Saving Sophie: Book Seven In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series (21 page)

He pulled off his shirt and kicked off his shoes. “Come lay down with me.”

She nodded, knowing it was finally time.

He eased her down, joining her, lying at her side the way he had in the hotel. “How’s this?”

She licked her lips. “Good.”

He kissed her until she relaxed enough to touch his cheek and pull the kerchief from his head so she could run her fingers through his hair.

He adjusted his position, lying on top of her, pressing her into the mattress with his weight.

She arched, eager to feel his chest against her breasts.

He captured her lips again, hungrily, as his whispering touch slid down her waist. His mouth eventually followed, stopping at her breasts, nipping and licking until she whimpered and clutched at his shoulders.

Continuing his journey, he paused at her bellybutton and her hips, spreading her thighs further open. “Soph.” He traced the edges of her panties, making her whimper with the teasing touch. His thumb rubbed over her and she moaned, experiencing the delicious sensations of true desire for the first time.

He slid the silk barrier aside, exploring with curious fingers, his gaze holding hers as he stroked and dipped.

She rocked her hips, whimpering, desperate for him to keep going.

He tugged at her underwear, tossing them to the floor, and pulled her closer, his breath warming her skin, his tongue bathing her with moist, feathery strokes.

Moaning, she reached down, clutching at his hair as he continued relentlessly. She gasped, tensing, as unbelievable sensations built. “Stone—Stone, I—” She bit her lip, fighting the deep ache growing with his ceaseless teasing.

He grabbed her hands, lacing their fingers, carrying on with his devastating work, suckling and pulling until heat engulfed her and she exploded on a long, loud moan.

She gripped his hands as he slowed his rhythm, bringing her down easy and started his journey back up her body, going after her mouth with fevered intensity.

“I need you, Soph.” He pulled at his pants, freeing himself of the rest of his clothing. “God, I need you.”

She stared into his eyes as he hovered above her, working himself inside her, pushing deep. Bowing back, she shivered, still sensitive as he moved, pumping slowly, kissing her endlessly until his breathing grew labored.

She shuddered, her fingernails biting into his waist as the newly familiar ache started again. “Stone. Stone,” she whispered, lost in pleasure.

He kissed her as she went over for the second time and nestled his head in the crook of her neck, shoving himself deeper, groaning next to her ear, once, twice, three times, stiffening as he emptied himself inside her.

She lay still, fighting for air as he lifted his head, brushing her lips. “It’s midnight, Soph. Happy birthday.”

She smiled, feeling like a woman for the first time in twenty-five years. “Thank you.”

~~~~

The alarm beeped on the side table. Stone opened one eye, glancing toward the clock. How was it eight already? Slapping at the snooze button, he smiled as Sophie groaned at his side. He rolled back, pulling her closer against him, kissing her shoulder. He liked this, waking up with her. It didn’t hurt that she was naked either. He planned to start each day like this as often as possible. And ending his nights the way they did worked just fine too. “I guess it’s time to get up.”

“I don’t want to,” she said sleepily.

“You have your meeting with Lily—”

“That’s right.” She sprang up, throwing the covers back, inching her way toward the edge of the bed. “I have to—”

“Easy there.” He snagged her around the waist, tugging her back, pulling her down. “You’ve got plenty of time.”

She looked at the clock. “Not really. I have to take Murphy for his run, and shower. Traffic’s probably going to be a mess.” She swiped at her hair.

He rolled, settling her on top of him. “This is a good thing, so relax.”

“I can’t.” She rested her arms on his chest. “In three hours I have a meeting with one of the world’s top designers. I don’t have samples picked out. I don’t even have a name for my company. I can’t be Burke Jewelers anymore. Eric owns the name.”

He traced his fingers up her spine, loving the feel of her soft skin. “We can work on getting it back.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want it anymore. It’s…ruined.”

“I guess that leaves coming up with something different.”

“That was ours—mine and my mother’s. Our name.”

“So use McCabe.”

She shook her head again, looking away, nibbling her lip. “I can’t.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because next year...” She met his gaze. “What about next year?”

He didn’t want to think about next year. “You can keep my name, Soph.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, staring into her eyes, wanting the world to know she was his. Now that they lay here like this, he wanted their arrangement to stay exactly the way it was.

“The
Freedom
line by Sophie McCabe of McCabe Jewelry.”

He nodded his approval. “Doesn’t sound half bad.”

She smiled. “I like it.” She kissed him once, twice. “This is all so
wonderful
. I’ve never had anything so amazing happen before.”

“Uh, didn’t we sleep together last night?”

Her eyes went huge. “Yes. No. That was amazing—”

He laughed. “Soph, I’m kidding.”

“I’m not.” She touched his cheek. “That was… I loved it. I loved being with you.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, unable to get close enough. “I loved it too.”

“I’ve never had sex like that before. The way you…you know…did everything. Abby told me it could be amazing. Now I can tell her I absolutely agree. And the whole oral sex thing…”

His satisfied smile vanished into a frown. “What about it?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never felt anything like that. It was incredible.”

“You’ve never had oral sex?”

She shook her head.

He stared at her in disbelief. “No one’s ever gone
down
on you?”

“Nope.”

“Why the hell not?”

She shrugged. “He didn’t do that. Usually we undressed ourselves, he would do his thing, take a shower, and fall asleep.”

Now he understood why she had been in such a rush. “Was it like that all the time?”

“Yes.”

“
Every
time?”

She nodded.

Eric Winthrop was a dumbass. “I can promise you that won’t be happening around here.”

“Thank goodness. I want to have more orgasms.” She smiled.

“That was a first too?”

Her cheeks pinked up as she wrinkled her nose. “Yeah.”

Sex had never been about her before. He glanced at the clock again, needing to get ready for work, but that could wait. “Have you ever had shower sex?”

“No.”

He grinned, looking forward to showing her how it could be. He rolled her off of him and sat up, scooping her into his arms. “Sophie McCabe, let me introduce you to sex in the shower.”

She smiled. “I think I’m going to like this.”

“Oh, I can promise you you’re going to love it. And I wouldn’t feel right about walking into this deal without offering you at least a three orgasm guarantee.” He nipped at her neck, making her laugh as he carried her to the bathroom.

Sophie followed the twisting ramp up the four
stories to the designated Ethan Cooke Security parking area. She drove to the end of the row, spotting Stone’s Mustang in the dim wash of light and pulled in next to his car. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, sighing at her less-than-fresh appearance. Shrugging, she grabbed the large bag of takeout and selection of paint chip samples on the passenger’s seat, too tired to care about what she looked like after almost fourteen hours of nonstop running. She got out, wearing jeans and a dark-blue, cinched halter-top, making certain to lock up—something she’d never had to worry about in Bangor—and walked toward the elevators in the nearly vacant garage.

Yawning, she glanced at her watch. It was almost ten, and she was drowning in fatigue. For a week straight she’d been hustling in high gear, trying to keep up with the demands of the Lily Brand team. Endless meetings with Abby and Lily, designing and creating new product for the runway, and revamping the shop on Rodeo Drive, which Lily was leasing her as part of their deal, had consumed every waking moment.

She stifled another yawn as she pushed the ‘up’ button for the offices, jumping when loud music suddenly blasted from somewhere in the garage. She swallowed, her eyes going wide as she instantly recognized Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C Sharp Minor—Eric’s favorite song. The hair stood up on the back of her neck, and her pulse skittered as she looked around the mostly empty place, noting the dark car parked in the shadows, certain the ominous pound of piano music was coming from over there. She pressed at the button again and again, her breath rushing in and out frantically. “Come on.” She slammed the circular plastic with the side of her fist. “Come
on
.”

The door finally dinged, sliding open as the mystery vehicle started revving its engine, shining its blinding lights in her direction before squealing off toward the exit. The door closed her in, and she dropped the bag to the floor, trembling as she hit the next button. She sagged against the wall while she gripped her arms tightly around her, waiting for the elevator to ascent to the thirty-fourth story.

“A coincidence,” she lied to herself, wiping at her sweaty brow. “Just a coincidence.” Like the random empty beer bottles she’d found by her new storefront Wednesday morning—the same brand Eric favored, the kind she’d doctored with sleeping pills. And the homeless man who’d been sitting by the light pole close to her car at lunchtime yesterday, eating a well-presented plate of sashimi—another of Eric’s favorites. And on Monday she could’ve sworn she’d spotted David Schmidt, Eric’s PI, while she and Murphy had been out for one of their runs on the beach.

She pressed her shaking hands to her lips with the quick wash of despair. He wasn’t going away. He’d given her almost two weeks of peace. He’d bided his time, allowing her to relax and believe that she was rid of him, but Eric was sending her a message, which she understood loud and clear. He’d signed the papers, but legal documents meant nothing to a man like him. He was used to being in control. Neither the miles between them nor the justice system would stand in his way.

She squeezed her eyes shut, keeping her tears at bay. They did her no good—like the useless signatures on Jeremiah’s papers. If she didn’t pull herself together, Stone would know something was wrong. And Stone couldn’t know. Eric made him angry. Anytime his name came up, Stone clenched his jaw. They were happy; Eric wasn’t going to ruin that.

She grabbed the bag of takeout and straightened her slumped shoulders, determined to ignore Eric’s attempts to terrify her as the elevator opened. Her strategy was mostly working so far. She walked down the hall to Ethan Cooke Security, satisfied that her hands were once again steady. Letting herself in, she stopped outside of Stone’s office as Amber, Ethan’s leggy secretary, sat on Stone’s desk, chatting while Stone leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head.

“Knock, knock.”

Stone sat up, smiling. “Hey.” He held out his hand. “Come on in.”

She smiled, accepting his invitation, landing in his lap when he pulled her down.

“I guess I’ll see you later.” Amber stood. “Good night.” She walked out.

“Good night,” Sophie called after her.

“This is a nice surprise.” He held her chin in his fingers, kissing her lips, then her neck. “You look good—smell good too.”

“I think that’s the Chinese.”

He grinned. “It’s definitely you.” He kissed her again. “I’m surprised you’re here. It’s late.”

“Mmm.” She wrapped her arms around him, treasuring this sweet, affectionate side of Stone and his warm, hard body beneath hers. “I know, but I feel like I haven’t seen you in a couple days.” She settled her head on his shoulder.

He returned her embrace, wrapping her up. “You’ve been busy with the shop.”

“True, but work should never come first. Even if I love it.”

He smiled. “I can get behind that. Where’s Murphy?”

“I brought him home a couple hours ago and took him for a long run before I went back to work.”

“What’ve you got there?” He snagged the paint chips from her hand.

“The colors I was thinking about for that back wall where the
McCabe Jewelry
sign will go. I don’t know which one to pick.” She sighed, staring at the slightly different shades of tan. “Every decision is starting to become overwhelming.”

“What did Wren think?”

“Wren said any of them would complement the space well. I just need to make a choice. I really need to get that wall painted.”

“One wall’s no big deal, Soph. We got the majority of the work done the other day.”

Stone had used part of his day off to help her paint and the rest to destroy his kitchen. “I know. I’m making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

“You look tired.” He slid his finger under her eyes.

She shrugged. “Maybe a little.” She kissed him, not wanting to talk about work anymore. “How about that Chinese?” She gestured to the bag she’d settled on the floor.

“Absolutely.”

“Good—”

He snagged her bottom lip with his teeth, cutting her off. “In bed,” he murmured against her mouth.

She smiled, staring into his eyes, sliding her tongue against his, no longer shy with Stone. He’d shown her—several times since her birthday—what she’d been missing out on. Morgan and Abby had been so right. Stone was amazing in bed, and having a partner who cared about her experience made all the difference. “I think we could arrange that.”

He brushed is lips along her jaw, cupping her breast through her top, rubbing his thumb over her nipple. “Drive home with me. I’ll bring you back when I come in to work.”

She thought of the car in the shadows of the garage and the haunting notes of Rachmaninoff’s Prelude, suppressing a shudder, finding the idea of riding home with Stone appealing on two levels: they would be together, and when she came back, it would be daylight. “You’re full of brilliant ideas.”

“Let me grab my laptop.”

She stood from his lap, snagging their dinner.

“I’ll put the paint chips in here.” He shoved them in with his computer and grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers as they started down the hall.

“Good night,” Amber said again as she gathered her things at her desk.

“Later,” Stone said.

“Good night.” Sophie smiled at her as they walked out the door.

~~~~

“I took care of it. That piano shit’s spooky, man.”

Eric rolled his eyes at the fool’s assessment of an excellent composition. Some people didn’t appreciate true art. “Did she get the
point
?”

“Oh yeah, definitely—scared shitless. As soon as I played it she started punching at the elevator button, practically crawling out of her skin.”

“Perfect. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up, chuckling as he used the remote to turn up Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C Sharp Minor. Closing his eyes, he sipped his whiskey, resting his head against dark, soft leather, savoring the thrill of Sophie being afraid. Now if only he’d been able to see for himself… He missed watching her guarded eyes sharpen with caution then widen with fear when she knew she’d done something
stupid
.

His smile dimmed as he set his glass back on the desk. The agreement he’d signed had put him in a bit of a spot, but nothing was impossible—not when it mattered. And this most certainly did. He’d assured his attorney he would keep his distance, which he was.
He
was leaving her alone, but that didn’t mean Sophie couldn’t be reminded on a regular basis of who was in charge of her life.

Sighing his contentment, he opened his eyes, looking over the daily report on Sophie’s whereabouts, which David had sent along several hours ago. He scanned the update and scrolled down to the pictures, shaking his head at Sophie wearing a dark-blue halter-top and fitted jeans, lunching with Abigail Quinn and Lily Thomas. She’d certainly turned herself into a glamour queen with those ridiculous outfits he never would have allowed. There were more photos of her in her new store on Rodeo Drive with some longhaired woman—Wren Campbell, David reported in his notes.

He moved to the shots from three days ago when she wore jeans and a ratty t-shirt, rolling paint on a wall. He grit his teeth as he looked at another. Stone McCabe had a foolish yellow kerchief in his hair while he and Sophie wrapped their arms around each other, smiling, in paint-splotched clothing. There were other images of the happy couple in their piece-of-crap house on the cliffs, cozied up on their couch late at night. He clicked on the picture from David’s high-powered lens, focusing on the cheap wedding band Stone wore resting against the skin of Sophie’s thigh. “Bastard.”

Mr
. McCabe
had stolen what was rightfully his. He’d earned every damn dime of that money, feeding and clothing Sophie—just putting
up
with her for more than two years. And he would have it. Eleven more months and a few odd days and the five million dollars would be his. Sophie would come back to him because she wouldn’t have a choice. He would make sure of it. In the meantime, there was nothing wrong with letting her know, as often as possible, that her time was coming. Sophie McCabe would pay.