper, took her items to the counter and paid for them. She opened up the paper as she waited for Mac to finish his shopping. When she got to the arts and entertainment section, her own face stared back at her. Local Artist Threatened was the headline above the picture. She groaned mentally. Darn André for giving that information to the press! She should have known it was too sensational for the media to ignore. No doubt she’d have to field yet another phone call from her father when he got hold of this. She knew she wouldn’t have to warn him to keep this news from reaching her mother. Lorena never saw a newspaper that Simon hadn’t screened first.

  Raine shot a look at Macauley, who was heading for the checkout counter. Surreptitiously, she replaced the paper before joining him. There was no need to call the article to his attention. It would only serve to elicit another nasty remark about her agent. She joined him in line, and Macauley put his selections on the counter, pulling his wallet out to pay. For the first time Raine looked at what he was buying, and slow heat suffused her cheeks. The clerk rang up the box of condoms in front of her without a second glance. But Raine couldn’t stop her gaze from flying to meet his.