One Night with her Bodyguard (5 page)

She
told him goodnight and went into the bedroom. Roger would sleep in the small
bedroom over the garage, and Pete and Michael wouldn’t sleep at all.

She
drew herself a bath and poured in some lavender honey bath oil. Then she soaked
for a long time in the sudsy water, thinking about Michael and how she’d
somehow grown into her feelings for him. It hadn’t really happened all of a
sudden—she just hadn’t been aware of the change until her feelings had
completed the transformation.

She
wondered how he felt about her.

He
cared about her as a person—she was sure of it. If she hadn’t realized it
before today, then she would know it now for sure. But whether his feelings
were at all like hers was impossible to judge, since he masked his real self
behind his stoic professionalism.

He’d
seemed to feel
something
for her just now, though, until she’d withdrawn
in nervousness.

She
suddenly remembered he’d been stroking her hair as she’d slept on his lap on
the drive here.

She
stretched in the tub, reveling in that memory, as blurry as it was.

He
wouldn’t have caressed her that way if she’d just been a job to him.

There
was something else, something just on the edge of her consciousness.

She
cleared her mind and tried to remember.

He’d
been hard, she realized with a rush of excitement.

He’d
been aroused when her hand had unconsciously rested on his groin in the car.
She’d felt him before he’d moved her hand away.

He
must be attracted to her. At least a little.

He’d
told her at the party that, if she stopped hiding and revealed who she really
was, anyone would adore her.

She
suddenly knew what she was going to do. It would take all the courage she
possessed, but she could do it.

She
was shy, but the only way to get what she wanted was to stop hiding.

Not
from everyone, but at least from Michael.

She
trusted him, and it would be worth it.

She
got out of the tub and dried off. The first thing she did was check the
nightstand. She’d dated a guy earlier that year for a couple of months until
they’d both realized it wasn’t going to work because he kept getting frustrated
with her introversion. They’d come here once for the weekend before they’d
broken up. There was still a box of condoms in the drawer, and she checked the
date on the box to make sure they hadn’t expired.

Since
that was covered, she searched through the dresser drawers. She always kept
some clothes here, but she didn’t have anything remotely sexy. She would feel
absolutely ridiculous in a racy outfit anyway, since it just wasn’t her style.
She had a lot of baggy pajamas and sweats—but none of that would work at all.

The
only nightgown she had in the cabin was a white cotton one she wore when it was
really hot in the summer. It had thin lace straps and cinched under the breasts
with a ribbon. It looked too young and innocent for her purposes, but it would
be better than flannel pajamas.

She
pulled it on over her head and lathered on some lotion that smelled like the
bath oil she used.

She
brushed her hair and tried to fight back her breathless nerves.

Other
women did this all the time. It wasn’t wrong or inappropriate to let a man know
she was interested. Just because she’d never done it before, didn’t mean it
wasn’t worth doing now.

She
had to be brave.

If
she stalled any further, she would change her mind completely, so she made
herself walk out of her bedroom and into the living room.

Michael
was sitting on the leather couch, looking at something on a tablet and drinking
a cup of coffee. He’d taken off his tie and the jacket to his suit and had
pushed his sleeves up to his elbow.

She’d
never seen him so undone, and the sight made her stomach clench in desire. He
glanced up and almost jumped to his feet when he saw her.

“Is
everything all right?” he asked, his eyes scanning her body the way they always
did, assessing her condition.

They
lingered a little longer than usual on her legs and breasts, and she tried to
take heart in that very small sign of interest.

“Yes,”
she managed to say, her voice sticking in her throat.

“What
did you need? I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“I
didn’t.” She suddenly felt absolutely stupid. She’d only ever dated very
outgoing, assertive men who weren’t intimidated by her quietness or her father,
so they’d always made the initial moves. She’d never been in this situation
before, and she wondered how other women managed to pull it off without feeling
like a fool.

Of
course, she also wondered how women managed to be the center of attention
without trying—talking to people easily and naturally—so there were clearly a
lot of social interactions she just wasn’t cut out for.

Having
absolutely no idea what to say, she went to sit down on the couch. Michael sat
back down beside her.

His
eyes searched her face. “I thought you might need to be alone, after today.”

She
normally would have wanted to be alone. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into
her tonight, and she was starting to think her spontaneous decision had been a
big mistake. Since she’d trapped herself by coming out here, though, she
managed to say, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Are
you nervous about the stalker?” He was still peering at her as if he were
trying to figure out what was going on in her mind. “If it would make you feel
safer, you can stay out here with me.”

She
nodded, since at least that got closer to what she wanted.

“You’ll
get too cold wearing that. Run put something else on.”

She
glanced down at her little gown and saw that her nipples had tightened—from the
cold or something else—and their outline was clearly visible through the light
fabric. “I don’t want to put anything else on.”

She
should have been able to make the statement sound sexier than she had. She was
a total flop at being seductive.

“Claire,”
Michael began, his voice taking on that thick tone she remembered from earlier.
“I know you have the right to wear whatever you want. But your looking like
that makes it very difficult for me, so I’d appreciate it if you could cover up
a little more.”

She
stared at him, suddenly hopeful. And now she saw what she’d been too nervous to
notice before—a certain tension in his jaw and shoulders and a delicious
smolder in his eyes that he was dutifully trying to hide. “I didn’t think…I
didn’t think you even noticed how I looked.”

He
focused down at the tablet he’d set on the coffee table when she’d entered the
room. She could tell he was now trying to keep his eyes from slipping over to
her body. “You were wrong.”

She
was breathless with something other than nerves. She leaned closer and put a
hand on his chest, the way she had before in the car—when she’d thought he might
kiss her. “Well, since you brought it up, your looking like
that
makes
it very difficult for me.”

He
turned his head toward her with a jerk, and she saw his attempt to rein in his
desire was failing. “My looking like what?”

“Looking
like…like Michael.” She slid her hand up his chest, raising it to his face. She
stroked the rough skin of his jaw.

“Claire,”
he breathed, almost shaking with the visible effort it took to hold himself
back. “You should go back to your room.”

“I
don’t want to go back to my room.” She pulled her legs up beneath her so she
could get in a better position. Then she leaned forward until her lips were
just an inch from his. “I want to stay here with you.”

With
a rough groan, he pulled her into his arms and into a hungry kiss.

Her
body thrilled with pleasure as his arms tightened around her and his mouth
moved against hers with hard urgency. She tangled her fingers in his thick hair
and opened her mouth to the teasing of his tongue.

Trying
to get closer to him, to feel his big, hard body more fully, she straddled his
lap as the kiss deepened even more. Her body now pulsing with growing arousal,
she pressed her breasts against his chest and moaned into his mouth when she
felt one of his hands slide down to her bottom, cupping it possessively.

Her
head fell back when their mouths finally broke apart, and she gasped loudly as
his skillful mouth traced an erotic line down her exposed neck.

His
body was deliciously tight, and she loved how she could sense something deep
and intense coiled inside him, on the verge of releasing.

She
wanted to release it.

She
couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him. She stroked his broad shoulders, the
rippling muscles of his arms, the lean planes of his chest. All of it was
Michael. All of it was strong and hard and hot and absolutely unshakeable.

“Fuck,
Claire,” he murmured as he finally raised his head. His skin had broken out in
a sheen of perspiration. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“I
want
to do this.” She grabbed his head and pulled him into another kiss.

She
heard him make a deliciously low sound in his throat as his tongue tangled with
hers and one of his hands found the curve of her breast.

They
were both breathing raggedly when they pulled out of the kiss. He leaned his
forehead against hers. “This happens sometimes. It’s a natural response to a crisis
situation. You want this now, but—”

“It’s
not the crisis situation. I wanted to do this before I knew there was a real
danger.” She wriggled on his lap, her body desperate for friction.

In
her wriggling, she discovered something new. He was just as aroused as she was.
He was hard beneath the fabric of his pants.

She
started to grind herself against the bulge in his trousers until he released a helpless
groan. She’d never dreamed a man as controlled as Michael would respond to her
that way.

She
tried to kiss him again, but she was suddenly dislodged from his lap. He’d
picked her up and rolled her over onto the couch so he could heave himself to
his feet.

She
stared up at him, panting and disoriented. “Michael?”

“I’m
sorry,” he rasped, facing away from her and rubbing his face with one hand.
“I’m sorry, Claire. I should have stopped us sooner.”

“But…but
I wanted…” She felt like something heavy had fallen from the sky to flatten
her. To crush her.

“I’m
sorry. But it would be a mistake. We can’t do that.”

A
hot wave that wasn’t arousal swallowed her up. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry if I… I’m
sorry.”

“You
have nothing to be sorry about. It was my fault.”

It
hadn’t been his fault. It was her fault. She was the one who’d come on to him
so shamelessly. And he clearly didn’t want this to happen.

He
was attracted to her—that much was obvious—but he didn’t feel the same way she
did.

She
should have known better than to hope for it.

She
shut down for a few seconds, dropping her eyes, pulling herself inward, hiding.

Then
she stumbled to her feet. “I’m really sorry.”

Michael
started to respond. She heard him say, “Claire.” But she’d already withdrawn
into herself too much and now had to get away.

She
had to be alone.

She
had to somehow recover from this.

As
quickly as she could, she returned to her room and closed the door with a loud
click, shutting out Michael and the rest of the world.

The
walls of the room were a barrier she desperately needed.

She
curled up in a ball on the bed, and it was several minutes before she could let
go enough to even cry.

Claire had gotten
through her first wave of emotion and was lying on the bed, trying to convince
herself to pull it together—that this wasn’t really so bad—when she heard a
knock on her bedroom door.

Her
room was supposed to be safe. Her room was supposed to keep out the world. She
couldn’t bring herself to respond immediately.

“Claire.”
Michael’s voice, just on the other side of the door. “Claire, can I come in?”

His
voice sounded strange—tired, stretched, not controlled. It upset her unduly,
and she had to fight off another surge of emotion.

“Claire,
are you all right?”

She
could tell, from the anxious resonance of his tone, that he would barge in if
she didn’t say anything. “I’m fine.”

She
thought she’d sounded okay, that she hadn’t given away her state of mind, but
evidently she was wrong.

“Please
don’t cry. I’m really sorry. Can I come in?”

She
couldn’t speak immediately. Then she sat up straight in bed when she saw the
door open.

Her
face worked desperately as she tried to hide her emotions from Michael, who
stood in the doorway of the room. “I said I’m okay,” she forced out.

He
walked over to the bed, his expression torn with some sort of strong feeling. No
trace of anything stoic or impassive now. “Shit, Claire. I’m so sorry. I
totally blew this whole thing. I never meant to hurt you.”

“It’s
okay.” She managed to compose her face and voice. “It’s not your fault. I’m really
fine. I can handle it if someone doesn’t want me.”

It
hurt though. Even just saying the words. It hurt so much her chest ached with
it.

She’d
thought for a short time that Michael might want her—know her—for who she
really was.

His
face twisted inexplicably. “You think I don’t want you?” He reached out and
took her face in both of his hands. “Claire, you have no idea how much—”

His
words were interrupted by the sound of a high-pitched blaring that filled the
whole cabin.

Without
hesitation, Michael regained his feet and ran out to the living area. Claire
stumbled after him. He’d already picked up his tablet and his gun when she
reached him.

“Someone’s
on the north side of the property,” he muttered, checking the screen of the
tablet. He’d shifted in just an instant into crisis mode, completely alert and
primed for action, his earlier emotional distraction forgotten.

Claire
couldn’t shift quite so quickly. Confused and disoriented, she hugged her arms
to her chest.

Pete
ran in through the front door of the cabin, his gun in his hand.

“Get
back in your room,” Michael ordered her curtly. “Call your dad and don’t hang
up with him until I get back.” He turned to Pete. “Stay with her. No one gets
in.”

When
she didn’t move fast enough, Michael pushed her back into the bedroom. Pete
took his position in the doorway, and then Michael disappeared out the front
door.

Claire
was shaking all over as she reached for her phone and dialed her dad. It was
late, but he must not have been asleep because he answered on the second ring.

“Hey,
is everything all right?”

“I
don’t know.” Her voice was wobbly.

Her
father’s voice changed immediately. “What’s going on?”

“There’s
someone on the property. Michael went to check it out.”

“But
Pete’s with you?”

“Yes,
Pete’s here with me.” She took an uneven breath, suddenly terrified about the
idea of Michael out there with a psychotic person. He was always meticulously
careful about her safety, but he might not be as vigilant about his own safety.

What
if something happened to him?

“Is
there something else?”

She
swallowed over a knot of fear. “No. I’m just scared. He’s out there all by
himself. What if—”

“No
one is as good at this sort of thing as Michael. You know that.”

“Yeah.”

“I
picked him out on purpose because he’s the best—so nothing would happen to
you.”

“I
know.” She lay on her side on the bed and curled up in a ball, the phone at her
ear. “But what about him?”

“He’ll
be fine. Everything will be fine.”

“Yeah.”

She
couldn’t seem to say anything else, and her father evidently understood. She
kept the phone to her ear as she waited, hearing nothing but her father’s soft
breathing.

She
wanted to go outside and look for Michael. She wanted to go out and help him.
But she wouldn’t dream of being so foolish. She didn’t have the skill to help
in any way and, if she tried, she would likely only get herself hurt. Or
killed.

Or
get Michael killed.

She
wasn’t sure what she would do if that happened. He’d been part of her life for
so long—and he meant so much more to her than she’d ever realized before.

Even
if he didn’t want to have sex with her, she couldn’t stand for him not to be
healthy and safe.

After
about ten minutes, her anxiety was shifting into panic. “It’s taking a really
long time,” she said into the phone. She sat up and looked over at the doorway.
“Pete, do you think you should go check and see if he’s all right?”

“Not
under any circumstances,” her father exclaimed.

“There’s
no way I’m leaving you alone,” Pete said at exactly the same time. He seemed to
notice something on her face and tapped on his earpiece. “He checked in a
couple of minutes ago. He was fine. Still looking. There’s a lot of property
here to search.”

“Oh.
Good.”

So
all Claire could do was wait.

She
ended up waiting almost forty minutes. Pete let her know every time Michael
check in, which helped a lot. It was only really bad the last fifteen minutes,
when Pete didn’t hear anything from Michael.

But
finally Pete said, “He’s got him. He’s got him.” He left the doorway to walk
toward the front of the cabin.

Claire
sat up immediately. Her father must have heard what was happening because he said,
“Don’t go anywhere. Don’t do anything until Michael gets back.”

“I
won’t.”

A
few seconds later, Michael appeared in her bedroom. Pete must have taken charge
of the stalker because Michael was alone.

She
let out a little sob of relief at the sight of his familiar, handsome face and
strong body. There was dirt and sweat on his skin and on his clothes, but she
reached out for him instinctively when he came over and sat on the edge of the
bed.

He
took the phone from her hand and put one of his arms around her as she burrowed
against his side.

“We’ve
got him, sir,” Michael told her father on the phone.  “Thomas Waverly. He
worked for the catering company we used for the party last night.”

Her
father must have said something, but Claire couldn’t hear what it was. She
didn’t even care at the moment, since Michael’s arm was holding her so tightly
she couldn’t breathe.

She
wanted it. Needed it.

Michael
and her father had a brief conversation. From the side she heard, Waverly must
have worked briefly for the studio before he’d gotten the job with the catering
company. Then they made plans about what to do next.

The
next stretch of time passed in a blur. Michael hung up with her father and
called the police to arrange to bring Waverly down to be arrested. They had to
wake Roger up, so he could drive Pete and Waverly into town to the station.

Claire
just waited through the logistics, curled up in bed—so overwhelmed with emotion
that she was afraid she might actually pass out from it. All her life, with any
strong emotion, she’d felt the same way—as if she had to pull it in to contain
it, since her feelings were too deep to channel, too powerful to express.

She’d
always secretly wondered whether people who could express emotions easily
didn’t feel them as deeply as she did. Rationally, she knew that wasn’t right,
but it was the only way she could understand it.

Finally,
after the others left, Michael came back into her room.

She
sat up again, trembling with something that wasn’t fear. “I didn’t need to go
talk to the police too?”

He
stood next to the bed. “Not tonight. You’ll have to talk to them tomorrow, but
we can schedule a time and you can get a lawyer to go with you.”

“Oh.
Okay. So everything is all right for now?”

“Yes.
Everything is all right.” He didn’t leave, but he also didn’t move. He stood
completely motionless and kept gazing at her, something unspeakably deep in his
eyes.

“Okay.”
She was still shaking, and it was visible in her hands, audible in her voice.

 “It’s
all over now.”

“Okay.”

“Claire,
honey,” he murmured hoarsely, “You’re still trembling. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s
wrong.” It wasn’t. She was just feeling too much—all the emotions centered on
the man in front of her.

“Then
tell me what you’re thinking.”

She
cleared her throat and made herself say it. “Michael is the warrior angel,
standing in the gap for the hosts of God.”

His
face softened with something she knew—she
knew
—was powerful emotion.  Like
her, he couldn’t always express it. “In that little scenario, are you God
then?”

She
giggled at his dry, fond tone, but her voice broke as she admitted, “No. God
would never have been as scared as I was.”

“I
would never have let anything happen to you.”

“I
know that. I was scared for
you
.”

And
that was what broke the shuddering tension between them.

With
a burst of thick sound, he reached down for her and pulled her up into a kiss.
She grabbed for him urgently, clawing at his shoulders as feeling and sensation
overwhelmed her, finally unleashed.

She
managed to pull him into the bed with her, and they couldn’t seem to stop
kissing. He was hot and heavy on top of her, and she tugged at his shirt until
she’d managed to untuck it. She slid her hands along the tight skin of his
back.

His
mouth devoured her, but hers was just as ravenous, just as needy.

“Fuck,
Claire,” he muttered, finally breaking the kiss but only to mouth his way along
her jaw and down to the throbbing pulse in her neck. “You’re so sweet. So
beautiful.”

She
whimpered in pleasure—at both the words and the sensations—and then she arched
up helplessly when he lowered his head even further and took a nipple in his
mouth through the fabric of her gown.

Already
aching with arousal, she tried to wrap one of her legs around his hip, writhing
beneath him as he fondled and teased.

When
the sensations were almost too much, she tugged at his hair until he lifted his
head. His skin was damp and his blue eyes intensely hot.

He
just stared down at her, as if he couldn’t look away.

 She
used his distraction to grab his shirt and start undoing the buttons. He helped
her with it until she could drop it over the side of the bed, and then he
pulled his t-shirt off over his head, letting her rub her palms over the
delicious texture of his chest.

He
wiped at his face with the back of his forearm. “Shit. I’m going to get you all
sweaty and dirty. I should have taken a shower first.”

A
ripple of amusement overtook her, a needed relief from the intensity, and she
laughed helplessly and pulled him into a hug. “I definitely couldn’t wait for
you to take a shower. I can’t wait at all. I want you now.” To prove her point,
she rubbed her arousal shamelessly against his hip.

He
kissed her again, holding her head in place with one hand. When their lips
parted, he murmured, “I want you too. You have no idea how much.”

“I
can feel a little bit of how much.” She managed to get her hand between their
bodies and press against the bulge of his erection.

“Just
a little bit, huh?” Despite his ironic tone, his breath hitched audibly as she
caressed him.

“Maybe
a
little
more than a little bit.”

He
chuckled as he kissed her, but their embrace quickly spiraled out of control
again.

As
urgency took over, she fumbled with his trousers until she’d undone them and then
tried to push them down over his hips. He was too distracted by trying to kiss
her and pull her gown over her head simultaneously to help her very much so she
had some trouble getting his clothes off. She managed eventually.

Both
of them naked at last, their embrace grew even hungrier, hotter, the feel of
his skin against hers a delicious form of torture.  When he lowered his mouth
to her breasts again, she gasped, “Please, I need you now, Michael.”