Guarded Heart (10 page)

His body operated on instinct and need. He hauled her hips
forward, positioning himself at her entrance and then thrust with one clean
motion. She gasped around his tongue—a feminine noise he would never get enough
of.

He stood, buried deep within her, soaking in the knowledge
that he’d made her his in some small way. Finally. She stiffened around him—all
motion infinitely obvious when he was balls-deep inside her.

“Condom,” she said into his mouth.

“
Now?
I don’t have any diseases.” How could she think
he’d expose her to anything like that?

“And I’m
not
getting pregnant with a pureblood you
can discard. Condom or get off me.”

He hesitated, an image of her lifting his child into her
arms tightening his chest.

“Morgan.” Her impatience snapped him out of his fantasy. “Go
before I cool down and realize the monumental mistake I’m making.”

“It’s not a mistake.” He tore himself from her nonetheless.
Morgan tramped nude into the kitchen where a foil packet awaited him in the
pocket of his slacks. He ripped it open and rolled the rubber over himself on
the trip back.

The water turned off in the other room before he returned.
Brook stood with her fingers splayed on the glass door, head bent and shoulders
slumped.

She’d realized the monumental mistake. He didn’t need an
empathic link to note the regret in her pose.

He grazed a palm beneath her elbow. Her breath hitched.
Morgan reached for her chin, pulling it up. She shifted toward him with a fluid
motion that only highlighted the dewy sheen on her skin. They locked gazes for
one shining second before she smashed herself against him from her lips down to
the smooth skin of her sex. Brook rubbed her rigid peaks along his chest and
deepened their kiss. It was all the sign he needed to continue.

He guided his cock to her passage, grinning at her sweet
inhalation when his tip pressed to her opening. She surged forward. Morgan
clamped down on a curse as her pussy tightened around him. Slowly he withdrew,
hissing through each inch of her silky muscles. He exhaled on the return trip
then began anew.

She tossed a leg over his thigh and clawed him closer.
Morgan plunged forward, conquering more of her body. Her uncharacteristic
whimper tugged at his heart. She coiled her other leg around his hip. Morgan
automatically gripped her to keep her aloft.

He had her. Completely. She’d entrusted herself into his
embrace. While that was perhaps the sweetest thing she could have done, it was
also the sexiest. Morgan faced the door and dropped to his knees, taking her
with him. He lowered himself to the fuzzy bath mat without releasing her hips.

Her eyes went wide when she found herself straddling him on
the floor. A bare moment passed while she considered the new pose before she
took advantage of it.

Morgan’s groan echoed between the narrow walls as she
bounced atop him, shimmering with sweat and pink with desire. He squeezed her
breast in one palm and her ass in the other, etching the feel of her in his
memory even as he memorized the visual.

The urge to speak sweet words was great. But this was Brook.
Speaking the words would commit them to reality. He could pretend he wasn’t
besotted with her—that he wouldn’t die a little when she solved his case and
left him—as long as he didn’t have to admit it aloud.

His body was another story. Sex on the floor of the bathroom
shouldn’t have been this good. And it wouldn’t be. Not without Brook.

The interior bathroom lacked windows. That made it the most
secure space in the cabin. Shamefully Brook had recognized that when she’d left
the door open and stripped.

Morgan had taunted her, dared her. She’d been justified
returning the favor. However her failure to stop the dare from escalating
wasn’t justified.

Disappointment threatened to consume desire. Brook stilled
and caught her breath. Beneath her Morgan thrust and squeezed. He rolled his
hips, catching her G-spot on his next motion. Pleasure whizzed through her
thighs, weakening them. A strangled noise stalled in her throat. She smacked
her palms atop his chest for leverage.

Morgan released her breast and dropped the hand to her
pelvis. His next motion—a sinful clit massage—extinguished any lingering
regret. Brook emptied her mind of all thoughts and concerns. She worked up to
her original pace, ignoring the burn in her legs. Eyes closed and muscles
working overtime, Brook chased the elusive peak.

Slick skin slapping against slick skin echoed in the narrow
space. Riding him without having to
see
him should have made it easier
to distance herself. But his cool scent enveloped her, invading her thoughts
and marking her memories. No matter how many times she tried to blank his face
from her mind’s eye, his gorgeous features returned the moment he voiced his
pleasure with a moan.

Both of Morgan’s hands slipped behind her back as he sat
up—an embrace that was somehow more intimate than the sex itself. His breath
puffed against her cheek and aroma seized her senses twice as powerfully. Brook
kept her eyes closed until he lifted her to her knees. Shocked that he’d
stop
in the middle of fucking, Brook snapped to attention.

Morgan balanced her upright while he reached for a towel.
One-handed, he folded it in half and then half again, setting it on the bath
rug beneath him.
Had he been in pain?
Maybe she should have gone easier
on him.

A half-second later, Morgan tugged her thigh out, sending her
onto her back. He bent her legs at the knees and settled between them. Morgan
positioned his cock, sliding in as if there’d been no break. Two leisurely
motions were all the warning she got before he increased to a pounding pace.
The towel and bath rug cushioned her from the worst of the tile floor. She
stared up into his glittering eyes as he drove into her, fascinated with the
man who was at once considerate and rough. This wasn’t at all how she’d
imagined he’d fuck.

Morgan wrapped her legs around him for a closer fit and then
increased his pace even as he stroked a hand between their bodies to her
sensitive breasts. He proved a talented partner with every flick, rub and
thrust. But his kiss was her undoing. Morgan stirred more than her insides when
his tongue glided along hers. She slid over the final edge, shouting into his
mouth as the dam broke inside her and pleasure exploded outward. The flood
burst against her eyelids and out of her lungs. If Morgan told her she’d shot
flames from her fingertips, she’d believe him.

Brook went slack against the floor. He gripped her hips in
both hands and broke into a spate of thrusts. Seconds later he came with a low
groan.

Morgan collapsed atop her shuddering chest. The bathroom was
silent save for their heavy breathing. And her inner monologue of regret.

No matter how much it hurt later, Morgan would never regret
what they’d done together. She thought him a sentimental fool. About this she
was right.

What they’d shared had been beautiful—a fluid meshing of
souls. Brook had been his for a fleeting time. He would cherish the memory
forever.

“You’ll really need that shower now,” he said lamely.

Brook popped to her feet beside him. She didn’t speak or
look at him. Though she did turn on the water.

Along with the curling of steam, remorse flooded the
room—hers. Most definitely not his. Though there was a pang of guilt for making
her break her rules, he wasn’t sorry. She’d seduced him every bit as much as
he’d seduced her.

He leaned onto one hip. “Fortunately that shower is big
enough for the both of us.”

“We’re not showering together,” she said, terse and cool.

“Why?” Morgan wanted to hear the answer from her lips.

“That shouldn’t have happened. If we shower together, it
might happen again.”

“It
will
happen again.” His assurance was firm and
edged with anger. Morgan gestured at his erect cock. “All I needed was the
suggestion of sex in the shower.”
With her.

“Bravo for having a healthy witch’s physiology but as I
said, you’ll be showering alone.” Though her drawl gave the hint of
indifference, still she refused to look at him.

He’d thought her the bravest person he knew—standing up
against all adversity. This reaction of hers was cowardly.

He got to his feet. “Brook, it’s already done. We can’t make
it any worse.”

Without a word or even a sound of disapproval, she walked
out on him.

Morgan stared at the empty corridor, listening as her feet
slapped on the stairs to the second floor. A second stream of water began. His
jaw set.

Brook scrubbed the heat off her skin but his touch was
indelible. How had this happened? Morgan Seaton’s
kiss
should not have
torn her apart from the inside!

It’s already done. We can’t make it any worse.

She gave a mirthless laugh beneath the water spray. It was
done but it could get
far
worse. Brook needed out of the safe house
before that happened.

Exhaling a healing breath, she closed her eyes…and imagined
the rivulets wiggling down her back were Morgan’s fingers. Her teeth gnashed.

No.
She’d never fantasized about real individuals.
The faceless figure of her imagination had always gotten her off.

Now all she pictured was Morgan. What had he done to her?
Was this high-level manipulation he’d snuck under her finely tuned senses?

Morgan was far too honorable to ever engage in anything that
horrible.

Though he wasn’t too honorable to break the Rangers’ rules
and go against the contract they’d signed. But she couldn’t be angry with him,
not really. When it came down to it,
she
was the professional. Ranger
regulation was her problem, not his. This was her fault.

So why now?

Why hadn’t they been drawn to each other during any of the
numerous times they’d been forced together over the years? She’d improved her
lot in life a great deal over the decades but surely he wasn’t concerned with
that. And while she recognized she’d changed a good deal, she’d never expected
to change enough for Morgan’s taste.

One thought overshadowed the questions flying through her
mind, one she was resistant to entertain—how could she be falling for the worst
possible partner?

In a perfect world with no rules and no murder plots, they’d
still clash wills at every turn. They were too different—Brook with her
realistic outlook and Morgan with his rose-colored view on life.

Not to mention in the
real
world she’d be called back
to the Sierra Nevadas as soon as she resolved Morgan’s problems. A home life
was impossible for a Ranger. No doubt Morgan still secretly wanted children—his
own brood living in that picket-fenced house she’d always imagined he’d have by
now. She was the last person who could share his dream.

But fate didn’t care about incompatibilities and dreams.

Brook slid down the tile onto her ass. It was already done.
They couldn’t make it any worse. Because one more kiss and she’d lose the only
part of herself she couldn’t guard from Morgan Seaton.

* * * * *

Morgan sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his
hands. Though he’d showered, the phantom scent of Brook lingered. She’d been
evasive, spending more time outside the cabin than in. When she’d finally come
inside, she’d avoided the TV room in favor of the bedrooms upstairs.

He’d had his pick of rooms with thick linens now covering
the windows. He’d picked the middle size, citing anyone who attacked would
assume he’d choose the master suite. Brook had merely nodded and then walked
out. Apparently there was no rule about sleeping on the floor of the client’s
bedroom while in a safe house.

The longer she went without broaching the subject of what
had passed between them, the more his disappointment grew. The Brook he’d known
wouldn’t have avoided conflict. Would the situation have been different if she
wasn’t working for him and also toward her Master-level status?

Perhaps Morgan needed to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Her avoidance could be an effort to maintain civility. But if that were true
he’d have to acknowledge another factor—that her regret might have nothing to
do with breaking rules. He couldn’t accept that.

A long sigh slipped from him.

Just beyond the wall she slept. On a
bed
. He’d heard
the frame creak beneath her weight and several thuds of the headboard hitting
the wall. He could have joined her.

He still could.

Morgan glanced at the barrier, picturing what she’d look
like. Stiff as a board or posed as if in meditation? He’d not had the guts to
look at her when she’d rested on his floor. But that had been before she’d
responded like a woman desperate for his touch.

An erection threatened to make itself known as he recalled
her riding him masterfully. He reached down but hesitated inches above his new
cotton sleep pants.

No. He was tired of pleasuring himself.

Morgan would have none until Brook came to her senses. Even
if he had to nudge her there.

* * * * *

The morning run around the lake had tired Brook without
giving the usual runner’s high.

How could it when I’ve discovered a new high?

She gritted her teeth at the wayward thought. Running had to
be the only high she experienced until she was on a new job.

Her phone vibrated against her hip. Fear spiked through her
that something had happened to Morgan while she’d been out. She dug it out.
Relief exploded from her when she noted Kyle’s name on the screen.

“Calder,” she said by way of a greeting as she started back
toward the cabin. Guilt pooled in her gut. Would her boss guess her failure
from her tone of voice?

“We found three bank withdrawals totaling thirty thousand
dollars attributed to a Water witch within the Lakes Region territory,” Kyle
said. “Name is Norman Foster. Does that ring any bells?”

“Yes. He isn’t part of the inner circle and all I sensed
from him was lechery both times I saw him. What’s the date on the withdrawals?”

“Three different days. The first transaction was last week.
The final was the day you arrived.”

The day two vanilla humans had turned up at Morgan’s lake
house. Strange that the witch or witches would actually pay assassins they’d
bullied into crime. Was this a setup? Or was Norman Foster truly the mastermind
behind Morgan’s troubles?

“I’ll check with Morgan for additional information,” she
said. “Can you get Foster’s mobile phone tracked?”

“Already on it. We’ll send you the link as soon as we get
it. How is your client?”

“Upset.” She pushed out a blustery breath.

What she didn’t add was that Morgan had
also
been
disillusioned on top of a heady kick of disappointment—emotions she’d sensed
over her empathic net. Kyle could never know that.

“That doesn’t sound good,” her boss said. “I know you’re not
the fuzziest of our Rangers but usually you don’t anger them quite as much as
you have this one.”

Alarm stiffened her spine. “Has he called you?”

“Not apart from that first day while you were listening in.”

Brook fractionally relaxed.

“So why is he upset?”

She cleared her throat. Their situation had already gone too
far. Perhaps Kyle could salvage it. “He seems to…have…feelings for me.”

There was no response at first. Brook froze, awaiting
some
sort of comment. He’d scold her for not demanding Morgan’s protection be
shifted to a neutral party earlier—it’s what
she’d
do if she were in his
place.

Kyle burst into raucous laughter instead. Brook scowled at
nothing in particular. The longer his mirth went on, the darker her expression
became. She resumed her walk back.

“I owe Judy twenty dollars,” Kyle said at last, interspersed
with small chuckles. “She thought for sure that was why we had so much trouble
initially.”

They were making bets? Wasn’t the Rangers’ corps supposed to
be all about professionalism?

Memories of the pranks they’d played all through basic
training reminded her that though they were grimly serious about protection,
Rangers did allow themselves levity now and again.

Which was why Brook bravely asked her next question. “Is
that why she booked us in this hidden cabin of love?”

“Why?” The answer was almost sly. “Has it worked?”

Brook stumbled to a stop. “You can’t be serious!”

“You’re going to find love and settle down eventually,” Kyle
said. “I’d rather have you where I want you.”

“Where do you want me?” She winced at the unintended innuendo
in her wary question.

“Master Dover is retiring next month. I need someone to
manage the Great Lakes Region.”

Did he mean
her
? She wasn’t worthy of that honor.
Brook primarily worked alone. She knew little about supervising people.

Perhaps it wasn’t an honor at all. Maybe she’d done
something so wrong that Kyle wanted to take her out of the field and this was
the least painful way to accomplish it.

Brook needed to know. “Are you implying you want to make me
a
desk
Ranger?”

“I’m implying I want to make you Master over a seven-state
region, Calder. Whether or not you shackle yourself to a desk is your
prerogative. But it would be a damn shame to lose you in the field.”

Brook
’
s hands
shook at the unbelievable opportunity. A promotion to Master level. Head of a
seven-state region.
And
still working jobs. It was more than she’d set
her sights on. It was the gig of a lifetime.

There was only one problem. “What about Morgan?”

“Seaton? You said he had feelings for you.”

“What if things go horribly wrong and the Master Ranger and
the regional high priest are at each other’s throats?”

“You both have proven you’re professional enough to work
together when needed.”

Had they proven that?

Brook faced the water’s edge. “Tell me this
entire
job hasn’t been an effort to fill your soon-to-be-vacant post.”

Kyle laughed. “I didn’t manufacture the threat but I did
take advantage of it.” He cleared his throat. “Find the culprit. Keep Seaton
safe without destroying the cabin with security measures. And the job is yours,
Calder, regardless of whether or not you strike up a deeper relationship with
the regional priest. I know you can handle it. Unfortunately I’ve got another
call I have to take. Be on the lookout for this Foster character.”

Brook stared at her phone incredulously. That had
sounded
like her boss’s voice but little he’d said had made sense. A promotion even if
there was no relationship? Had she misunderstood him or had he practically
ordered her to
woo
the regional high priest?

If Kyle meant what he’d said, then she would be stuck in the
same area as Morgan until another rare position opened up in the Ranger corps.
As the head over the Rangers in the area, she’d be obliged to work with Morgan
on occasion.
Were
they professional enough to make it work if this were
a brief affair?

A different, far more difficult question was raised now that
settling in one place became an option—could she be the settling kind? More
importantly, could she be happy in Morgan’s picket-fence future?

* * * * *

The scent of eggs and bacon roused Morgan from a fitful
sleep. He rubbed the crust from his eyes and stretched his limbs atop the
sheets. An image of Brook in a tiny towel flashed in his mind—the wardrobe he
now associated with bacon. It was an easy jump to the memory of what was beneath
the towel.

His erection was swift. Morgan groaned into the pillow. Now
he’d have to wait before going out or he’d be treated to several more hours of
evasion.

A little cold water and concentrated tooth brushing eased
his arousal. Morgan padded down the stairs, shirtless and foolishly hopeful for
more than bacon.

Brook worked efficiently at the counter flipping bacon,
stirring creamy eggs and brewing coffee in between reading something on her
smartphone. He stood observing her. The skinny jeans were familiar but the pink
baby doll T-shirt that clung to her curves was not. Morgan focused on the
coffeemaker before he was forced to hide again at the glimpse of tan midriff.

“What can you tell me about Norman Foster?”

He drew upright at the question she’d voiced without
turning—proof she’d known he was there.

“He’s a member of the Chicago coven,” Morgan said. “A friend
of my un—” He halted upon considering
why
she’d ask about a man out of
the blue.