Beverly Barton - Defending His Own

Going into Mattie's arms, Deborah sighed. "Oh, Mama Mattie, this has become a nightmare. I thought it was over, that the worst had been Huckleberry's poisoning."

"It'll be all right," Mattie said, glancing over Deborah's shoulder at Ashe. "Ashe isn't going to let anything happen to you."

"Someone called already, didn't they?" Deborah asked. "Mother knows."

"Miss Carol is fine. She's lying down in the library, taking a little nap." Mattie winked at Deborah as she slipped her arm around her waist and led her inside. "I put a few drops of brandy in her tea."

"Where's Mazie?" Deborah looked around in the hallway. "I can't believe she's not out here foretelling the end of the world for us all."

"I sent that silly woman to town on an errand," Mattie said. "I had to get her out of the house. She was driving me crazy and upsetting Miss Carol. She should be gone a couple of hours. And Allen won't be home from school until after three."

"Thanks." Deborah swayed, her head spinning. Mama Mattie motioned to Ashe, who lifted Deborah in his arms.

"Put me down!"

"Take her on upstairs and tend to her." Mattie pointed to the closed library door. "I'll go sit with Miss Carol and finish reading that new Grisham book. If we need y'all, I'll let you know."

Ashe carried Deborah up the stairs and into her sitting room, but didn't put her down. With her arms around his neck, she stared into his eyes and knew he was going to kiss her. She didn't resist, indeed she welcomed the kiss, needing it desperately. Quick. Hard. And possessive. Deborah sighed.

He carried her over to the window bench and sat down, placing her in his lap. She laid her head on his shoulder.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked. She shook her head from side to side. "A bath?" Another negative shake. "A nap?"

"All I want is for you to hold me," she said, clinging to him.

He hugged her fiercely. "Nobody was hurt."

"This time. But what about the next time or the time after that? You can't guarantee me that some innocent person won't be harmed because of me."

"Not because of you, honey! Dammit, why do you insist on blaming yourself?"

"Maybe I should go away. Far away. That way the people I love would be safe."

"Not necessarily," Ashe said. "Running away isn't the answer if Buck Stansell is out for revenge. If you leave town, he might target Miss Carol or Allen."

"Oh, God, Ashe, Mother has enough to deal with already." Deborah grasped the lapels of Ashe's jacket. "Promise me that you won't let anything happen to Allen."

"I won't let anything happen to Allen." He kissed her forehead, then smoothed the loose strands of her hair away from her face. "You love Allen a great deal, don't you?"

"He's the most important person in the world to me. I—I… He's just a little boy."

Ashe caressed Deborah's face, cupping her cheek in his palm. "I'll take care of you and Allen. And Miss Carol."

Gulping in air, Deborah looked at Ashe pleadingly. She needed him, needed his tender loving care, needed his strength, his power.

He stood with her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom, laying her on her bed. He came down over her, turning her to one side as he eased his body onto the bed. Facing her, he removed her jacket, then unbuttoned her blouse. Slowly, carefully, stroking and caressing her as he uncovered more and more of her body, Ashe undressed her completely.

She was a bundle of nerves, her emotions raw. She needed soothing, needed to forget, at least for a few hours, the nightmare her life had become. He hated the feeling of helplessness, knowing he hadn't been able to prevent the drive-by shooting at her office. But he could give her the reassurance and care she needed now. And soon, very soon, he would have to confront her enemy.

Ashe made love to her with his hands and mouth, whispering endearing words of comfort and admiration. Never before had he felt so totally possessive about a woman, wanting her and her alone in a way that bordered on obsession. How had this happened? When had Deborah become the focal point of his existence?

Every touch, every word was meant for her pleasure, but with each touch, each kiss, each heated word, he became lost in the fury of a passion over which he was fast losing control.

He caressed her breasts, loving the way her tight nipples felt beneath his fingertips, loving her hot little cries. He kissed her inner thighs. She sighed, squirming when his tongue turned inward for further exploration.

She moaned and writhed, her body straining for release as Ashe pleasured her, his lips and fingers masterful in their ministrations, bringing her to the very brink, then pausing, only to return her to that moment just before satisfaction.

She cried out, begging him not to prolong the agony, clinging to him, pleading for fulfillment. His words grew more erotic, more suggestive, as he carried her to the edge. With one final stroke of his tongue, he flung her into ecstasy.

Covering her mouth in a heated kiss, he devoured her cries of pleasure. Pulling her close, he reached down and lifted the hand-crocheted afghan and covered her. He lay there holding her while she dozed off to sleep and the noonday sun began its western descent.

His heart beat like a racing stallion. Sweat coated his body. He ached with the need for release. But this time had been for Deborah, not for him. She had needed the powerful fulfillment, and what Deborah needed was far more important to him than what he needed.

When Ashe had sent Buck Stansell a warning, declaring Deborah Vaughn his personal property, it had been a ruse. Now it was a fact. If he had to destroy Buck Stansell to keep Deborah safe, he'd do it. No one was going to harm his woman.

Chapter 12

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Deborah set up a temporary office in the library, moving in a computer and borrowing Annie Laurie for the first day. She would do whatever was necessary to protect her employees. That might mean staying away from Vaughn & Posey for a few weeks, but it also meant business as usual. Too many people depended upon the real estate firm for their livelihoods, including Deborah's family. She had no idea whether or not Whitney had any money left in her trust fund, but she doubted it. Not after nearly eleven years of marriage to George Jamison. That meant Whitney, too, depended upon revenue from Vaughn & Posey to keep her and her worthless husband from bankruptcy.

Ashe McLaughlin's return to Sheffield was a mixed blessing. He and Roarke guarded the family night and day. Anyone wanting to harm her or Allen or her mother would have to go through two highly trained professionals. But her personal relationship with Ashe had her confused and uncertain.

She could not deny that she was in love with him. Always had been. Always would be. But the lie about Allen stood between them as surely as Ashe's inability to make a commitment. If she knew Ashe loved her, if she knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, telling Ashe the truth about Allen would not be as difficult. But he hadn't said he loved her and certainly had made her no promises beyond defending her with his life.

"Where do these go?" Ashe stood in the doorway, a stack of file folders in his arms.

"What are those?" she asked.

"They're printouts of all your current files on your present listings." Annie Laurie scurried past Ashe, dragging a swivel desk chair behind her.

Deborah smiled at Ashe; he returned her smile. She couldn't stop looking at him, couldn't stop remembering how it felt when they made love. She was as giddy and light-headed as a teenager in love for the first time. And the crazy thing was she honestly thought Ashe was acting the same way.

He looked incredible this afternoon, but then he always did. Tall, muscular and lean. Gray slacks. Navy blue jacket. Light blue shirt, worn unbuttoned and without a tie. She could see the top curls of dark hair above his open shirt.