Watching Over Her. Lisa Childs
Читать онлайн книгу.
were gone a long time,” she said. “You must’ve had a lot to tell him.” He had probably told the chief about her letters and Andy’s brother and dad.
“He had a lot to say, too,” Blaine said with a sigh. “He thinks that I’m losing my objectivity where you’re concerned.”
“Because he thinks you should still consider me a suspect?” Maybe Blaine did; he had never really said that he no longer had any suspicions about her.
“Chief Lynch thinks that I shouldn’t be the one protecting you,” he said.
That explained the other agents who’d guarded her last night and today. But the thought of losing Blaine’s protection panicked her. She wasn’t just frightened for the baby’s safety or hers; she was panicked at the thought of no longer seeing Blaine. “I don’t understand. You’ve saved me. You’ve kept me safe.”
“He’s right,” Blaine said. “I should not be protecting you. I have lost my focus.”
“So you’re going to send me away—to one of those safe houses again?” She was losing him already. She had been right to not fall for him. But despite her best intentions, she was afraid that it was already too late.
“Not yet,” he said. And he stepped inside the room and closed the door behind himself. “Not tonight...”
“Blaine...?”
“This is why I shouldn’t be the man protecting you,” he said, “because I want you. Because I’m attracted to you, and when I’m around you, I can barely think, let alone keep you safe.”
She must have fallen asleep; she must have been dreaming—because he couldn’t be saying what she was hearing. Testing her reality, she reached out and touched his face. His skin was stubbly and sexy beneath her palm, making her fingers tingle.
“You’re attracted to me?”
“I showed you last night,” he reminded her, “with that kiss.”
“I thought that was pity.”
He laughed. “That wasn’t pity.”
“Then why did you stop?” She’d lain awake all night—wanting him. Needing him...
“I thought I was taking advantage of you,” he said, “of your vulnerability.”
She shook her head. “You weren’t...”
“I want to,” he said. “I want you...”
She wanted him, too, so she tugged him down onto the bed with her. And she kissed him with all the desire he had awakened in her the night before—all the desire she had never felt before. It coursed through her again as their lips met.
He kissed her back. And it was definitely not with pity but with desire. He touched her, too, his hands moving gently over her body.
Her pulse pounded madly. She wanted him to rip off her clothes, but he removed them carefully, slowly, as if giving her time to change her mind.
She had never wanted anything—anyone—more. She didn’t take off his clothes slowly; she nearly tore buttons and snaps in her haste to get him naked. When all his golden skin was bare, she gasped in wonder at his masculine beauty. His body was so sleek but yet so muscular, too.
He made love to her reverently, moving his lips all over her body. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her neck before moving lower. He nibbled on her breasts, tugging gently on her nipples.
She moaned in ecstasy, her body already pulsing with passion. She pushed him back on the bed and he pulled her on top of him, gently guiding his erection inside her.
“This is all right?” he asked, his hands holding her hips—holding her up before she took him all the way inside her. “For the baby?”
She bit her lip and nodded. Even though she had told her doctor it wouldn’t be an issue, the female obstetrician had assured Maggie that sex wouldn’t jeopardize her pregnancy at all. “It’s fine.”
He pulled her down until he filled her. And she moaned again.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she said, as she began to move again—rocking back and forth—trying to relieve the inexplicable pressure building inside her. “But I will be...”
He helped, guiding her up and down—teasing her breasts with his lips and gently with his teeth—until ecstasy shattered her and she screamed his name. Then he thrust and called out as he joined her in ecstasy.
She collapsed on top of him, their bodies still joined. He clasped her to him, holding her tightly in his arms. His heart beat heavily beneath her head, and his lungs panted for breath. Finally his heart slowed and his breathing evened out, and she realized he’d fallen asleep beneath her.
She would have been offended if she wasn’t aware that he’d had no sleep the past two nights. And maybe even more nights before that. She hadn’t had much more sleep, so she began to drift off, too.
Until her eyes began to burn and her lungs...
At first she blamed guilt. But Mrs. Doremire was right. Andy would have wanted her to be happy, so she couldn’t use him as an excuse. But as it became harder for her to breathe, she realized what the real problem was.
Smoke. Someone had set the house on fire.
“Blaine!”
The sound of his name—uttered with such fear and urgency—jerked him awake as effectively as if she’d screamed. He coughed and sputtered as smoke burned his throat and lungs.
Soft hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him. “The house is on fire! We have to get out!”
They pulled on clothes in the dark and Blaine grabbed up his holster and his gun. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t awakened earlier. The fire must have been burning for a while because there was a lot of smoke—so much that it was hard to breathe. Hard to see. But there wasn’t much heat.
Maybe the smoke was just a ruse to get them out of the house—where Maggie could be grabbed. Or shot. But the smoke, growing denser and denser, could kill her, too.
She coughed and sputtered. But she didn’t speak. She must have been too scared.
So was Blaine. He was scared that he had failed her and the baby—that he had broken his promise to her that he would keep them safe. He shouldn’t have let his desire for her distract him. He shouldn’t have crossed the line with a material witness.
“We have to stay low,” he said as he helped her down to the floor. He reached forward and touched the door, his palm against the wood. It wasn’t warm—at least, not as warm as the floor beneath his knees.
Maggie must have felt it, too, because she gasped and started to rise. But Blaine caught her arm and pulled her back down as she began to cough.
Getting out wouldn’t be easy, especially if the whole first floor was engulfed as he suspected. But he didn’t have time to devise a plan. He had to act now—before the floor gave way beneath them.
So he opened the door to the hall. The smoke was even thicker than in the bedroom. He crossed it quickly to the bathroom, grabbed towels from a shelf and soaked them under the tub faucet. Maggie was still in the hall as if she hadn’t been able to see where to go. He wrapped Maggie’s face and body in the wet towels, and then he picked her up in his arms.
“Blaine...”
He coughed, and his eyes teared up from the smoke. But there was no time. And maybe there was no escape. He couldn’t jump out a second-story window—not without hurting Maggie and her baby. So he ran toward the stairs. The bottom floor was aglow from the flames, but none licked up the