by Lisa Childs
And the trucks had been gone when he and Parker had finally left for the hospital. Had they been gone before the shooters had arrived? Or had they left when they’d heard the gunfire?
If so, they hadn’t been good lawmen.
“Are you all right?” Logan asked his brother, and he studied his face for a long moment.
Parker nodded. “I want to go home and kiss my wife and hug my kids, though.”
“Then go,” Logan urged him. “You might want to call Mom, too, and let her know you’re okay.”
Parker shuddered. “So she had one of those damn feelings of hers?”
Logan nodded.
“I wouldn’t put it past Luther to put out a hit on me,” he said. “And I have no doubt he has one on Clint.”
“It’s not the first time bodyguards have needed bodyguards,” Logan said. “I already called in my team. They’re on their way.”
“I’m not leaving,” Clint said. “Protecting Rosie is my responsibility.”
“You can’t,” Logan said, “when you need to be worried about protecting yourself, too.”
But Clint wasn’t worried about protecting himself. He was only worried about protecting Rosie. And he didn’t trust anyone else to do that.
“I’m not leaving her,” he said. And he turned to Parker before his boss could start arguing with him as well. “You can fire me, but I’m still not leaving.”
“Clint—”
Parker knew about the promise he’d made her brother. Clint had told him on the way to the hospital. So he sighed and nodded. “It’s okay. You’re still on the job.”
Logan stared at his brother, as if questioning his judgment. But Clint didn’t work for him. And neither did Parker. He didn’t say anything, just shook his head and headed to the stairwell.
“I’m keeping a team outside the condo,” Parker told Clint. “We’ve got this.”
Clint had been told that before, but he didn’t bring that up. He wanted Rosie to believe they were safe.
He only wished that they actually were.
“Go home to your wife and kids,” Clint urged his boss.
Parker nodded. “I’m going to do that.” But he paused at the top of the stairs to the garage. “Thanks. If you hadn’t pushed me down—” he shuddered “—my mom’s premonition might have come true.”
“It didn’t,” Clint said. “You’re fine.”
Parker nodded again and finally headed down the stairs after his brother, leaving Clint alone with Rosie.
And now he was worried about himself. But not about his life—he was worried about his heart.
“How are you really?” she asked.
“Fine,” he said. He patted the bandage on his shoulder and tried not to flinch as pain radiated down his arm. “I’m all stitched up and pumped full of antibiotics.” That was what had taken so damn long—when all he’d wanted was to be with her, to make sure none of the shooters had seen Logan leave and followed him.
But maybe she’d been safer without him around. Maybe Logan had been right and Clint wasn’t the right person to protect her, not if Luther had put out a hit on him, too.
“How are you?” he asked.
She’d changed out of the scrubs she’d been wearing into a loose knit dress that Logan must have stocked in the condo. This place was a lot better equipped than Clint’s cabin had been. And hopefully safer.
“I’m fine,” she said. But she blinked furiously as if fighting back tears.
He slid his fingers under her chin and tipped it up, so she would meet his gaze. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Oh, Rosie...”
He flinched now. But the pain wasn’t in his shoulder. It was in his heart. But it wasn’t his heart anymore. She had taken it.
He wasn’t even sure when it happened. Probably before he’d started protecting her. Probably before Javier had died.
But since Javier had died, Clint knew Rosie didn’t want his heart. She didn’t want any part of him. But then she rose up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his, kissing him hungrily. So maybe she did want him.
He wanted her. So badly...but he knew that it would be wrong to make love to her again. Last time he had he’d fallen asleep and nearly lost her.
So he summoned all his willpower and stepped back from her. Hurt flashed through her eyes with his rejection.
But he couldn’t take the chance that he might lose her again...and this time forever.
* * *
“You said your team is all right,” Sharon said as she lifted her head from Parker’s chest to stare up at him.
He idly stroked her shoulder as she curled against him. His mother had been at his house when he’d arrived home. And after giving him a hug and some time to hug his kids, Grandma had whisked them away.
She’d known—as she always knew things—that he needed to be alone with his wife. He needed to be with Sharon, as close as he could be to her, buried deep inside her. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they hadn’t just made another baby, their lovemaking had been so intense.
But then, even after years of marriage, it was always intense, always incredible. He loved her so much. He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Yeah, my team is all right.”
At least they were for the moment. Clint was all stitched up. The doctor had assured them that the bullet, which must have been small caliber, had passed cleanly through him the night before, hitting nothing vital. The wound from the dumpster was the worse one. But now it was properly stitched, so it would heal.
It wasn’t those injuries Parker was worried about, though. He worried about the wounds Clint might still get, and not just physical ones. It was apparent to Parker that Clint had fallen for the witness.
And despite what she’d told Parker a few nights ago, she appeared to have feelings for Clint as well. That was why he’d left them alone together. He’d thought they would take care of each other.
But that might not be the case at all. Maybe they would distract each other so much that Clint wouldn’t notice the next time shooters approached.
And as determined as Luther Mills was, Parker had no doubt that there would be a next time. Rosie wasn’t safe, and neither was Clint. Parker had once worried that they might kill each other.
Now he was just worried that they would die together.
Chapter 20
After what had happened between them the previous night in Clint’s cabin, Rosie hadn’t expected him to reject her. To push her away.
The rejection didn’t just sting. It hurt, a pang striking her heart so hard that it took away her breath for a moment. But she was too proud to beg for his touch, for his kiss.
For him.
So she forced herself to shrug it off like it didn’t matter. But it did.
He mattered.
She’d been so worried about him. More worried about him than she had been about herself. But she was too proud to admit that, too.
“Have you eaten?” Clint asked.
She hadn’t been able to eat because she’d been so worried about him. She shook her head.
“You must be starving then,” he said as he moved toward the kitchen.
She wasn’t hungry. She wanted him instead, wanted his arms around her, wanted his lips on hers.
After his rejection, she had moved back to the window that Logan had yelled at her for getting too close to. Not that it mattered now. She could see that the other Payne Protection bodyguards had arrived and were standing near their black SUVs. They were ready for another attack.
Was Clint?
Would he reject her if she tried to kiss him again?
Rosie was used to fighting for what she wanted, for having to work for it. Nothing had ever been given to her or to Javier.
So she stepped back from the window and followed him into the kitchen. He moved easil
y around it, cutting up vegetables that Logan must have brought as he sautéed some thin strips of beef. She hadn’t been hungry for food but with the fragrant aroma of it beginning to fill the room, she suddenly was. Her stomach growled.
And Clint smiled at her.
Her breath caught in her lungs. He was so damn good-looking. “I thought you were a bodyguard,” she said. “Not a chef.”
“I have many talents,” he said.
She knew that from the night before. Her body ached to feel his again. She settled onto a barstool at the counter and crossed her legs. “Why aren’t you married then?” she asked.
He shrugged. And he didn’t wince when he did it. His shoulder must have been feeling better.
She wished she was. But along with the pain of his rejection, she had this nagging jealousy, too. She couldn’t believe he was really single. “No live-in girlfriend, either?”
What about the blonde bodyguard?
He snorted. “Landon comes the closest to that. We share a house in the city.”
“So he cramps your style,” she teased.
He shook his head. “My job does—did. I didn’t have time for relationships when I was a vice cop.”
“Because you were trying so hard to arrest Luther.”
He didn’t deny it. But he turned back to his frying pan, tossing in the vegetables he’d cut up. In minutes he put a plate of stir-fry in front of her.
The mention of his preoccupation with Luther reminded her of what it had cost her: her brother. It was good that Clint had pushed her away. They had no future together—because Javier had no future.
“I didn’t poison it,” he assured her as she hesitated to take a bite.
“Is that why you cooked?” she asked. “You thought I might poison you?”
He nodded. “I thought that...a couple of days ago. Now I’m not so sure you would.”
Did he think she cared about him? But, of course, with the way she’d acted when he showed up at the condo, he had every right to think that.
She did care, and she couldn’t claim it was just because she was a nurse. Her hand shaking somewhat, she picked up her fork.
And he held up his hands. “Don’t stab me with that. I was just teasing.”
This was the man her brother had known, the one he’d idolized. The one who put his life at risk for others—the one who took care of other people. And for the first time she understood why Javier had done what he had. Clint hadn’t coerced him; he’d inspired him.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Just hungry.” While the food wasn’t what she really wanted, she ate. And it was delicious. Clint knew what he was doing in the kitchen and the bedroom.
“I’ll clean up,” she offered when he reached for her empty plate. But he helped, standing so close to her at the sink that she could feel the heat from his body. And when she turned her head, she found his close to hers.
He leaned over and brushed his lips across hers.
And her breath caught in her throat. She forced herself to pull back.
And he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” she asked. “Are you sorry you kissed me? Are you sorry about last night?”
He shook his head again. “No. I’m sorry I’m not sorry. I’m sorry I want to do it again—when I should be focused only on protecting you.”
She gestured toward the window. “There is an army of bodyguards out there. We’re safe.”
But she didn’t feel all that safe, not with this discussion. She was afraid that she was about to beg...her pride be damned.
He nodded. Then he picked her up.
“Clint! Your shoulder—”
But he ignored her protest and headed for the stairs. One flight led down to the garage, another led up to a bedroom. He carried her up. So his shoulders wouldn’t have the burden of all her weight, she moved, sliding her legs around his waist.
And he groaned.
“See, I’m too heavy,” she said.
“You’re too sexy,” he said as he reached the top step.
She slid down his body and felt his erection pressing against the fly of his jeans. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Maybe more...because he groaned again. “You’re killing me.”
She wasn’t, but Luther was certainly trying. When Clint pulled off his shirt, the fresh bandage reminded her of how much he’d been hurt. Because of her.
And she had hurt him, too, adding to the guilt he’d already felt over her brother’s death. She’d blamed him when he’d already been blaming himself.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
And he tensed. “Have you changed your mind?”
She had, but not in the way he obviously thought. He stepped back from her and raised his hands like he had in the kitchen. But he wasn’t playing now. His eyes were dark and serious.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said as he leaned over to pick up his shirt.
She caught it in her hands, holding tight to it to pull him toward her. “No,” she said. “I want you.”
And that was all she needed to say for him to move, to close his arms around her and pull her against his body. He was hard and still tense.
She felt that tension herself, winding tightly inside her. She needed the release she knew he could give her. She needed him. But instead of closing her arms around him, she stepped back.
And his brow furrowed with disappointment...until she reached down and lifted her dress over her head. Then his breath shuddered out in a ragged sigh.
“Rosie.” He lifted her again but carried her only the short distance to the bed, with its white metal headboard, before laying her down. Before he joined her, he unbuttoned his jeans and kicked off them and his shoes.
She wanted the boxers gone, too. So she leaned forward and slid them down his lean hips. Her palms glided over his butt, which was as perfect as the rest of him.
He groaned. “You are seriously testing my self-control.”
“You have some?” she teased.
And he chuckled. “Apparently not. I know I shouldn’t be doing this with you. I’m supposed to be protecting you. Not...”
“What?” she asked.
“Not taking advantage of you.”
She laughed now. “You really think that I would let you do that?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t think you would ever let me get this close to you,” he said. “And I think the only reason you have is because you’re in danger. So yeah, I’m taking advantage of you.”
She couldn’t argue with everything he’d said. They would not have been making love if they hadn’t been forced to spend time together. But it was in spending time with him that Rosie had begun to see the man Clint really was, the man her brother had sworn he was.
She shook her head. “Maybe I’m taking advantage of you,” she said. And she trailed her fingers over his washboard abs to the head of his erection.
He gasped. “Rosie...”
And she smiled.
“Maybe you are,” he agreed.
“Do you care?”
He shook his head. “You can take advantage of me anytime.” But he moved her hand away and gently pushed her back onto the bed. And as he did, he followed her down, pressing his body against hers.
She writhed beneath him. She wore her bra and panties yet. And that was too much. She wanted nothing between them anymore. Not clothes.
Not the past.
She wanted to be as close to him as she could get. Before she could wriggle out of her underwear, he’d unclasped her bra and rolled her panties down her legs. Then he moved his fingers between her legs, stroking her to insanity, as he lowered his mouth and kissed her.
Their lips met, clung, nibbled...their tongues mated. Then he pulled back and slid his m
outh down her throat and lower, to her breasts.
He lavished attention on them, stroking his tongue over one nipple, then the other, until she cried out with pleasure. He pulled back and grabbed up his jeans, pulling a condom from the pocket.
She took the packet from him and tore it open. Then she rolled the latex over the length of his erection.
He groaned and murmured, “Rosie...”
She knew he needed a release, too. He was so tense that he was probably about to break in two. Despite the pleasure he’d just given her, she wanted more. She arched her hips, taking him deep as he eased inside her.
They were close—as close as she’d wanted to be to him. She clutched at him, with her legs, with her arms—holding on to him. She never wanted to let him go.
She never wanted the pleasure to end. And he moved, giving her more and more. He held off on his own release until he gave her another orgasm and then another.
She cried out, nearly sobbing his name from the intensity of the pleasure. Then he tensed and joined her, her name a shout on his lips. He slipped out of the bed, disappearing into a bathroom off the bedroom.
He was only steps away from her, but his absence reminded her of how she’d felt when he’d been gone with Parker. He could have been killed. It was a miracle he hadn’t been.
He must have had a guardian angel. And she knew who that angel was. Her brother. Thinking of that, she blinked hard, fighting back a rush of tears. She knew what she had to do—for Javier and most especially for Clint.
* * *
Clint slid back into bed and rolled Rosie against his side. He wanted to hold her like he had the night before. He wanted to keep her safe, not just until after the trial, but for the rest of their lives.
She probably would have laughed if she knew what he was thinking, that he hoped they could have something permanent. Neither of them had ever known much permanence, growing up the way they had.
