Broken: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 3) Page 14

  “That’s okay,” he says. “I want to taste you, not your body wash.”

  “Jonah... no. Seriously, no.”

  He pouts. Honest to God, his lips turn down in a stupid, sexy frown, and he pouts like a little boy. “Please?”

  “You’re completely nuts, you know that?”

  He grins triumphantly. “Is that a yes?”

  I buck against him again, this time causing his erection to press against the apex of my thighs. The thick length of him feels so good, and I want him inside me again. I want to savor the feel of him, just this once.

  I roll my eyes. “All right, fine. Just make it quick. I don’t have all night.”

  Jonah chuckles. “Wow, you’re such a romantic.” He rolls off me and pulls the sheet away from my naked body, and I shiver in the cool air. His eyes widen as he looks his fill.

  I’m buck naked, while he has his sweat pants on – definitely putting me at a distinct disadvantage. I reach for the waistband of his pants. “Take these off.”

  “Not quite yet,” he says, sliding down the bed and spreading my legs open.

  He’s certainly not wasting any time. “Jonah – ”

  “Shh.”

  I cover my eyes with one hand. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready for this.

  After settling his broad shoulders between my thighs, he pries the lips of my sex open and studies me. Good God, I can’t believe I’m letting him do this. To my utter horror, my thighs start shaking.

  “Relax, Lia.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  “No one’s ever gone down on you before, have they?” he says, sounding genuinely surprised and more than a little pleased.

  “Oh, shut up and get it over with.”

  When his tongue flicks my clitoris, I cry out, my body bow off the mattress. It feels shocking – shockingly good, shockingly intimate. I’m not ready for this.

  Jonah pins my thighs with his forearms and uses his fingers to hold me open. He gets serious, then, his tongue tormenting my clit with single-minded determination, pushing me right to the edge.

  “Jonah!” Before I know it, I’m thrashing in his hold, gasping for breath as my heart hammers in my chest.

  The blunt tip of a finger rims my opening, gliding easily through the wetness, and then it sinks inside me, stroking me deep with expert precision. His double assault leaves me mindless, and I writhe on the bed, alternately whimpering like an idiot and moaning like a banshee. His tongue is relentless as it teases and torments my clit, sending me spiraling upward into a devastating orgasm. At the same time, his finger rubbing inside me lights me up like the 4th of July. I don’t think I’ve ever screamed so loud before. And I don’t even want to contemplate the odds that someone might have heard me.

  He gently teases my clit as I come down from the high, my nerves overwrought and exquisitely sensitive. My hands are in his hair, gripping him tightly one moment and then petting him the next. I don’t think I’ve ever had such an explosive, toe-curling orgasm in my life.

  Jonah surges up, wiping his beard and mouth on the sheet, then reaches inside his sweats pocket to pull out a condom packet. He frantically tears open the packet with his teeth, then shoves down his sweats and quickly rolls the condom onto his erection. Damn, he’s hard again already.

  He crawls between my trembling thighs and looms over me, leaning down to kiss me. It’s shocking to smell myself, warm and earthy, on him. He grabs one of my legs and brings it up over his thigh and holds me wide open as he settles himself in place. He guides himself to my soft, wet core and presses in, slowly but steadily. My hands grip his biceps, and I gasp as he fills me once more. But I have a feeling this time will be different.

  “Okay?” he says.

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I feel overwrought, emotionally and physically. I’m definitely out of my comfort zone. Right now, he’s the strong one, not me. He’s the one taking no prisoners tonight. I have no choice but to... trust him, and that’s not easy for me to do.

  “Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to mine, his lips nudging mine open to deepen our kiss. His tongue makes love to mine, mimicking the thrust and withdrawals of his cock. When my hands slip down to grip his buttocks, and my short nails bite into the twin globes, he groans raggedly. As he rocks into me with a slow and steady rhythm, I lose myself in him, just this once, savoring the heat and strength of him. Pleasure swells inside me as he strokes my insides, and I let him take me to a place I’ve never been before.

  Just as he tenses in my arms and throws his head back to cry out, I’m caught by a second orgasm that I never saw coming. My shocked cries join his as we strain together.

  * * *

  Sometime later, I surface in the darkness to find myself plastered against Jonah. His arms are around me, and my head is lying on his shoulder. Our legs are entwined. I’ve never slept with a lover before. It feels... good.

  “You okay?” His voice is low and rough.

  “Yeah. What time is it?”

  “A little after three.”

  I groan. “Why are you still awake?”

  I feel his shoulder lift as he shrugs. “It’s a miracle I have you naked in my arms, Lia. I’m going to enjoy the opportunity while I can. Go back to sleep, tiger.”

  “Tiger? Are you kidding me?” I don’t know if I should be amused or offended.

  “When I called you baby last night, you yelled at me. I figured if I called you pumpkin, you’d knee me in the balls.”

  “True,” I say, and then I yawn.

  He tightens his hold on me. “So tiger it is. Go back to sleep.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” And that’s the last I remember, because my body is warm and satiated, and my eyelids weigh a ton. There’s no way I can keep them open. I’ll just have to kick him out of my bed in the morning.

  Chapter 22

  When I awake again, it’s light outside, and the digital clock by my bed reads nine-thirty. I never sleep this late. I’m lying beside Jonah, who’s pressed up against my back, his arm a dead weight around my waist. My backside is toasty warm cradled against his body, and I have to admit I like it. I smile when I feel his erection nudge me. Even in his sleep, he’s got sex on his mind.

  Carefully, I extricate myself from his hold and head to my bathroom for a much needed shower. After dressing, I see I have a text message from Beth. It’s an SOS.

  Can I see you today? PLEASE? I really need to talk to you. Lunch maybe?

  I’m surprised by how good it feels to see her reaching out to me like this. I was afraid we’d drift apart now that I’m assigned to guard someone else.

  I text her back:

  Sure. I’ll arrange for back up. When and where?

  Can you come to Clancy’s later this morning?

  I glance at Jonah, who’s still out cold, then text her back:

  You got it. See you soon.

  Then I text Shane, telling him I need someone to fill in for me for a few hours so I can see Beth. He replies shortly afterward to let me know that Miguel will be at the rental house at eleven.

  I leave a note for Jonah on my pillow: Be back later this afternoon. Miguel Rodriquez is filling in for me. You’ll like him. He’s chill. Behave yourself.

  At eleven-thirty, I’m walking into Clancy’s Bookshop, looking for its new manager. I make a quick round of the first floor of the store, but I don’t see Beth. I also don’t see Sam anywhere, but that’s not a surprise. He’s wherever she is. I do find the assistant manager, Erin O’Connor, arranging some hardcover books on a table. If I can’t find Beth, Erin’s the next best thing.

  Erin smiles at me, flashing a pair of dimples. This girl really is too cute for her own good, with her soft round face and chin-length brown hair clipped back on one side with a barrette. She reminds me of a doll, with her porcelain complexion, freckles, and big blue eyes.

  “Hey, Irish. Where’s your boss?”

  “Oh, hey, Lia,” Erin says. “Beth’s upst
airs in her office. She’s been holed up there all morning.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  Erin frowns. “I guess you could say that. You’d better ask her.”

  “Thanks.”

  I race up the ornate, curved staircase to the second floor and head down the hallway that leads to the administrative offices. When I reach Beth’s office I rap twice on her door, then walk in. Beth’s seated at her desk, looking pale – I mean, more pale than usual. Even from across the room I can see the faint shadows under her eyes. Something’s definitely wrong. Sam’s lounging on a sofa with his scuffed leather boots propped up on a small coffee table, doing something pointless on his phone.

  “By all means, red, make yourself useful,” I tell him as I walk in.

  “Thanks, shorty, I will.” He doesn’t even bother to look up from his phone.

  I park my butt on the corner of Beth’s desk. “What’s wrong, Princess? Talk to me.”

  She looks up at me, swallowing hard, and then her eyes dart cautiously in Sam’s direction.

  “All right, cowboy,” I tell him. “This is girl talk. Get lost.”

  “I can do girl talk, too,” he says, winking at me. Then he looks at Beth, all seriousness now. “You want me to bug out, sweetie?”

  She nods. “If you don’t mind. I need to talk to Lia for a bit. Why don’t you go take a break?”

  Sam jumps to his feet. “Evac time,” he says, eyeing Beth speculatively. “You’re sure?”

  Beth nods. “Yes. Go do something fun. I’ll be fine.”

  “Take your time, red,” I say. “I’m taking Beth out for lunch.”

  Sam nods, pocketing his phone. “You girls try to stay out of trouble.”

  I make a face at him. “Funny.”

  * * *

  Beth and I walk the three blocks to our favorite little coffee shop just off N. Michigan Avenue.

  “Sam’s gay, isn’t he?” I say.

  She smiles and nods. “He’s not real open about it, so don’t tell anyone. But yeah, he is. The whole ask-don’t-tell thing was still in effect when he was in the military.”

  “I never picked up on it before today. But he definitely set my gaydar off back there.”

  Beth chuckles. “I think it just means he feels comfortable around you now. He trusts you.”

  We reach our destination, a local coffee and sandwich shop owned by Gina Capelli, the younger sister of Peter Capelli. Much younger sister, that is. While Peter’s pushing forty, Gina’s in her late twenties. I guess the hospitality biz runs in the family. Gina’s coffee shop could give Starbucks a run for its money with all their fancy coffee drinks, plus they serve great food and they have a kick-ass bakery. Plus, Gina’s really cool, even if she is one of those high-brow Capellis.

  We claim an available table in the corner of the shop near a window overlooking the crowded sidewalk. The atmosphere is welcoming and cozy, and the tables are filling up quickly with both tourists and locals taking their lunch breaks. It’s easy to tell the tourists apart from the locals. The wide-eyed tourists gaze out the windows at the bustling cityscape, trying to take it all in, while the locals have their noses buried in their phones and tablets. The whole place has a vintage feel to it, with the dark wood floors burnished to a warm glow. The dark wood tables are antiques with mismatched wooden chairs, and the windows are covered with lacey white curtains.

  Almost as soon as we’re seated, Gina stops by with glasses of ice water. “Hi, Beth. Hi, Lia,” she says, smiling as she hands us menus. She looks at me. “Peter said you were at Renaldo’s last night with Makayla Hendricks and Jonah Locke. Are you really bodyguarding for Jonah Locke?”

  I nod, taking one of the menus from her. “Yeah. Someone has to do it.”

  She shakes her head. “That guy is drop-dead gorgeous. Do you two know what you want, or do you need a moment?”

  We each end up ordering the special, half a sandwich and a bowl of soup, along with an iced coffee drink. It’s early fall now, so pumpkin spice is all the rage.

  “She sure doesn’t act like an heiress to a huge ass fortune,” I say, as Gina walks away to place our orders.

  Gina and her brother each inherited an ungodly amount of money from their paternal grandmother a few years ago, but you’d never know it by looking at Gina. She’s dressed in jeans and a cream lace peasant top, and her shoulder-length chestnut hair is up in a ponytail. She could be hobnobbing with the rich and famous anywhere in the freaking world, but instead she chooses to run a quaint little coffee shop downtown Chicago.

  Beth fiddles nervously with the little dessert menu on the table, flipping through the laminated cards picturing cupcakes, cookies, brownies, and pumpkin bread. My trouble radar goes off loud and clear.

  “All right, Princess, spill it. What’s wrong?”

  She looks at me with teary eyes.

  “Beth. Tell me.”

  She shakes her head dismissively. “It’s not important, just forget it.”

  I snort in a very unladylike manner. “You wouldn’t have sent out an SOS if it wasn’t important. Now spill it.”

  She takes a deep breath as she fiddles nervously with her empty straw wrapper. “All right, but you have to promise not to tell Shane.”

  I’m not about to make any such promise. “Continue.”

  “It’s about the wedding.”

  That takes me by surprise. “What about it? Have you come to your senses finally? Are you dumping my brother’s sorry ass?”

  She looks shocked. “Of course not!” She starts to say something, then hesitates and covers her face with her hands, puffing out a loud breath.

  “I’m not a mind reader, Beth. Spit it out.”

  She drops her hands. “This is not about Shane. Well, sort of it is.”

  I roll my eyes. “I knew it! What has my asshat brother done this time?”

  “He left all the decisions about the wedding to me, and he gave me carte blanche. He said I could plan whatever I want. I know he was just trying to be helpful, but it’s not working out that way. He hired a professional wedding planner to help me. Her name is Monica, and she’s very nice and all, but... well, everything just keeps escalating. Shane has so many friends and business associates, and you McIntyres have a freakishly huge extended family. My God, I’ve never known a family with so many aunts and uncles and cousins! My family’s tiny in comparison – just Mom and Tyler – and Gabrielle, of course, and I wanted to invite Sam and Mack and Erin. Anyway, now the guest list is nearly three hundred people. Shane said that’s fine, but I can’t stand up in front of three hundred people!”

  “Beth, stop! For crying out loud, take a breath!”

  Beth is flushed, and she clasps her hands on the table in an attempt to still their shaking. When I start laughing, she scowls at me.

  “This isn’t funny, Lia! I’m scared to death. I just want to cancel the whole thing. I want to be married to Shane more than anything in the world, but don’t want to get married. If that makes any sense. Can’t we just bypass all the getting-married part and fast forward to the married part?”

  A server brings our food and coffees to the table.

  “Eat,” I say, “before you pass out. Yes, it makes perfect sense.” I bite into my sandwich – a grilled chicken and pesto Panini – and groan. God, the food here is good.

  Beth’s food sits untouched. She looks utterly miserable, so I take pity on her. “Beth, there’s an easy solution. Elope.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Elope. Get married at the courthouse.” I shrug. “Problem solved. You’re married, but without all the hoopla.”

  She looks stricken. “I can’t do that!”

  “Eat your food. And why the hell not?”

  “Because Shane would be crushed. He’s so excited about this wedding. The dress, the tux, the wedding party, the catering, the reception. He asks me about it all the time. I can’t just tell him we’re going to elope.”

  I shake my head, amazed at how clueless
this girl can be sometimes. For such a smart girl, who’s getting straight A’s in her graduate MBA program at U. of Chicago, Beth can be a little dense at times. “He’s doing all this for you, knucklehead. He probably assumes you want this big fairy tale wedding, and he wants to make sure you get it. Trust me, Beth, Shane couldn’t care less about how you two get married. You could marry him in a back alley, for all he cares. He just wants to be married to you. He won’t care one bit how it happens.”

  Her eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

  I give her my duh face. “Yeah, I’m sure. Look, just cancel all the wedding plans and elope. Would you like that?”

  Her expression brightens and she gives me a killer smile. “Oh, God, yes, I’d love that. We could have a small reception afterwards, with just our immediate family and close friends. Your family and mine, and Cooper, Sam, Mack, Erin, Gabrielle, Miguel, Peter. And your parents! We’ll wait until they’re home from Italy. They’ll be home by Christmas, right?” She looks hopefully at me. “Do you really think he’d be okay with this? No big church wedding? No big reception? Just something small and private? Are you sure?”

  These two really need to work on their communication. She could have just asked him and saved herself a lot of grief. “Yeah, I’m sure. He wants to be your husband. He doesn’t give a flying fuck how it happens.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing,” Gina says as she returns to our table to set down a little dessert plate filled with an assortment of cookies and brownies. “I’d be happy to host a wedding reception for you, Beth, as our gift, mine and Peter’s. We could hold it wherever you like. Here, or at Renaldo’s, or any place you choose. I can cater anything you’d like, and I promise you a kick-ass wedding cake.”

  Beth smiles radiantly. “That sounds wonderful, Gina. Thank you!”

  “It’s our pleasure,” she says. “And lunch is on the house today. Consider it an engagement present.”