Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedications
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
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About The Author
Other books by Carole Mortimer
Steele Protectors 2
ATTICUS
By
Carole Mortimer
USA Today Bestselling Author
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2019 Carole Mortimer
Cover Design Copyright © Glass Slipper Designs
Editor: Linda Ingmanson
Formatter: Matthew Mortimer
ISBN: 978-1-910597-73-6
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
DEDICATIONS
My husband, Peter
Chapter 1
Not again!
A low growl emanated from Atticus’s chest, and he came to an abrupt halt as he was about to hang up his bathrobe before taking his morning shower. Because the hook where he would normally hang his robe was already occupied.
By a tiny scrap of black lace and silk.
Black.
Lace.
And silk.
His cock immediately engorged as he imagined the sexy bra lovingly cupping the pert breasts of the woman it belonged to. Full breasts he could imagine were tipped with pretty, pale, rose-colored nipples to go with her peaches-and-cream complexion and gorgeous tumble of red hair—
“Jenna!” Atticus bellowed as he pulled on and refastened his robe to cover his raging erection. “Get your ass in here. Now!”
“I’m busy,” came the muffled reply down the hallway.
“I said now, damn it!”
“God, Attie.” That mocking voice became clearer as Jenna walked down the hallway toward him. “You are such a pain in my butt. I’m trying to get ready for work here—” She broke off as she came to a halt in the open doorway, one auburn eyebrow arched as she saw the bra now dangling from one of his fingers.
“Do not call me Attie,” Atticus warned gruffly. He held up the scrap of material. “Yours, I believe?”
Her mouth twitched, and it was obvious she was holding back a smile. “Even if there’s something you aren’t telling me, I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to fit you.” She gave his covered and muscular chest a pointed glance as she unhooked the bra from his finger.
He continued to scowl. “This is the third time this week I’ve found an item of your…clothing, for want of a better word, in my en suite bathroom.”
“Your shower has better pressure than mine.”
“They’re exactly the same,” he grated. “Besides, how can you forget your bloody bra, or the two pairs of panties I found in here earlier this week?”
She shrugged. “Must have left them in here after I undressed and brushed my teeth before going to bed.”
Atticus had noticed a couple of days ago that Jenna’s toothbrush and toothpaste also seemed to have found their way into his bathroom. Along with her shower gel and shampoo. The whole bloody room—make that the six bedroomed penthouse apartment—smelled of Jenna. Of the perfume of the products she used along with the heady female musk that was purely her.
Atticus wasn’t known for his patience. Never had been, apparently. According to his mother, he couldn’t even wait to be born and had arrived a full month earlier than his due date. But what little patience he did have, Jenna seemed to take delight in testing. Constantly.
Even dressed formally in one of the crisp blouses, cream today, and pencil-slim skirts Jenna wore to work, she looked gorgeous. Her shoulder-length red hair was pulled back and secured at her nape, revealing her heart-shaped face dominated by dark green eyes. There was a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and creamy cheeks, which Atticus knew she hated but which he loved. She had full lips above a pointed and determined chin.
Jenna’s lips… Dear God, those slightly pouting lips were designed for kissing. Or wrapping around the length of his cock as he fucked her mouth.
She gave a pained grimace. “Maybe it’s time I moved back to my own apartment.”
No!
Atticus bit back that immediate response. Even now, four weeks after the beating, he could still see the remains of the bruises and cuts Jenna had received, mainly on her beautiful face, after being abducted and assaulted by two thugs. Atticus and his brothers, with the help of the head of security of the London bratva, had since ensured those men would never harm another woman ever again.
And Atticus knew his feelings toward Jenna weren’t in the least step-or-whatever-the-hell brotherly they were supposed to be.
His parents had taken eight-year-old Jenna Riley into their family fourteen years ago after the death of her mother, a single parent, who had been a close friend of the parents. Atticus had been twenty-three at the time, the eldest of the six Steele brothers and no longer living at home, having joined the army at eighteen. Which hadn’t deterred young Jenna from following him about his parents’ home with hero worship shining in her eyes every time he paid them a visit.
Fourteen years later and Jenna had grown into a beautiful woman who no longer looked at him with hero worship in her eyes but seemed to enjoy nothing more than annoying the hell out of him every chance she got. Something, unfortunately, it was far too easy for her to do where Atticus was concerned.
Again, as the eldest brother, Atticus had insisted Jenna stay with him at his apartment once she was discharged from the hospital.
It had now been three weeks since Jenna moved in, and she was slowly healing. Physically, at least. Most of the bruising had faded from her beautiful face. Her fingers were no longer strapped after being broken, along with a couple of ribs. She had also, with the doctor’s okay, returned to her job in the bank at the beginning of this week.
But the damage inflicted on her by those two bastards wasn’t only physical. The blow it had given Jenna’s usually feisty self-confidence was evident in the way she now allowed him to use his SUV to drive her to work and pick her up again in the evening, rather than walking or taking the tube, as she used to do before the attack. Once Jenna was home from work in the evening, she didn’t go out again either, preferring to spend her nights in the safety of Atticus’s apartment, where the security was so high, no one could even reach the penthouse floor without the number code for the lift.
Oh, Jenna still gave Atticus shit, but that was just par for the course between the two of them and something he knew to expect from her. He would think Jenna was really ill if she even attempted to be polite to him.
The situation had been made more difficult because, even a month after the attack, reporters were still trying to get photographs or a statement from her.
The story of the vicious attack had been in the newspapers the day after it happened. Once Jenna’s identity had been verified as the person attacked, the newspapers had run with the story for days, somehow having acquired old school photographs of her, along with her passport photo, to print with the story. The first photographs of Jenna as she was now had appeared when she was di
scharged from hospital three weeks ago, still battered and bruised but managing to maintain a smile for the cameras clicking in her face.
Atticus had put a stop to any more photographs being taken by always leaving the apartment building from the underground garage, the black windows on his SUV ensuring no one could see who was inside the vehicle.
But once the trial began, and it was scheduled for two months’ time, he knew it was going to be more difficult, if not impossible, to stop those reporters from hounding her.
There was absolutely no way Atticus was going to let her move back to her apartment until the hue and cry had died down. That he had never been able to think of Jenna as being even a pseudo younger sister, even when she was younger, let alone now she was a fully grown and beautiful woman, was his problem to deal with, not hers.
A problem that certainly wasn’t helped by the fact she kept leaving items of her sexy underwear in his bathroom!
Jenna held her breath as she waited for Atticus to respond to her suggestion of moving back to her own apartment.
It was the last thing she wanted to do.
The abduction a month ago, and being badly beaten afterward, had affected her more deeply than she would ever care to admit out loud. To anyone. But least of all to Atticus.
Because, much as she teased and tormented him, he was her hero. The man she admired above all others. He was also her safe place. He always had been. Nothing and no one could touch or hurt her when Atticus was around. What had started as starry-eyed hero worship in her childhood had matured into a love so deep, it prevented her from even seeing other men, let alone being attracted to any of them. Oh, she flirted with other men and went out or dancing at clubs with her friends. But she never took any of the men she met home with her, nor went home with any of them. Atticus was it for her, and he always would be.
The fact he was currently wearing only a black toweling robe that revealed the dusting of dark hair on his chest and the long length of his bare and muscular legs beneath the robe’s knee length wasn’t doing much to settle the pounding of her heart and rapidly beating pulse.
Not surprising when Atticus was six feet and five inches of pure muscle and alpha male. She loved his bad-boy looks: long dark hair falling untidily about his wide shoulders, a leather vest sometimes worn over fitted dark T-shirts but sometimes not, and dark combat trousers worn with heavy black biker boots. She also knew there was an eagle in flight tattooed on his broad and muscular back.
It wasn’t just a look. Atticus owned several vehicles, but preferred, whenever possible, to ride his Harley. He was head of the Steele Protectors security company, owned and run by the six Steele brothers. He’d spent ten years in the army, and in doing so became a lethal weapon in his own right.
The fact he was also gorgeous took Jenna’s breath away every time she looked at him: piercing chocolate-brown eyes, a long nose that showed evidence of having been broken a couple of times, high cheekbones, his mouth a stern slash in the dark beard that covered his jawline and top lip.
To Jenna’s knowledge, at the age of thirty-seven, Atticus had never been in a long or exclusive relationship, let alone married. From the things she had overheard him say to his brothers, Atticus made it clear to any and all women he met that he didn’t intend being tied down in the near or distant future.
A warning Jenna, totally in love with the big lug, responded to by being as much of a thorn in Atticus’s side as she possibly could be. More recently by deliberately leaving pieces of her underwear in his bathroom.
Her mouth twisted wryly. “An ‘oh no, Jenna, please stay’ might have been nice to hear,” she now mocked his lengthy silence at her suggestion of leaving.
He arched a single dark brow. “Why state the obvious when you know damn well I’m not going to allow you to move back into an empty apartment?”
Empty, since Jenna’s previous flat mate had now moved in with and next month was going to marry Logan, another of the Steele brothers.
And no, Jenna didn’t want to move back to an empty apartment either, nor could she continue to stay here with Atticus. Not only must she be cramping his style in regard to having the privacy to bring women back to his home, but she knew he had been working for a client in New Orleans when she was attacked. He’d only returned to England because she’d been taken before being found beaten and unconscious in an alley three days later.
“You aren’t going to allow me to move back to my apartment?” she repeated slowly.
“Don’t start with the bullshit, Jenna,” Atticus bit out his impatience. “None of the other brothers would allow it either if you asked them, so don’t single me out as being the controlling arsehole.”
She snorted. “The other brothers might think it, but they would never try to enforce it. I’m over twenty-one, and I don’t recall asking you or anyone else for permission to live where I damn well please.”
He sighed heavily. “Would you just leave the bathroom so I can take a shower? Otherwise, I’m going to be late driving you to work.”
“Talking of work, don’t you need to get back to the States?” she prompted.
“Bryce has gone in my stead,” he dismissed.
She frowned. “When did that happen?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Oh.”
Jenna’s life had become slightly tunnel vision since she’d been discharged from the hospital. She hadn’t even left Atticus’s apartment for the first two weeks, except to visit the doctor, always accompanied by Atticus. The fact she was now back at work had made little difference to that. Atticus drove her there, she locked herself in her office all day, and then Atticus arrived in the early evening to drive her home again. She doubted she saw half a dozen people during that time.
All the Steele brothers currently in England had visited her at Atticus’s apartment. Even Lucan, two years younger than Atticus and now back from a job in South America. Logan always accompanied August when her friend visited her in the evenings. The parents had also flown over from France for a few days to make sure she was safe and being looked after. But Jenna now felt guilty for not having noticed when Bryce stopped coming round. Not that Bryce was exactly the chatty brother. If anything, he was even more quietly lethal than Atticus.
She avoided meeting Atticus’s gaze. “I don’t want my being here to stop you from doing your job.”
“The only job I have right now is making sure you’re safe—”
“I’m a person, not a fucking job!” She glared her hurt at him, her cheeks burning with her legendary temper, hands clenched at her sides. “Jesus, Atticus, how to make a girl feel wanted!” Her breasts quickly rose and fell in her agitation.
“Of course you’re wanted—” He stopped speaking, head moving back as Jenna took the two steps that brought her within an inch of touching him. “What the hell, Jenna?”
Jenna lifted her face toward his, gaze challenging. “Prove it.”
Atticus blinked. “What?”
She thrust her chin forward. “I want you to prove how wanted I am.”
He scowled. “And how am I supposed to do that?”
Jenna drew in a deep breath, very aware this was one of those moments of truth.
If she stepped over the brother/sister line Atticus always insisted on maintaining between the two of them and lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed him as she so wanted to do, only to have him reject her, then she could never go back, and risked damaging their relationship forever.
If she stepped back and resisted the closest she had ever dared come to kissing Atticus, then that opportunity might also be lost forever.
Chapter 2
Atticus could see the deepening uncertainty in dark green eyes that seconds ago had glared at him with such challenge in their depths, and knew he should put a stop to this. Now. But after three weeks of having Jenna flaunt herself all over his apartment, and more specifically taking over his bathroom, of having her insidious perfume haunt his every waking moment, Atticus’s u
sual self-control was at a low ebb.
He raised one dark brow. “Well, which is it to be, little girl? Fight or flight?”
Her chin rose even higher, her expression becoming one of outright defiance as she easily met his gaze. “Don’t call me little girl. Damn it, Atticus, when are you going to realize I’m a grown woman?”
“Maybe when you stop this childish shit?”
Her cheeks bloomed with color. “Only you make me behave this way.”
“Why is that?”
“The why doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “But I’ve never run from a fight in my life.” Her chin rose. “Nor am I about to start now.”
Jenna had always reminded Atticus of a robin redbreast, innocently beautiful to look at, but aggressive and fiercely territorial if opposed.
The question was, how territorial was she feeling right now? And in what way?
Was Jenna angry because her feelings were hurt, or was it something more than that?
Atticus had a feeling it was the latter, but would she act on it?
Their gazes remained locked.
Jenna’s challenging.
Atticus’s calmly questioning.
Jenna’s gaze was finally the one to drop first. “Fuck you, Atticus.” She stepped back. “Fuck you,” she repeated shakily before turning on her heel and slamming the bathroom door behind her as she left.
Flight, then.
Atticus had no idea whether to be relieved or disappointed.
He knew he should be the former. He also knew he should talk to his brothers today and ask one of them to take Jenna to live with them for a while. At least until someone trustworthy could be found to share Jenna’s apartment with her.
But the thought of Jenna leaving, of how empty his apartment would seem without her here—how empty his life would seem without her in it on a daily basis—told Atticus he wasn’t going to do either of those things.
Atticus (steele Protectors 2) Page 1
