Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2)

by Melynda Price

  She’d fallen asleep before him—for real this time—keeping her slender back to him. So it surprised Aiden to wake now and find Ryann curled up against his side. Curse that phone and its incessant buzzing to hell. Drawing one of those deep sleepy breaths that made Aiden’s own air freeze in his lungs, she stretched beside him, branding him with those soft, incredibly lush curves. He could tell by her easy, languid movements she had yet to fully wake and realize where she—

  Yep, there it was. She was awake now. Ryann jerked back and regret slammed into him at the loss of contact like a swift hard kick in the balls. He’d yet to open his eyes, yet to move or acknowledge his awareness of the woman lying beside him. He knew if he saw her in sleep-roughened form, it’d be his final undoing. The buzzing started up again. She startled, bouncing the bed. The mattress dipped beside him as she began to crawl over him, reaching for the phone. Pure fucking torture . . . Bracing her leg on the other side of his hip, her breasts dragged across his chest as her hand stretched for the nightstand. Her silky hair brushed against his shoulder, the fine strands snagging on the stubble of his jaw. His teeth clenched with the effort to bite back his tortured groan. Her scent engulfed him, sending a jolt of white-hot lust burning through his veins.

  His hands fisted into the sheets, muscles straining with the force it took to keep from pulling her on top of him and crushing his mouth to hers as he rolled her beneath him and buried himself balls deep inside her tight little glove. No contest, he’d never wanted a woman more than his hot little abductor. Imagery of all the wicked ways he wanted to make her his played through his mind. His body shot so hard, his cock jerked violently, breath stalling in his lungs, unwilling to give up her scent surrounding him.

  All too soon she retrieved her vibrating cell and crawled to the side of the bed, taking her scent and tantalizing heat along with her. He watched her scoot off the bed and head to the farthest corner of the room before taking the call.

  “Hello?” She whispered the greeting.

  Silence.

  “Really? Do we have to do this right now? I’m well aware of what day it is.”

  Yep, that was Madeline Kruze all right—overbearing and micromanaging. Welcome to my world, baby girl. Working for that woman must be just about as pleasant as being her son.

  “Listen, I told you before these calls have to stop. I’m doing my job and you’re making it extremely difficult.”

  Just when he thought Ryann couldn’t offend him anymore, she opened her mouth and it happened all over again. A job? Did she just call him a fucking job? That was what he was to her? How horribly ironic was it that the one woman he wanted more than any other, saw him as a goddamn paycheck? Well, this was a new one. Usually he was Aiden Kruze Attorney at Law, son of Senator Bennett Kruze; or Aiden “Disco Stick” Kruze, MMA fighter and notorious playboy, the guy guaranteed to rock out with his cock out.

  He’d been called a lot of things in his life, but a “job” was not one of them, and coming from the woman he had no business giving a shit about, it pained him a hell of a lot more than he cared to admit. Just a job, huh? It didn’t feel like just a job when she was coming against his tongue last night. And it sure as hell didn’t feel like a job when her little hand was fisting his cock, all but begging him to fuck her.

  His jaw clenched, making a little muscle twitch in his cheek as he watched Ryann anxiously pace between the bathroom and the front door, her voice lowered to a hushed whisper. Her free hand cupped the side of her face in a failed attempt to funnel her conversation into the phone. As she restlessly trekked back and forth, Aiden tried not to notice the uninhibited freedom in which her breasts moved beneath her thin cotton nightshirt, or the way the hemline was rucked up her side, exposing a swath of low back and shapely narrow waist every time she passed by. Her bottoms sat low on her hips, so low the pant legs covered her feet and dragged on the worn, royal blue carpet as she walked. The occasional glimpse of her pink-painted toenails gave her a decidedly adorable appeal—but the innocence ended there.

  Her sexy-as-hell, sleep-disheveled state was no doubt lost on her as she focused on the conversation with his mother. She sounded upset. No doubt she was getting an ass chewing for taking so long in returning with him. Well, wouldn’t Madeline be surprised when he didn’t show. Picturing the shocked look on the woman’s face brought a sadistic smile of satisfaction to his surly mug.

  The tense set of Ryann’s small shoulders confirmed what her face could not. Her head was tipped just enough to hide her features behind a blanket of unruly bed head. The vibrant copper streaks caught the rays of sun as she passed through the beams arrowing across the room through the small split in the heavy dark blue curtains.

  Conflicting emotions gripped him in various places of his anatomy. Pity tightened the invisible band around his chest. He knew what it was like to deal with Madeline Kruze, and that shit was no picnic. Despite how thoroughly Ryann had fucked him over, he honestly wouldn’t wish that woman on his worst enemy—which sparked his possessive streak to life. Why in the hell he found himself wanting to protect his little felon was beyond him. Guilt and anger swarmed in his head like a nest of angry bees. He didn’t want to want her. He sure as hell didn’t trust her—she was working for his mother, for crissake. Yet, just the sight of her shot his cock so hard with lust, the urge to claim her was nearly overwhelming. And after her confession last night, her uninhibited response to his touch, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would have been like if he had taken her. Perhaps if he’d fucked her out of his system, he wouldn’t be in knots over her right now.

  Shoulda, woulda, coulda . . . But like everything else about this woman, once again she’d surprised him. Her inexperience put her in a whole other league than the women he was used to bedding. He knew if he took her, he’d likely overwhelm her with his intensity, but he also sensed if he could get her to trust him, to let go, she’d detonate in his arms—and the selfish, carnal bastard inside him wanted to be the one to show her what her body could do.

  “Hey, threatening me isn’t going to get me there any faster.”

  Wait a minute . . . Threatening her? And damn if that possessive streak didn’t rip through his veins, taking center stage and pushing all that other bullshit into the background. Why would Madeline be threatening her? His mother didn’t threaten people, it wasn’t her style. Not that she didn’t manipulate them, but when that didn’t work, she’d throw enough money at them until eventually she’d get her way. Everyone had their price, even him he supposed. Unfortunately, it’d taken Aiden nearly thirty years to realize he couldn’t put a price tag on freedom.

  Wow, this was a new low, even for Madeline—she must be caving to the pressure. Tick-tock . . . tick-tock . . . Aiden sat up. The squeak of the bedsprings drew Ryann’s attention. She froze, and then whipped around to face him. The oh, shit on her face was unmistakable. Shooting him an anxious glance, a melee of emotions swirled in those gorgeous eyes. He held out his hand expectantly for the phone. This was going to stop—now. He would not tolerate his mother threatening this woman. Ryann’s eyes shot impossibly rounder, like she couldn’t believe he actually expected her to give him the cell.

  “Give me the phone, Ryann.” Just in case there was any question.

  Was that fear flashing in her eyes? She slapped her hand over the receiver and violently shook her head, silently mouthing No.

  Oh, hell no, she did not just shake her head at him. Aiden tossed back the covers and was out of that bed before Ryann could blink. He held out his hand as he marched forward. She countered, stepping back until she connected with the wall. “Now. Give me the phone,” he growled.

  Again, with that stunned, deer-in-the-headlights look, head swinging back and forth, red locks going airborne—enough of the games. He reached forward and snatched the phone from Ryann’s hand and growled into the receiver. “You know what, I expected this shit from Bennett, but just when I think y
ou couldn’t sink any lower, you go and surprise me. Get off Ryann’s case or you’re going to have me to deal with.”

  The answering growl was decidedly male, which nailed Aiden like a roundhouse kick in the chest.

  “Who the fuck is this?” the deep voice barked.

  Aiden pinned Ryann with a questioning glower. Jealousy and possessiveness surged anew, both emotions he had no business feeling—especially now. Who in the hell was she talking to?—a boyfriend?—a jealous lover who wasn’t so keen on the idea of her and her “job” road-tripping it halfway across the US together, making pit stops in skeezy motels and fucking around behind his back?

  Couldn’t very well blame the dude. Aiden would be livid, too—poor dumb shmuck. Hell, he’d be doing more than threatening her if he was the sorry sucker stuck back in Manhattan while his hot little PI girlfriend ran her own special Mission: Impossible gig on some other guy. For one, it was dangerous what she was doing. Hell, she’d nearly gotten herself killed just last night.

  No wonder she hadn’t wanted to give him the phone. Now that look of shock and horror on her lovely face made a whole lot more sense. He knew she was manipulative and underhanded, he just never thought she’d sink so low as to mess around behind another guy’s back to get what she wanted from him. That whole sweet and innocent I’ve never had an orgasm before routine had really hooked him. Another fucking lie? he wondered.

  He was such an idiot. His heart thundered inside his chest, his face flushed hotly, whether from anger or embarrassment at being screwed over by this woman, yet again, he couldn’t know. What could he say?—Hey, dude, sorry I rocked your girlfriend’s world last night. She tastes amazing.

  Hitting Ryann with a glower he reserved for the cage, she flinched, sinking farther back against the wall as if desperate to put some distance between them. Without breaking her wide-eyed stare, he told the guy, “I am so sorry you have to deal with her, man. Good fucking luck . . .”

  As he disconnected the call, Ryann gasped. Total shock filled her face, and then quickly morphed into rage as she stared at him like she couldn’t believe what he’d just done. The air left his lungs at the look of betrayal in her eyes. His chest constricted, refusing to breathe. Why in the hell was she looking at him like that? If anyone had the right to be pissed off here, it was him.

  They stood there a moment in a wordless faceoff as he watched her grapple for control. She must have found her edge because a few seconds later, anger flooded her fine features, twisting her beautiful face into a mask of rage.

  “You fucking asshole!” She stepped forward and slammed the heels of her hands against his bare chest. For a slip of a woman, she was surprisingly strong. Unprepared for the force of her strike, he took a step back to catch his balance. The give wasn’t very much, but it was enough for Ryann to slide past him. But she wasn’t the only one livid, and with the speed of a striking viper, he caught her arm, jerking her back around to face him. This two-timing manipulative chit wasn’t getting off that easily.

  “What’s the matter, Ry? Pissed that your boyfriend found out you were fucking around on him?”

  He didn’t think it was possible for her to look more furious, but as he blasted her with his cutting question, every male instinct clamoring inside him warned Aiden to protect his groin. Wham! Her knee flew up just as he shifted his weight and lifted his leg. Her patella connected solidly with his thigh so hard that had she hit his balls, they would have been lodged in his throat. As it was, his thigh would be wearing the evidence of her wrath for some time to come.

  “That’s not my boyfriend, you presumptive, arrogant piece of shit!” She lost the battle with her tears and angrily swiped them away. Fuck, every one of those giant drops might as well have been a dagger in his heart. She flailed to get free of his grip—a sob breaking from her throat as she wrenched on her arm, trying to get away. If she kept it up, she was going to hurt herself.

  It took 0.6 second for Ryann’s revelation to slam into him with the force of a hook kick to the head, and about 0.3 second for his head to catch up with his heart, and 0.1 second to realize he was totally screwed. Still, the fighter in him didn’t give up, and the dipshit in him didn’t know when to quit while he was ahead, though he suspected ahead had passed about the time he told whoever had been on that phone—threatening her—that he felt sorry for him and good luck.

  “Ryann, stop.” He tried to reason with the enraged woman, regret burning his throat to ash and making his voice raw. Holding on to her was like trying to catch a tiger by the tail. Her claws were out, and she was hell bound and determined to get away from him. But something in his gut told Aiden if he tapped now and let her go, this woman would be lost to him forever. So he held on and weathered the storm of her anger. Dodging blows, and taking others, because dammit, he deserved it after what he’d just done, what he’d accused her of.

  His gut told him she was in trouble, which ratcheted his protective instincts off the charts. When her small hand curled up and she hammer-fisted him in the chest, he caught her wrist and tugged her closer, pulling her into his guard and wrapping his arms around her slender frame, holding her tight against his chest.

  “I’m sorry . . . Baby, I’m sorry . . .” He’d repeat the words over and over, as long as it took for her to calm down and hear them. But he would not let her go—no matter how hard she fought or how many times she cursed him. And Aiden was surprised to discover that Ryann had a pretty colorful vocabulary.

  He had no idea how long he stood there waiting for her to drop her guard enough to shoot in, but it felt like forever. By the time she exhausted herself, his heart was shredded. All he wanted to do was hold this slip of a woman with the temper of a tiger and the courage of a fighter. It didn’t take a genius to deduct that things were not as they seemed. And the more he discovered about Ryann, the more she intrigued him. And the hell of it was, he wanted to know her—really know her—to protect her. He genuinely cared about this woman, which was why he’d nearly lost his shit when he’d thought she was seeing someone else.

  “Shhh . . .” he whispered.

  Her struggles were only half-hearted now, whether from exhaustion or defeat he couldn’t know. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was in his arms. “I’m sorry . . . Baby, I’m so sorry,” he crooned against the top of her head, which barely reached his shoulder—the perfect height to tuck her beneath his chin. She fit against him so perfectly, like she was made just for him.

  “I thought . . .” he started to explain, but there were no words to excuse his behavior or his assumptions.

  “I know . . . what you . . . thought,” she hiccupped against his chest. Her tears scalded him, leaving behind a hot, wet trail of sorrow. Evidence of the pain he caused slipped between his pecs, following the road map of muscles down his chest and across his abdomen. “I don’t need to hear you say it. Let me . . . go.”

  Never. His grip on her instinctively tightened. Ryann tensed in his arms, refusing to yield to him, to take the comfort she’d so greedily consumed last night—that was before he’d utterly offended and insulted her. “Come on, Ryann, just let me explain . . .” He wasn’t sure what the hell he intended to say if she gave him the chance. He only knew he was desperate to hold on to this woman right now and he didn’t want to let her go.

  “There’s nothing to say, Aiden,” she said woodenly.

  Fuck, she sounded so distant, so broken. He’d done this to her, reducing her to an unrecognizable woman who was nothing like the strong, independent female he knew, the powerhouse in a small package that never took no for an answer and was a force to be reckoned with. This wasn’t the same woman who’d drugged him, abducted him, stumbled onto a robbery, and nearly gotten herself killed. Yet through it all, she’d held it together—not missing a beat. Rock solid—that was his Ryann. Wait . . . his? Since when did he lay any claim to this woman? Probably about the time you stripped her bare and h
ad your face buried between her legs, his unhelpful self quickly answered.

  “You just told . . . the man who’s made my life a living hell . . . for the last month . . . ‘good luck.’ Then you all but called me a . . . a whore by accusing me of having a boyfriend after we . . . After you . . .”

  She tried to wrest free from his grasp. God help him, he was an asshole. Muttering a self-damning curse, he gently framed Ryann’s tear-stained face and tipped her head up, forcing her to meet his determined stare. “First of all, I want to know who’s doing this to you and why. Because I promise you, that shit’s gonna stop. And secondly, I never called you a whore and I don’t think it. What happened between us last night was—”

  “—a mistake,” she cut in, finishing his sentence, which was not what he was going to say at all. She took a step back, pulling away, and it took all his strength to let her go. “It can’t happen again. It won’t happen again. This”—she waved her finger between them—“is a mistake. It would never work.”

  Why was it a mistake? Just because he’d thought the same thing last night didn’t stop him from wanting to know where the hell she thought he was lacking.

  “I think it would be best if we just pretended that last night didn’t happen.”

  The hell it would! What was she thinking?—that she could just forget her first orgasm? Was she going to pretend that didn’t happen? Because he had news for her: That fucking happened, and he wanted it to happen again. In fact, he wanted it to happen again right now. So he’d be damned if he was going to let her forget it. If she thought forgetting him was going to be so easy, she had another thing coming.

  He’d been trying to forget this woman since the day she walked into his gym a little over a week ago, and look how well that turned out. Ryann had him twisted in so many knots, his balls permanently ached. But pushing her right now wasn’t going to do either of them any favors. Maybe what she needed was a little space to regain a sense of control in the situation that admittedly had blown far from it.