Like Arrows (Cedar Tree #6) (9 page)

M
al

"I want to put protection on her."

After only a brief conversation right after I pulled Kim out of the closet at the office, I called Gus back to give him the complete report.

"Absolutely. Any thoughts?" Gus easily agrees.

"I can do it," I say, volunteering myself.

"You? What about Neil? Or calling someone else in?"

"Neil will be busy with the flash drive Drew is gonna drop of this morning and I don't want to bring a stranger in. She's skittish enough as it is."

In the background I hear the water turn off, indicating Kim is out of the shower. I keep my eye on the hallway, but I don't hear anything else. I figure she's gone to bed. Good.

"I'm also going to try and convince her to come to Cedar Tree with me. It'll be safer for her. At least until we know what or who we're dealing with."

"How do you propose to do that?" Gus sounds amused. He's thinking of the women in our circle, all of who are forces to be reckoned with and not easily swayed to do anything against their will. But he doesn't know Kim—doesn't know she's different, softer, more submissive. Although, she has shown herself to be a tiger a few times.

"I'll bring her for breakfast to the diner later this morning. Maybe meet us there? We'll see if we can't convince her."

"Sure. I'll bring Emma, make it seem less like we're strong-arming her."

That elicits a chuckle from me. "Hell, Emma will do all the convincing for us."

"I'm thinking my wife can handle the task. Gonna grab a few hours of shuteye. See you around nine?"

"Yup. Later."

Just as I hang up, I hear the dog, which's been lying at my feet, whimper. When I scratch his head, he briefly flicks his eyes over to me but quickly turns them back to the hallway, where his mistress is sleeping. Again he lets out a whimper, and I find myself focussing on any sounds coming from the bedroom. Sure enough, a very soft, very low keening filters through.

Dammit.

The moment I get up from the couch, the dog is up as well, already moving toward the bedroom.

"Boo. Stay."

He stops right outside her door, where I can hear her soft cries more clearly. Gently pushing open the door, I see her shape curled in a ball under the covers. No movement, only the tortured sounds are evidence that she's not sleeping peacefully. It occurs to me she hasn't cried at all yet, other than a few sniffles. And other than the two times I ended up with her in my arms, she's also not shown much of a visible reaction to the scene at her office. I'd seen the physical effects in her shivering and later when I cleaned the bathroom after she'd thrown up, but no real emotional response.

I slowly approach the bed, not wanting to disturb her, yet at the same time, wanting to make the gut wrenching wailing stop. Carefully toeing off my boots, I lay back on the covers and roll over to fit myself against her back, curving my arm around her waist. Her hair, still damp from the shower, smells of vanilla.

Slowly the painful sounds subside and her breathing settles into a deep rhythm.

With the sun steadily rising outside, I find myself drifting off.

K
im

I wake up to Boo's wet nose rubbing my face and am surprised to find my bedroom bright with sunlight. I don't even register the arm tucked around me until I try to slide out of bed.

What the hell?

"Go back to sleep," a familiar deep voice sounds from my neck.

This has the opposite effect and in less than a second, I'm standing next to my bed, looking down on a sleep-rumpled Malachi in my bed.
Oh my God.

"What are you... what happened... nothing happened, right? Oh God." I'm rambling but I can't stop myself. Embarrassment makes way for irritation when I hear Mal's deep chuckle. "It's not funny! What are you doing in my bed?" I emphasize my words by planting my fists on my hips, glaring down at the dark-haired God in my bed. Fuck. His hair is loose and draping over my pillows.
My
pillows.

"Relax. You were restless earlier, crying in your sleep, and I just held you until you slept peacefully again. Must've fallen asleep myself," he says, pushing himself off the bed, looking way too gorgeous for my liking. Certainly too gorgeous for my bedroom. I catch his eyes scanning me from top to bottom and back up again, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I'm suddenly aware of my disheveled state. My face must be blotchy if I had been crying. A hand inadvertently lifts to my hair, which I can feel is a bird's nest this morning. Courtesy of having gone to sleep without blow-drying it straight first. Not to mention the cotton nighty I am just now remembering wearing to bed. I look down and see my treacherous nipples poking through the thin material. I slap my hands over my breasts and my eyes shoot up to meet his dark, smoldering ones.
Oh hell.
One side of his mouth twitches as if he heard me say that out loud, and he lazily scans my body up and down.

"I'll take care of the dog and make us some coffee. You'd better get some clothes on," he says in a rough voice, before picking his boots up off the floor and walking out the room.

I dart into the bathroom where my reflection in the mirror stops me in my tracks. Every curve and dimple is clearly outlined against the backdrop of sunlight, which makes my nightie damn near invisible.

I think I'll drown myself in the bathtub.

Instead I take care of business, brush my teeth, try to tame my hair to no avail, and pull some yoga pants and an oversized sweater out of my dresser. It doesn't matter. He's seen me at my worst and seeing how fast he ran out of the room, it's pretty clear he got a disgusting eye-full.

"How do you take your coffee?" His question hits me the moment I walk into the kitchen where Boo is already munching on breakfast.

"How many scoops did you give him?" I want to know, as I control Boo's diet very carefully. The intestinal tract of a large canine like him is easily unbalanced, and having cleaned up the results often enough, I shiver at the thought of another explosive episode.

"One to start. I figured you probably have him pretty regulated and didn't want to rock the boat. I had big dogs myself growing up. Now as for your coffee?"

Hmmm, very considerate and informed, and Boo clearly adores him. I have to suppress the light fluttering in my stomach.

"Babe," his voice insists and I look up at him a bit confused. "Coffee? How do you take it?"

Right.

"Black."

I actually like a little squirt of hazelnut creamer in my coffee. It gives it just enough sweetness to satisfy me and I've learned that it has less calories than sugar and regular cream, but I won't ever drink it like that in public.

"Then why do you have this in your fridge?" He's waving the bottle of fat free Hazelnut Coffee-Mate in front of me.

"For when my friend Kerry comes by," I lie boldfaced. "And for special occasions," I add lamely.

"Let's call it a special occasion then," he says, squirting a good amount in my coffee.

I want to refuse, but the cream is already in the coffee and the soothing fragrance makes my mouth water. Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the cup from him and take a deep swallow.
Ahhh. So good.

Then he pours a little in his cup and takes a sip. His face scrunches up and he immediately tosses the content of his cup in the sink. I can't help it, I burst out laughing. That little smile which never quite seems to break through tugs at the corners of his mouth as he watches me laugh out loud.

"That stuff is disgusting," he says, putting the offending bottle back in the fridge. "I'll take real coffee anytime."

"Real coffee?" I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Absolutely. Just beans and water. Real coffee." He pours himself a fresh cup and takes a hearty sip. "Better."

"So I'm guessing you don't ever treat yourself to Starbucks then?" I tease.

"Didn't say that. I'm partial to their Sumatra blend but without all the frills. Just black."

"I like that one too, but in a skinny café au lait," I confess with a little smile.

"What does that even mean? I hear that shit at the counter when I go in. Grown fucking men order that stuff. Don't get it."

That fluttery feeling in my stomach? Back again.

Mal tosses his coffee back and heads for the door. "Just grabbing a change of clothes from the truck."

I busy myself feeding Boo the rest of his breakfast until he walks back in.

"Gonna have a quick shower before we head over to the diner."

He's halfway down the hall when his words finally register. "Wait. What?"

"Breakfast at the diner. You have dick all in your fridge, as far as crap that is actually fit for people to eat, and we gotta have breakfast. Hence the diner. I won't be long." And with that he disappears down the hall.

Glaring at his retreating back, I try to come up with a retort, but before I have a chance, he disappears into the bathroom. Still seething, I decide to take Boo for his morning constitutional. Gives me a chance to cool of and figure out a way out of breakfast.

M
al

Jesus
.

The whole time I'm bantering in the kitchen about fucking coffee with the woman whose baggy clothes do nothing to erase the image of her tempting rounded shape clearly outlined against her little nightie, I'm barely able to contain the raging hard-on behind my zipper. Worrying that the massive bulge in my jeans would send her into hiding, I keep myself covered behind the counter. Then she starts laughing and fuck if I don't get harder at the sight of her perfect little teeth, her neck arched back and the light, soft sound of her amusement.

The shower is a good hiding place, but when I grab the bar of soap on the edge of the tub, the scent of vanilla hits my nostrils stirring my blood anew. My hands slick with suds, I grab my cock and slowly pump up and down its length. Fuck if I know what she does to me, but I have to get myself back under control. If it means rubbing one out in her shower, so be it.

With her scent surrounding me, the sound of her laughing still ringing in my ears and the vision of her body barely concealed by that thin nightgown, it doesn't take long for the familiar tingling to start at the base of my spine. The memory of those twin hard peaks, slightly darker than her pale skin, poking in my direction is enough to have me coming violently in my hand. An inadvertent groan escapes my mouth.
Fuck
.

Feeling marginally better, I put on the same jeans but a clean shirt and socks, sit on the side of her bed and pull my boots up. It hits me that the house is too quiet. The kitchen is empty, the coffee cups draining in the dish rack and neither Kim nor the damn dog are there. She didn't... Lifting up the lid of the trunk where I saw her grab his leash last night, confirms my suspicions. The little fool’s gone out alone to walk the dog. Maybe I need to be a little more forceful in explaining the potential danger she could be in.

-

"I
was fine," she complains, sitting beside me in the truck. "Boo wouldn't let anyone hurt me. He's very protective."

I was standing at the end of the driveway when she came walking up the path leading to the mesa beyond. Without a word, I grab her by the arm and lead her back into the house, where I take Boo off his leash and hand over her purse, keeping the house keys that were on the counter to myself.

"Wait," she cries out when I'm about to lock the door. "I have to change my boots."

I look at her feet and see nothing wrong with the rubber boots she's wearing, but the stubborn look on her face has me give in. Whatever. I'll never understand women. We're just going to the diner, for Christ's sake. Kim is grumbling as she laces up a pair of low black boots, which I have to admit, even without much of a heel, look a lot sexier than the rubber green monstrosities she was wearing.

I just pull into the street when she starts defending herself. I haven't trusted myself to speak yet, but when she says Boo will protect her again, I snort. Loudly. That earns me a dirty look.

"It's daylight out, Mal. Nothing's gonna happen in daylight."

"You're not serious, right?" I bite off. "The people who shot out the lock on your office last night, and murdered your boss in cold blood, would not be deterred by a little bit of daylight. Especially not when you venture out on the mesa, where no one would hear your cries for help. That is, if you'd even have time to cry out. Fucking hell, woman. Do you have a death wish?" I know I'm yelling in the confines of the cab and I can see her shrinking away in my peripheral vision, but I can't stop myself.

"But Boo—" she tries once more when I cut her off.

"Can't stop a bullet. First thing they'd do is shoot your dog. Then what?"

Ah, fuck. My gut clenches when I hear her sniffle and when I look over, she's turned her body to the side window to hide herself.

First chance I get, I pull off into a gas station, driving around the back of the building and put the truck in park. Then I reach over, unclip her seatbelt and pull her resistant body over the center console and onto my lap.