For His Protection (5 page)

He watched her—waiting.

She knew what she had to do but her voice seemed to have
melted into her throat. His hands dipped again, brushing the sides of his cock.
Her pussy tightened and she squeezed her thighs together.

“Touch it, Ty. Touch your cock like you want me to.”

His chest expanded and he wrapped his fist around the base
of his cock.

“Show me what you like.”

He moved his hand from base to beautiful mushroomed head.
His face rippled with pleasure, jaw pulsing, brow furrowing, eyes never leaving
her. Brooke’s skin sizzled as if her insides were trying to break free. She
slid her hand down over the shirt, over her panties. Her fingers brushed over
ultra-sensitive flesh, sparking foreign bolts of bliss into her core. Her hips
veered off the door again.

Ty groaned, his gaze tearing from her face to the hand
between her thighs. He leaned his free hand on the wall then pumped his cock.
The muscles in his chest and arms tightened. He sped up, stroking in short
bursts. Brooke cupped herself, the pressure from her palm enough to make her
squirm. He slowed down, bringing his cupped fingers over the head of his cock
methodically. Brooke rotated her palm and pleasure unfolded from her slick
folds all the way up to her heavy breasts, to her rigid nipples. A tight, unrelenting
pleasure built layer by layer.

He devoured her with his gaze—hips, breasts, face and down
again. She felt his eyes on her like a tormenting lick of electricity. He
watched her. Measuring her reaction, responding to it. Slowing down and
speeding up, balancing his satisfaction with hers.

Her mind left her body, floating somewhere higher where all
she could see was him. His magnificent body rippling with bliss. His cock
straining against the caress of his hand. In that elevated place it was the
most beautiful moment of her life. Pure joy.

The steam burned like volcanic air in her lungs. She
couldn’t get enough in. Everything was in a fever yet her body strained for
more. She deepened her movements. Need battered her systems and her hips moved
with a rhythm of their own. Ty let out a low, gruff sound, his head falling
against his braced arm, his attention breaking from her, his movements slowing.

“Don’t you dare,” she breathed in a husky voice. “Don’t you
hold back from me. Let go.”

His gaze flew to her again. Fixed on hers. A world of
emotion flowed through that current. Stripped her as bare as he was. Intimate…as
if he were inside her. He increased his pace. The veins in his neck stood out
in pale cords. Her aching clitoris swelled against her brushing palm, mounting
toward a new kind of pleasure.

Ty’s expression shattered in a brilliant crescendo of
pleasure. His body shuddered and his cock jerked in his hand. Her system
crashed. Ecstasy beckoned. A high, breathtaking peak that compelled her to
jump. Her pussy hummed with electrified blood. But even as she balanced at the
precipice of joy the fear of falling stole her nerve.

She snatched her hand from between her legs and clutched it
to her chest, summoning fleeting control as instinctively as breathing. Her
nerves spat and groaned, her body trembled but desire was only enough to shake—not
to crumble—the fortress she had built around herself.

“Brooke…” Ty called, dropping his head back against the
wall.

The sound of her name brought reality crashing around her.
She stepped forward from the door. Ty lifted his arm to her. She fumbled for
the handle, yanking it down and fleeing the collapsing walls of the wet room.

Brooke rolled over in the enormous guest bed and groaned.
Her head pounded from tossing all night. Wicked memories of the night before
played out over and over in her warped mind, eventually taking on a life of
their own. Fantasy picked up where reality left off. Fantasies of Ty ignoring
her demands and stalking her across the room, rubbing the wet expanse of his
chest down the entire length of her body. Fantasies where she was braver and
more demanding, with Ty on his knees, her hand fisted in his hair, his mouth…
Oh
good God help me.
She squeezed her thighs tight, the pressure intensifying
the ache in her pussy. Her need had only become more excruciating from the
moment she’d fled the wet room, more discomfort than secret pleasure.

The temptation had been there, calling to her every second
of every minute. How easy it would be to slip her hand into her panties and
make that ache go away. Yet she resisted, couldn’t push herself over that
boundary. The boundary that had kept everything but a wet washcloth from touching
her between the legs in the last five years. At first it had hurt
there
and she had been afraid to explore and see just how bad things might be.
Eventually, as time had passed, it just became another rule, something she
didn’t do.

A sharp knock rattled the door frame and her heart almost leaped
out of her chest. She jumped out of bed and landed flat footed on the carpeted
floor.

“Brooke?” The familiar voice slowed the pounding in her
chest.

She still couldn’t shake that…the deep, instinctive reaction
to someone approaching her door. Tugging the hem of her shirt down, she walked
to the door, stopping to run her fingers through her tangled hair. She
positioned one foot sideways a step away from the door then opened it partially
against the inside of her calf.

Some habits die hard.

Ty stood on the threshold and the sight of him nearly made
her fall backward. No suit today, just black track pants and a gray T-shirt
that appeared to be made specifically to allow him to torment the female
species with his muscular glory. Even so, he managed to wear workout gear like
a boss. Just a more relaxed boss. Soft, curling brown hair kissed his temples.
Not slicked back as it had been before. Now his hair shone in the hallway light,
calling for female fingers to run through it.

His gaze ran down what he could see of her in the space
she’d allowed, lingering where his shirt ended on her thighs. His expression
heated, the line of his mouth softening as if he needed to get more air between
his lips. He cleared his throat and shifted then slid a black gym bag from his
shoulder—her bag.

“I had someone go to my place and get this. Thought you
might want to wear something other than my shirt or an evening dress to
boot-camp.”

Her bag, her things, something comfortable to wear. How
freaking thoughtful. She moved her foot and opened the door wider, then reached
for the bag.

Her fingers froze around the handle. “Hold on, how do you
know I teach boot-camp?”

She snatched the bag from his grip and stepped back.

Ty’s brow rose and he ran long fingers through the curls on
his forehead. “I thought we established yesterday that yes, maybe I did track
you down a bit.” He held up his palms. “Totally not stalking.”

Brooke clutched the bag to her chest and studied his Mr.
Innocent smile. Warning rang in her ears, reminding her that this man’s interest
in her went a shitload further than her professional skills. “You don’t need to
worry about my classes.”

He shrugged and buried his hands in his pockets. “I’ve
always wanted to try a boot-camp. Looks fun.”

Brooke let the bag go and placed her hands on her hips.
“Fun?” She laughed. “Oh, honey, you have no idea.” She let her gaze flick over
him, over the width of his chest and the breadth of his biceps. Not excessive
muscles but perfectly, athletically beautiful. There was no doubting his
fitness. But he was far too presumptuous and that needed fixing—pronto. “I
think you’ll need to sit this one out—work up to it.”

He just grinned wider, grinned with boyish, mischievous
zeal. “I’m game.”

“If you think you can handle it, Pup,” she said and shrugged
one shoulder, a half smile tugging her cheek. Oh she was going to enjoy
destroying him. Cocky male demolition was her specialty. There were reasons
none of the men in her classes dared step a foot out of line, why none had ever
had the nerve to hit on her.

“Pup?” he said, straightening.

“Yeah, that’s what you remind me of with your puppy-dog
eyes.”

“What puppy-dog eyes?” he said.

“I’ll be ready in five. You better be prepared.” She smiled,
watching the moment of confusion cross his eyes before she slid the door shut.

In less than an hour she’d have the great Tyler Black
completely at her mercy. Maybe then his threat to her emotional and physical
stability would be conquered.

* * * * *

Brooke coiled the cord of her whistle around her fist and
faced Ty. He stood in line with the five other men and two women in her Sunday
session. She stepped in close. The tips of her sneakers touched his, then she
drew herself up to her fullest height. “Sure you’re up for this? I won’t go
easy on you.”

“Oh I’d never ask for you to go
easy
on me, baby,” he
said, keeping his jaw straight like a soldier, only moving his eyes to look at
her.

She smiled and raised the whistle. “Don’t say I didn’t warn
you.”

Brooke blew the whistle and the sound rang through the park.
The class sprang into action, each participant sprinting toward a row of tires.
They scooped up rubber rings and held them overhead, commencing the first round
of walking lunges. Brooke walked behind them, clapping her hands.

“Pick up the pace, this isn’t your Sunday stroll—it’s your
Sunday boot-camp. Get ready to sweat.”

Brian, a firefighter by profession, stepped ahead of the
group, assuming his usual lead. Ty widened his steps, sinking his knee until it
brushed the grass before rising again. His triceps bulged under the weight of
the tire, but he held it up, never letting his elbows sink. He pushed ahead,
coming even with Brian’s shorter but bulkier form. She cut off the smile
pulling at her lips. Ty was no pretender, but she’d known that already. She
turned her attention to the rest of the group, urging on the ones who’d fallen
behind and issuing new exercises.

They ploughed through the routine. Each new activity proved Ty
to be the athlete she’d sensed under his movements. Her whistle blasted, she
barked orders, commanded attention and people jumped. Order righted itself
whistle by whistle. Brooke on top, dauntless. Ty would get it by the end even
if she had to grind the message into him.

The boot-camp participants formed two neat rows across the
ground, performing push-ups. Brian surged up and down, doing two for every one
of the group’s movements. Ty’s head shot up and he watched the other man, picked
up his pace, then he lifted his arm and tucked his wrist into the small of his
back, switching to one-armed push-ups.

Brooke strolled in front of him and squatted. She pressed
the whistle between her lips and blew. Everyone froze.

“Is my class too easy for you, Mr. Black?”

“It’s a picnic.” Ty looked up at her from a pink face coated
in moisture.

It wasn’t his words that kicked the bees sleeping in her
belly; it was the look in his eye. The defiant, arrogant overconfidence that
promised he’d never give in—never back down.

“All right, everyone. Good job. You’re done,” she said and
rose to her feet. “Stretch, cool down and head off. I’ll see you all next
Sunday.”

Ty bounced to his feet.

She blew her whistle. “Except for you. No one leaves without
a proper sweat.” She pointed to the tires. “Give me another thirty lunges.”

He smiled and inclined his head, jogging to the tires and
reaching for one resting on the ground.

“Not that one,” she called out. “The big one.” She pointed
to the tractor tire leaning against a tree.

Ty stretched straight and glanced at the massive hunk of
rubber, then back to Brooke with confused look.

She approached with a stiff smile. “Wouldn’t want you
mistaking this for a picnic.”

He let out a gruff laugh and strolled to the tire then bent
his knees and lifted it overhead. The veins, cords and muscles in his arms and
neck rose to the surface of his skin but he turned to her and took a deep,
lunging step. He sank his knee all the way to the ground, refusing to take a
shortcut even for a moment. His face reddened and he puffed air before surging
up for the next step.

Heat blazed over her skin as if she were the one straining
under a mammoth weight. He moved like a mythical warrior—pure, uncompromising
strength with lashings of confidence. She’d pushed him hard, too hard probably,
tested him—punished him. Yet there he was, stepping toward her like Hercules
bursting out of chains.

Her breath caught and her whistle dropped to the ground. Ty
rose, stretching out his leg for another step. His gaze flicked to Brooke. She
crouched and fumbled for her whistle. Ty’s foot connected with the ground,
twisting on a tree root. He went down. The tire hurtled past her.

Ty caught himself with his palms then rolled onto his back
and pulled his knee to his chest with a groan.

Brooke’s heart seized. “Ty,” she screamed and scrambled to
his side. “Are you all right?”

He closed his eyes. “Just give me a minute.”

She glanced at the leg clutched in his hands. “Dammit, your
leg.” She pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I should have
known better.”

Lines on his forehead deepened and he rubbed his shin. “It’s
fine—I’m all right.”

“No it’s not fine. I never should have pushed you like
that.” Her fingers curled into his T-shirt and her eyes burned. “Goddammit, I’m
so demented. I knew I should have stayed away from you…”

His eyes snapped open and he let go of his leg, sliding it
to the ground. “No, it’s not your fault. I’ve trained harder than that, believe
me.” He stared up at her, his velvety eyes dark with pain. “We all have
weaknesses. Sometimes mine still get the better of me.” His head dropped back
against the grass. “Now this is a sight I remember.”

Her pulse paused for a beat. His gaze skimmed to her chest,
to the skin exposed above the neckline of her tank top, as though he could see
the havoc raging inside. He reached out, briefly brushing his fingertips where
the fabric ended on her bust. She twitched as though his touch were filled with
static electricity.

“I’d happily suffer,” he whispered, gaze rotating back
toward her. “To hear one more promise.”

Sensations rushed over her and drew her in. Drew her through
time, drew her toward the man staring at her.

“Tell me you need me, Brooke,” he said.

The words were there, hovering right on her lips, curling
her tongue.
I need you, Ty.
Ready to pour out. Ready to explode along
with other crazy confessions. She blinked.
Confessions or lies.
Lies
that form fantasy—something imagined not real.

She sat back on her heels. “We better go ice that leg before
you end up hurting more than you already are.”

Ty’s expression slammed closed as if she’d hit a button on
his remote control. She rose to her feet and held out her hand to him. He
ignored her and rolled to his side then stood and collected the dropped tire.

“Leave it. I can pack everything away.”

He placed his arm through the center and bent to grab a
smaller tire with his other arm, carting them to the equipment shed with only
the slight shift of weight to his right leg betraying any discomfort.

* * * * *

They arrived at Ty’s apartment in silence. If he was still
in pain, he did a brilliant job of hiding it. Or maybe he was too pissed off to
focus on something as insignificant as a physical ache. Brooke followed Ty
inside, quickly scanning the area for risk. With a private foyer and secure
entrances perched high above the ground on the top floor, his home offered both
security and entrapment. Hard to get in but fuck-all options for escape.

“Where’s your freezer?” she said. “We should get ice on that
leg.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can look after myself.” Ty walked
through the large living room decorated in shades of whites and grays. Long
windows spanned the rear wall and ran around the corner, revealing a view
almost overwhelming in scale.

“Looking after you is my job,” she said, noticing the
kitchen peeking around a corner of the L-shaped, open-plan-living apartment.
“Will you allow me to do that much?”

He stared at her then sighed. “If you must.” He led her to
the kitchen and took a long, pale-blue ice-pack from the freezer.

He gestured to a hallway off the kitchen. “You can put your
things in the guestroom across from mine.”

Brooke nodded but slid her bag to the ground and rummaged
inside for her first-aid kit and pulled out a bandage. “Leg first.”

Ty took the ice-pack to the couch then propped his foot on a
padded ottoman. Brooke sat next to his foot and tugged off his shoe then rested
his foot on her lap.

“How did you end up a bodyguard, Brooke?”

She placed the ice-pack against his leg, holding it in
place. “I guess you could say it was my boss, Connor, who got me into the
business.”

“Because you were friends?”

The cold of the gel kicked up a notch, sending chills into
her bones. Their friendship wasn’t one you’d want to learn about before bed or
in the dark.

“Something like that,” she whispered.

The calf on her lap flexed.

“More than friends?”

His tone, ripe with jealousy, sent a ripple of heat into her
fingers, allowing them to move again. Part of her wanted to feed that jealousy,
give him a reason to give up his useless crush. But she wouldn’t drag Connor’s
name through the mud that was her past, especially considering he was engaged
to her new best friend.