Sweet One (Titan Book 8) (7 page)

“Jeez. Bird watching. Can I go now?”

Cash turned his head and opened his eyes. “Lie to me again, and see what happens.”

Oh boy.
“Go back to sleep.”

“You ran through the house like you were up to something.”

“I’ll explain later.” Telling him now would make his head explode, and that’d be bad for recovery and all. “My
bird watching
is time sensitive. Grill me later. Please?”

His eyes narrowed. “You have the Spidey senses too.” He pushed out of bed, feeling along the side of the nightstand until he retrieved a Glock 9.

“Cash Garrison!”

He stood up, pausing for what had to be a second longer than his old norm. “Let’s go.”

“The doctor said no loud noise, no percussive forces. He
stipulated
no gunfire.”

“Walk and talk, sweet girl.”

“Shit, you obnoxious alpha man.”

“You dangerous pregnant woman,” he grumbled. “Scoot your booty, baby.”

She obeyed because he was already moving. “There’s a man a thousand yards away, posted in the sand dunes.” They moved smoothly, as though she weren’t pregnant and he hadn’t been in a TBI clinic. They were two of a kind. Without speaking, they intuitively flowed, taking the same path, taking their positions in the house, and looking out windows without being seen.

She scanned the perimeter. The man in the dunes was gone. Cash did a walk-around with his weapon handy but out of sight. He flicked the lock on the door, giving Nicola an eye for not doing so when she’d opted to smoothly slip in then run like hell for the binoculars, and finished checking the inside of the house.

Nicola heard the garage door open and close as he left her alone for twenty minutes, and then Cash reappeared, walking up the back-deck stairs. He knocked on the door, and she let him in. Both stayed silent; she put her binoculars on the kitchen table, and he placed the Glock there, within reach.

“So…” she said, sitting down. There were a hundred ways this conversation could go. She was crazy. They were nuts together. Field withdrawal had made them insane, or her hormones and his concussion had joined forces to send them to the looney bin.

“What’d he look like?”

“I didn’t get a good look.”

Cash pinched the bridge of his nose. “At least you got a look.”

“Meaning?”

He shrugged and ran a fist into his rumpled hair.

Nicola rested her hand on her stomach. “People are going to think we’ve lost our marbles.”

Cash’s eyes narrowed. He shook his head. “Nah, something’s up.”

The determination in his face matched the fear in her tummy. He would maim, kill, and destroy whatever threatened his wife and child—even if it hurt him, which it would likely do. A simple gunshot reverb could set back his rehab. The idea of Cash in an altercation scared the hell out of her.

“Do you want to go home?” she asked.

His jaw flexed. “Do I want to run home because my wife saw a man in the sand who scared her?” He tilted his head. “How hard do you think I was hit in the head, Nic?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Want me to call Jared, see if someone can come down and protect you? Maybe Roman can come sit up nights and watch out for his little sis.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Cash.”

He shook his head, glaring. “Seriously. Not like I don’t have shit to deal with. ‘Don’t shoot guns. Don’t get in fights.’ That’s what I do for a living!”

Her eyes went wide. Okay. Mood swings. Anger. It was like a TBI checklist playing out live in front of her. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“God. Damn. This is making my head pound.”

“Maybe lie down. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The chair scraped across the floor when he pushed back. “Right. Sure. Let my pregnant wife run around playing caped crusader to the man in the bushes. I’m the fucking father-to-be of the year.”

“Cash, that’s not…”

He stormed out of the room, leaving the 9mm and binoculars on the table and her in tears.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Parker,” Cash growled into the phone. “I don’t give two shits who you have to murder or maim to get me on the line with Boss Man, but
make it happen
.”

“He’s—”

“Right now, goddamn it.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Cash. Calm the fuck down.”

“I am calm. You want to see me not calm? There will be a bloodbath in Podunk, South Carolina, and his perfect little beach house will be a crime scene. Get Jared on the damn phone.”

“Is everything okay with you and Nic?” Parker asked as though proposing to crawl through the phone line and wage war to protect Titan’s pregnant spy.

“Insinuate again that there’s a problem with me and my wife’s safety—”

“That was a dick move,” Parker apologized. “Just explain.”

“For fuck’s sake. It’s an unsecure line, asshole. You know that better than me. I have a problem. If I can’t talk to him, figure out how I’m supposed to talk to you. Shit.”

Parker sighed. “You know what benched means? I have strict orders to not engage with you. At all.”

“Someone’s sniffing around here. I’ve got the vibe, and before you say one damn word about post-traumatic bullshit, I am not wrong.”

“Cash—”

“Nic saw a guy—”

“
Cash
—”

“I’ve got the vibe.”

“Dude, listen—”

“It’s my motherfucking woman and child. So no, you listen. Get Jared on the phone now, or patch me through to a goddamn secure line, and
you
listen then relay what you need to. Do you understand?”

Parker paused a beat. “Yeah. My bad. Hang tight.”

Cash dropped his forehead to his shaking palm, noticing the twinge of perspiration, and then scrubbed his face. A garbled noise ate into the phone line.

Parker’s voice broke the static. “Secure line.”

“Heard vacation bliss has a hiccup.” Boss Man’s voice cut in and out, echoing. “What do you need?”

The tension in his neck was instantly dispelled, and without thinking, Cash began to rattle off a shopping list that would make the NSA jealous.

“Done.”

With the Jared stamp of approval, Cash knew by the next morning he’d have satellite feeds and thermal imaging of every sand dune a thousand yards in any direction. If a seagull took a piss, if a fish jumped out of the water, Cash would know about it. That promise of intel soothed his soul, and he went to double-check the Titan-esque security system installed on the beach house and then go find his wife.
Like hell she’s sleeping alone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nicola woke, clinging to a blanket tucked under her chin. She’d cried herself to sleep on the couch, and hours must have passed because the sun was gone and the room was a deep shade of hours-gone-by. Only a few lights from a hallway were on, and she couldn’t remember grabbing the blanket, but it did something nice to ward off the loneliness of dozing on the couch.

Today sucked. Fighting with Cash, her paranoia—or maybe reality—whatever it was had been just too much to handle. She shifted on the couch, and a whiff of man caught her attention, as did the light breath of a snore—Cash, asleep on the floor at the base of the couch.

Of course, she shouldn’t have doubted him. Fight or not, he couldn’t have been more of a perfect man. A hardheaded, alpha protector of a man, but one who bugged the snot out of her, made her smile, and who’d sleep on the floor next to the couch when she didn’t come to bed.

God, he was a good one, and to think she’d almost lost him…

He had a pillow and a blanket and must’ve been responsible for her blanket too. “I hate fighting with you.” No answer, so maybe his Spidey senses were turned off for the moment. Nicola reached down and found his hand. “Come here.”

Awakening, he focused his blue eyes on her in the shadowy dark. “Hey.”

“Don’t sleep on the floor.”

He chuckled, low and sexy. “Don’t sleep on the couch, and I won’t have that problem.”

“Come up here. You’ll still fit.” She pulled him up, and with just a tug, her heart was happy, and he was under the blanket.

He kissed the back of her head. “Someone wants to find one of us, sweet girl.”

“Doesn’t make sense.”

“Of course it does. We have a laundry list of enemies. It’s only a matter of time.” He kissed the back of her neck softly, letting his lips linger. “No one will hurt you.”

“I know.”

His tongue lingered where his lips had been, and she sighed, half melting into him, half awakening. Weeks of feeling ill and then days that felt like centuries had made her numb without realizing, but buried in the blankets, feeling safe and secure, loved and cared for, she felt a flood of sexuality in her blood. It came with an unexpected intensity and warmness.

“That feels nice.” Her back arched.

“Good.” Cash brushed her hair away from her neck and tugged her shirt over her shoulder, drifting languid, sleepy kisses at a maddeningly slow pace from ear to shoulder and back again. “Take the dress off, Nic.”

Pushing up out of their blanket cocoon, his hands found her stomach and lifted the long sundress before she had a chance to do it. Nicola unhooked her bra, and Cash enveloped her, pressing her back to his chest, spooning them together under the cashmere blanket. The palm of his hand swept across her flesh, back and forth, and every little touch ignited sparks a thousand times more sensitive than she’d ever before had. Nicola squirmed, in heaven.

“What, are you ticklish now?” he whispered against her earlobe.

And, good God, pregnancy hormones might be the greatest thing for sex since… since God made Cash Garrison. “Just…” Her voice shook. “We haven’t since I was pregnant.”

His hand paused. They’d passed the time frame in which he had to be careful about TBI-related
sex injuries
, whatever that meant, but he hadn’t thought about
pregnant
sex. “We shouldn’t?”

“If you dare stop, I will strangle you.”

His laugh ran down her spine. “Ten-four, sweet girl.”

“I think it’s called heightened awareness.”

“So if I do this…” He palmed her breast, letting his thumb gently rub her erect nipple.

“Yeah, if you do that…” She squirmed against him, aware of her breathy nonresponse and not caring.

His strong fingers massaged her mound, and Nicola gasped.

“Christ, Nic.” His voice had dropped too. With lips close to her ear, Cash sounded equal parts aroused and curious, as though heaven had sent him his favorite playground. He flicked her earlobe with his tongue then grabbed it with his teeth, sucking it into his mouth, kissing the spot that he’d memorized years ago as one of her hot buttons.

With his fingers plucking her nipple, his tongue behind her ear, and his erection pressed against her ass, Nicola could stay buried in blanketed bliss, bordering on an almost orgasm without him even touching between her legs.

Heat blossomed inside her body at the thought.
Wow.
Hormones could be a curse, but at that moment, they were a blessing. She was wet beyond a doubt, moaning for her man, and enjoying every sensation—from the light scratch of his chest hair pressed against her back to the heavy sound of his breath.

Cash shifted, his hand dropping to the swell of her belly. “Beautiful. You with more curves.” He kissed her bicep and moved to her breast, sucking the tip into his warm mouth. “Tits that I want to bury myself in.”

She wriggled, pushing herself under him, letting his massive hulk cover her body, holding against her but not smothering her. He’d long ago mastered that perfect balance of dominance and carefulness that was almost a requirement for someone so strong, long, and muscled, but it always came coupled with sexy gentleness.

But now that she was pregnant, he’d upped his game. Cash Garrison was
worshipping
her body as only an alpha male could do. There was a mix of pure, unadulterated possession, longing, love, and need all rolled up in one sexually driven man intent on making her batshit crazy. It was working.

His hands skimmed over her taut stomach. Every day, she had to put lotion on it. The skin itched from where it was growing and stretching and from where the baby was kicking. She hadn’t been sure if it was pretty or sexy, but in the shaded light with him dropping to his knees in front of her, her pregnant stomach next to his golden hair and scruffy cheeks, those blue-blue eyes that she could picture in any shade of the dark—that was gorgeous.

Goosebumps popped on her stomach where his hands were. He chased them down with kisses, letting his palms rest on her hips. “I need you naked, baby.”

Nicola lifted her hips, and he tugged down her panties.

He snaked a hand behind her head, pulling her down for a kiss that could draw a climax out. He didn’t stop. His tongue delved into her mouth, and he ate at her lips, breathing in every breath she tried for. Nicola pressed to him, widening her legs to get closer, to wrap her arms around him, to taste him, to love him, to consume him in every possible way she could think of—his free hand stroked her pussy, and she bucked and balked. Arched and moaned. Cash gripped the back of her head, forcing her still, greedily owning that kiss, and she groaned and nodded, needing him to touch her harder and kiss her longer.

“Don’t stop.” She bit through the kiss.

He didn’t bother with words. Her legs were wide, and his fingers were fast, sliding the seams of her needy lips. Nicola flexed her hips, trying for more, begging for his fingers to push inside.

Fuck it.
He wouldn’t let her dictate a thing. Nicola gasped, giving up the moment, threading her hands into his hair and holding his mouth to hers. As though that had been the key, he thrust two fingers into her body.

She couldn’t help it. Her hands fell loose, and her body went lax. The world spun on that simple invasion, and Cash laid her back on the couch. “Such a sweet girl.”

She nodded because she was putty—agreement was all there was. His mouth dropped to her chest, sucking one tit then the next as he fingered her pussy and teased her clit. There was nothing slow about it. What started out strong went to insane.