Shiloh Walker: The Protected

She leaned back against the door, her hands falling to hang loose at her sides. “I’ve been doing that almost since the first second I laid eyes on you, sugar.” A smile curved her wide, sexy mouth, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and if he’d let himself look, he knew what he would have seen.

She knew, he realized. Had some idea of just why he was there.

And it just made him that much more of a bastard. But he didn’t care.

When he reached the final button, instead of pushing the shirt off her shoulders, he let it hang open, revealing the narrow line of her sleek torso, the lace edging of her bra. He traced one finger down the midline of her body, stopping when he reached the waist of her trousers, the sturdy leather of her holster. Still holding her gaze, he unbuckled it, unbuttoned her trousers.

Vaughnne stood there, silent and watching him with solemn eyes. He leaned in and nipped her lower lip, pressed a kiss to her neck, moving in a line straight downward until he was kneeling in front of her.

She wore a pair of low-heel ankle boots and he tugged them off, setting them neatly by the door. Vaughnne kept a tidy little nest, something he’d noticed when he let himself inside. He wouldn’t leave any sign of himself when he left . . . other than what he was doing to her now. Glancing up at her, he saw her lashes were closed, her head was tipped back, and her hands were braced against the door, curled into tight fists that left her knuckles bloodless.

He wanted her clutching at him that tightly.

Wanted to hear that smart mouth, the cocky attitude that had driven him insane the past few weeks.

But when he tried to reach for the words to say something, anything to tease it out of her, he couldn’t find them. So instead of saying anything, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to her belly as he caught the waist of her trousers and dragged them down over the swell of her hips, her thighs, down until she could step out of the puddle of material.

Rising, he stood in front of her, arms braced on the door by either side of her head, waiting for her to look at him.

Seconds ticked away, and finally, she lifted her lids, staring at him with dark, unreadable eyes.

He opened his mouth, determined to find something to say. Something. Anything. It shouldn’t be this hard to find a handful of words. He’d lived most of his life by them. Glib lies, charming little half-truths . . . all of them said to people who meant less than nothing. And here he stood with a woman who meant everything and he couldn’t find anything to ease the pain he sensed was inside her.

Before he managed to find even one damn thing to say, Vaughnne reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. “Take me to bed, Gus,” she said quietly. “We can have that one night now, right?”

HIS face was stark, his eyes so hungry and hot, they burned as he stared down at her.

For the first time, she felt almost nervous. Almost anxious. It seemed like there was something brewing inside him. She could feel the storm of it, but whatever it was, Vaughnne knew it wasn’t going to change anything.

She’d realized why he was here within seconds of laying eyes on him.

He was here to say good-bye.

Maybe he was going to say thanks. Maybe he was going to tell her to stay out of his way. Maybe he was going to tell her to stay silent. Maybe he’d say a lot of other things. But one thing he’d definitely say . . . good-bye .

Fine.

She could live with that, because she knew what mattered the most . . . he was alive. Whatever had happened in Mexico after she’d gotten Nalini out of there, he hadn’t died. Gus was alive and she would be okay with whatever else might come. Because she knew he was alive. Maybe she’d never get all the answers she needed, maybe she’d never have anything more than this . . . but she knew he was alive. And he’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d made sure Alex was safe.

Slowly, he reached for her, and as he wrapped his arms around her, she curled hers around his neck, shuddering at the feel of his body pressed against hers again. Over the past few days, she’d missed this . . . wondered if she’d ever feel it again, and it had sucked . But then Moran had shown up and she’d had to wonder if Gus was just gone . That vivid, burning blaze of him gone . . . and that had hurt so much she had thought she was dying inside.

He boosted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her breath catching as it brought him in contact with the sensitive flesh between her thighs. She pressed her brow to his. “My bedroom is down the hall.”

He found it unerringly and she realized he’d probably spent some time poking around her house while waiting for her. She should be pissed about that. She might be later. Matter of fact, she’d almost make a mental note to do that, just to distract herself from the misery that waited for her. But for that moment, she didn’t care. He was here. One more night. They were together. One more night. That was all the mattered. She’d worry about everything else after it was over.

Once they were inside her room, she unhooked her legs and let him guide her to the floor. Settling down in front of him, she rested her hands on his chest, vaguely aware that she’d started to shiver.

Gus noticed. He stroked his hands down her arms. “You’re cold.”

“No.” She wasn’t cold, at all. Emotion crashed and swelled inside her and she ached, so full of want and hunger and need and confusion. She didn’t know exactly what she was. But it wasn’t cold.

Swallowing, Vaughnne smoothed her hands down his chest and hooked them in the front of his jeans, tugging him closer.

He came and they tumbled back onto her bed. The feel of his weight on her was almost a painful pleasure, and she curled her fingers into his arms, arching up against him, clutching him closer. “Naked.” His hand tangled in the front of her shirt, dragging it out of the way, down her arm until the material caught around her elbow. “I should have gotten you naked before I let you get us on the bed.”

She ran the insole of her foot down his calf. “Look who’s talking. You’re still wearing your jeans.” She might have said something else, but he’d tugged the cup of her bra down and dipped his head, catching her nipple between his teeth. As he tugged on it, pleasure blistered through her and the ability to speak died. The ability to think seemed to die.

Gasping, she shoved a hand into his hair, held him close.

He rolled on the bed, bringing her on top of him. Then he stripped her shirt and bra away and forced her to sit up. Vaughnne groaned, bracing her hands on his shoulders and glaring at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He cupped her breasts in his hands, plumping them together and circling her nipples with his thumbs. His touch, the way he watched her . . . she looked down and stared at his hands. Those beautiful hands, stroking over her flesh, bringing her more pleasure than she’d thought it was possible to feel.

HUNGRY for everything he could get, Gus watched as Vaughnne’s head fell back, the ends of her long, dense curls falling almost to her ass. Grabbing the skimpy strings that rode high on her hips, he jerked, tearing her panties away and tossing the scrap to the floor. He surged upward and tangled a hand in her hair, twisting it around his fist and tugging her mouth to his. “Unzip me.”

She watched him, her eyes heavy-lidded. Then she eased back, wiggling around until she could work the button, the zipper of his jeans. The light brush of her fingers against his flesh was a painful, sweet little tease and he wanted more. Needed more, a lot more than the one night he was going to give himself.