“Not I ordered out,” he announced, his voice triumphant. “There's bread, potato salad, turkey, pastrami, roast beef, ham. Sliced cheddar and Swiss. Some of that bottled fruit tea stuff. And brownies.”
She actually managed to lift her head at that. “Brownies?”
He slid his hands beneath her shoulders and knees, and scooped her easily into his arms, looking pleased with himself. “Yeah. Two kinds. Double fudge walnut and chocolate cheesecake swirl.” He carried her to the bed and laid her down. “I'm going to make you a sandwich. Then we'll try to get some sleep.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don't remember inviting you to spend the night in my bed,” she said without real force.
“Official boyfriends get to spend the night,” he said, tucking the duvet carefully around her. “It's one of the perks of the job. Part of the standard contract. It’s also covered under the rules of civilized society. It's very bad form to throw a man out the door after he's made you come ... was it three times? Or four?”
Raine betrayed herself by giggling. “I really should throw you out Just to teach you a lesson.”
“Yeah. You and what ten big guys with Uzis and duct tape?”
She giggled again, and he followed up his advantage with a kiss that bloomed swiftly into something hot and sweet and sinuous. He drew back with difficulty, his breathing uneven. “Besides, who would feed you sandwiches and brownies if you threw me out?”
“You're terrible” she told him. “You really are an opportunist.”
“You're learning, babe. You're learning.” His grin slowly faded as he gazed into her eyes. “If you really wanted me to go, I'd feel it. I'd go. I don't stay where I'm not wanted. But you want me to stay. Just like you wanted me to take you on the floor just now. Like a wild animal.”
She sat up, stung, and the duvet slipped down to her waist “Don't you dare tell me what I want, Seth Mackey.”
He reached up, touching her bared breast, and she smacked his hand away. He shrugged, aggrieved. “I just followed your cues, that's all I meant I didn't mean any offense.”
She pulled the duvet up over her chest and slanted him a narrow look. “I thought you did that to punish me. For calling you an animal.”
His eyes widened, horrified. “Punish you? Fuck, no!”
“That's how it felt,” she murmured. “At least at first”
“You call screaming multiple orgasms punishment?”
She almost laughed at the bewilderment on his face. “The orgasms are beside the point.”
“The hell they are! If that’s your idea of punishment, then I'd by God like to know what constitutes a reward!”
“Seth—”
“It would probably kill me,” he went on, his voice incredulous. “My head would explode. And I didn't know being called an animal was an insult, either. On the contrary, I kind of liked it. It turned me on.”
She grabbed a pillow and swatted him with it. “Oh, please. Everything turns you on,” she snapped.
He jerked the pillow out of her hands and climbed onto the bed. He pushed her onto her back, straddled her and seized her chin, forcing her to look straight into his eyes. “Look, sweetheart. If Fm too weird, or too rough, or too over the top for you in bed, I'll tone it down. The sex doesn't have to be wild and crazy all the time. If you want it sweet and soft by candlelight, that's fine. I'll give it to you sweet and soft.”
“You will?”
“Sure. Sweet and soft is fine with me. I like it all ways. Anything you can dream of, that's my fantasy. Got that?”
She nodded. He stood up, looking relieved. t(Now relax while I go fix you some food.” He grabbed his jeans and tugged them on. “What do you want on your sandwich? Spell it out for me, babe. Don't make me guess. I don't want to lose any more points with you. Before I know it I'll be thrown out the door for pissing on the rug.”
“Oh, stop it,” she snapped.
“Little of everything? Mustard, mayonnaise, or both?”
“Both are fine.”
“Lemonade or peach tea?”
“Lemonade, please.”
He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but stopped himself. He picked up the pillow, tucked it tenderly beneath her head and smoothed her hair over it. “I won't be long.”
The door closed after him, and she slid down beneath the duvet, shivering in the cool sheets. She stared up at the ceiling fan, and struggled to comprehend what was happening to her.
And if it was a good thing or a bad thing.
Chapter 13
Boyfriend. He was Raine Cameron's official boyfriend. He rolled the word around in his mouth, trying it out Sure, it was just a cover, but what a kick-ass cover it was. What better cover for a bodyguard than the role of jealous, possessive new boyfriend? No one would think twice about him hanging all over her. They'd take one look at Raine's gorgeous tits, her soft pink lips, her glowing eyes, and assume that he was madly in love with her. Who could blame him?
He felt giddy and wired as he padded barefoot through her house. He pulled the small bag of equipment out of the top shelf of the coat closet where he had stashed it, stopped and listened carefully for sounds of movement from upstairs. Nothing.
He opened up his kit, sorting through Colbit beacons of various sizes and ranges. One slid unobtrusively into an unused pocket of her wallet. Another screwed into her pen. He ripped open the seam of the lining of her purse with his penknife and slipped one into the hole. He took out the sewing kit in his case, sewed the hole deftly shut and stitched another one into the hem of her raincoat.
That was enough for now, along with the cell phone. He could get more creative and ambitious later on, when he had the time and the privacy. He winced as he caught sight of himself in the mirror in the foyer. He sure didn't look like an official boyfriend. Wild hair, beard shadow, bare chest. Smelling of sweat and sex. One of his ex-lovers had once told him that he would be really handsome if he could manage to be a little less scary looking. When he demanded to know what the hell she meant by that, she'd hedged and stammered, regretting the thoughtless statement. Finally she said she thought it was his eyes.
The relationship hadn't lasted much longer. In fact, now that he thought about it, that might have been the very last night He stared at his eyes in the mirror. They looked pretty much like they always did, if a little more bloodshot and shadowed man usual. Raise hadn't complained about them yet, thank God.
He padded into the kitchen and proceeded to build four massive sandwiches with the same methodical attention to detail that had made him such an excellent thief, spy and techno nerd.
Hot damn. Official boyfriend. He had never voluntarily sought the title from anyone in his life. He'd always been brutally honest with his lovers about his preference in keeping things light. He liked sex just fine, but he could rarely be bothered with the rest of it Jesse had teased him about that Teased him hard, like he thought it was a real problem, though they usually ended up laughing about it. Jesse had thought that Seth's difficulty with trust and bonding with women was because of his relationship with his mother, blah blah, snore, zzzzz. Jesse had been heavy into psychobabble for a while. College had that effect on some guys who had more brains than were good for them. Usually Seth had managed to tune him out.
He braced himself for the burning stab that came along with thinking about Jesse. It didn't happen. Or rather, the feeling was there, but different. More like a hand pressing down hard on his heart. A hot, hard ache. Almost... bearable.
He'd enjoyed a whole lot of women, some of them very thoroughly, but as soon as they invited him to Mom and Dads silver anniversary bash, or whatever, he was outta there. Which was doing them a favor, really, since it always went to hell anyway. Inevitably the day arrived when he opened his mouth, let whatever he was thinking come out of it, and kaboom. Screaming, tears, and scenes that ended with go to hell, you rude, insensitive bastard. Doors slamming, tires squealing, and him standing there with his dick in his hand, back to square one.
Big bummer.
The hell of it was that he never quite knew what exactly had set them off. It was a mystery.
God, what an idiot. He was a wild animal, dreaming about being domesticated. He stood in front of the refrigerator door, mustard dripping off the knife and onto the floor. Stupefied by the realization that he would say anything, do anything to keep this woman close to him. He was even willing to meet her parents. He stared at the splotch of mustard on the floor tile, transfixed. He would even put on a big show for them. Lie about his background, clean up his language. He would suck their goddamn toes, if that was what it took.
He was losing it. This wasn't about a cover, and he didn't even need Jesse to tell him so. He was terrified of wrecking this thing. It was so tenuous, so fragile. And it was all that was holding him together.
He shook that alarming thought out of his head, and gathered up plastic spoons and napkins. He stopped. Montserrat had liked candles. Chances were there were still a few of them floating around. He'd seen her loading up her witchy candelabras all the time.
He found five crimson candles in a kitchen drawer, along with a box of matches. He shoved it all under his arm, loaded himself up and carried it all up to the bedroom. Raine had fallen asleep, one hand cradling her flushed cheek. Her plump, childlike cherry-red mouth was slightly open, lashes sweeping the bluish shadows under her eyes. She was so beautiful, and she looked so exhausted. The protective tenderness that rushed through him made the plate of sandwiches shake.
He laid it on the bedside table, sank to his knees and lit a candle. He dripped hot wax onto the plate and set the candles in it. He liked them. Like a little wine-red grove of trees. They smelled faintly of honey, just like she did. He stroked her hair with his fingertips, hating to wake her. “Hey” he said softly. “Sustenance.”
“What?” Her eyes fluttered open. She looked dazed.
“It's your new boyfriend,” he informed her. “Bearing dinner.”
She propped herself up on her elbows, saw the candles. Her smile of delight was so bright, it hurt. She was so easy to please. He had to look away for a second, blinking away a stinging dampness in his eyes.
She gasped when she saw the plate of towering sandwiches. “Good God. Who's going to eat all that?”
He grunted, amused at her innocence. “Don't worry about it. I'll polish off whatever you don't want.”
Not since Jesse had been too little to forage for himself had he prepared food for someone else. Breakfast stuff and sandwiches were pretty much the extent of his culinary repertoire, but Raine seemed to enjoy it They feasted, sitting cross-legged on her bed. She got around an entire sandwich, and watched, fascinated, as he devoured the other three. Then he got the bright idea of feeding little pieces of brownie to her by hand, but that backfired on him because it was a flaming turn-on to place crumbs of fudgy cake in her soft mouth, to feel her hot tongue greedily licking off the crumbs and glaze, to watch the pleasure blooming on her face.
“Sugar orgasm,” she moaned. “Give me another piece, quick.”
“Cheesecake or fudge?”
“I want to finish with the fudge, so make sure that's the last piece you give me.” She opened her mouth, accepting another mouthful. “Who would have thought that such a strange day would end so well?”
He tucked another gooey crumb between her lips, and his whole body tightened as she licked the chocolate off. “Are you referring to the sex, or to the brownies?” he asked.
Raine stretched and smiled in a way that made his cock swell up again, poking dangerously close to the opening of his unbuttoned jeans. “Why? Are you feeling insecure and competitive?”
He was foolishly delighted with himself for making her smile. “I would never ask you to choose one over the other,” he assured her. “I'll keep you well stocked with both.”
She trailed her fingertips over his torso. Her eyes dropped, widened. He looked down, realizing that he had exceeded the waistband limit. His flushed, swollen cock was poking its head out hopefully.
“Don't worry,” he said thickly. “I know you're tired. I won't bother you again. I just want to hold you while you sleep.”
She swirled her fingertip tenderly around the head of his cock, her eyes fascinated. “Bothering me? Is that what you call it?”
He stared down at her circling finger, fighting for self-control.
“Bother me again, Seth,” she whispered. “Just bother me sweetly and softly. Like you promised. OK?”
He was off that bed in an instant, scooping paper, cutlery, condiments, all to the carpet. Stripping his jeans off and sheathing himself in a condom, in flat-out record time.
She lifted the duvet, inviting him into the dark, fragrant warmth of her secret female self. It made him drunk, crazy-wild with lust and longing. Sweet and soft, he repeated to himself, thinking of his promise, the candles, the chocolate. Sweet, soft and romantic. That was what she wanted from him, and that was what she'd get The duvet floated on his back as he mounted her, as light and puffy as a cloud.
She was so silky-soft and warm and strong, cradling him. Her slender arms wrapped around his neck and her legs twined around his. Sweet and soft, he repeated to himself. Official boyfriend-type sex. Not power games, or moon-crazed animal, or Conan the flicking Conqueror, or any of the other assorted craziness that his perverse sexual imagination could churn up at a moment's notice. He wanted to hold her, as close as he could. He wanted to make her feel incredibly good.
He wanted to make her feel safe.
It was the hardest thing he had ever done, keeping it slow and soft. Her perfume went to his head like a drug, and the candlelight turned her hair to swirls of bronze highlighted with glinting flashes of gold. She was so gorgeous, he could have come just staring at her face. He had to close his eyes, grit his teeth to hang onto his self-control.
She was wet and soft from the last time, and damn lucky for him; he was so desperate, he could never have survived a bout of foreplay. She let out a low, shaky moan as he prodded and pushed himself inside her. Their eyes locked, speechless. He was humbled. Awestruck at the mystery of it. It had never occurred to him before how intimate that moment really was. How enormous the act of trust on her part.
He had never thought of sex in terms of trust. Only of pleasure, his duty to give it, his due in return. A simple and straightforward exchange. He had followed his instincts in pursuit of pleasure all his life, but now they were leading him down paths that he had never trod. Sex with Raine was like nothing he had ever known.
He started rocking inside her, and suddenly they were kissing as if the world were about to end and her arms were wrapped around his neck. His strokes got deeper, and soon she was taking all of him, slick and deep, her hips jerking up to meet his.
He pulled away from that mind-melting kiss, laughing.
“Cool it,” he protested. “You said sweet and soft, but if you go crazy on me, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“Oh, shut up.” She pulled his head back down to hers.
Her hips heaved and bucked beneath him, and he used his weight to hold her hi place, letting her churn and struggle and strain against him. Creating something firm and strong for her to break herself against, like a wave crashing on a rock, an explosion of foaming ecstasy, and he was the rock. He held her back, not letting her rush, or panic. Coaxing her towards where she needed to go, not driving her. Letting her pleasure unfold, over and over, blooming sweeter and hotter every time. He made her come, over and over, sweet and slow and careful. The hot, clutching pulses of her orgasm milked him ever closer to his own, but not too close. Not yet. Not until she felt safe enough to let go completely, to launch herself and fly. Not until he had fashioned a net to catch her, as big and soft and beautiful as the whole sky.
Raine lay beneath him, limp and exhausted with pleasure before he finally let himself go. Pleasure rushed and pounded through him, so hard and furious that he lay there, clutching her and trembling for a small eternity before he even remembe
red who he was.
The last thought he had, after he got rid of the condom, was of how incredible it would be to make love to her without latex. Usually it didn't even cross his mind. He hadn't had unprotected sex since he was too young and dumb to know better, two-thirds of a lifetime ago. How amazing it would be to bathe his naked cock in her scalding heat, to explode inside her. To fill her with himself, his seed.
Seth refused to let himself examine that thought, electing instead to slide into real, deep sleep. For the first time in what felt like forever.
At first, it was the classic contradiction; the horror of surprise side by side with a terrible sense of inevitability. Her father, pointing. Herself, leaning to look. Blood oozing out of the marble, like the credits in old B-grade horror movies. She looked up, and it was not her father, it was Victor, smiling. He grabbed her braids and yanked on them hard, making tears spring into her eyes. “Toughen up, Katya. The world is not kind to crybabies” His voice boomed in her head, loud and metallic.
She was at the Stone Island dock, dressed in the green frog bathing suit. Her hair was braided tight for swimming, and her mother was wearing a yellow sundress, laughing. The big dark man with the mustache plucked her green frog glasses off her nose, and was holding them too high for her to reach. Taunting her, dangling and yanking. Dangling and yanking. The sunglasses were prescription, and without them everything was blurry. The mustached man was laughing like it was all so funny, but it wasn't at all. Tears of frustration gathered in her blurred eyes, no matter how she tried to blink them back, and Victor was sure to scold her again if he saw them.
Her father's sailboat was floating away from the dock. He was waving good-bye, and even with her blurred eyes she could see the bleak sadness in his eyes. It crushed her to see him so defeated. He gestured at the three laughing adults, getting smaller and smaller.
“Remember.” He was too far for her to have heard him, but the word reverberated in her head as if he had spoken it directly in her ear.
This was it, she knew it. She would never see him again. He was getting smaller, only his shadowy eyes could be seen, like the eyeholes of an aged skull. Panic exploded, and she was screaming after him, begging him to turn back, come back, she would save him, she would think of something, she would do anything if only he would please, please come back and not leave her all alone—
Behind Closed Doors m&f-1 Page 20
