In Bed with the Bodyguard (12 page)

Her release spurred his, and come shot onto his hand as he slowed his movement on them both. He knelt at her feet, resting his forehead on the desk edge while his breathing slowed to non-heart-attack rate.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

He pretended to misunderstand, though with Arianna, he often wasn't pretending. She kept him on his toes with her quick wit and sharp sense of humor. “It's a little technique I like to call
paying attention
. First I start with my tongue, and when your moans get all high-pitched and fast, I add a finger,” he said with a grin.

She swiped the side of his head with a not-so-gentle foot. “Idiot.”

He lifted his head to smile at her. “Seriously, how do I do what?”

“Make me forget. One minute we were talking about my dad…not a sexy topic, and the next you had me naked and writhing on my desk.”

“What can I say? It's a talent.” When she lifted a foot to knock him again, he caught her by the ankle and yanked her down to his lap, cushioning her fall. He kissed the top of her head, berating himself for getting sidetracked. She'd been getting chatty about her dad, and even though he wouldn't purposely sleep with her for information, if she happened to drop clues about her father's whereabouts during pillow talk, he would share it with his superiors. He'd totally distracted her with his dick and now he was leaving, since the security company he'd called was arriving any minute to take over. It had been a great long weekend with Arianna, but now it was over.

At least the living together part was finished. He'd meant what he'd said to Ari about continuing to see each other. True, his boss wanted him here spying for the feds, but mostly he wanted to see her because he genuinely liked her. Discounting the hottest sex he'd had in his life, Arianna made him laugh more than he could remember in a long time. She made him want to play again. For too long, his life had been work and family obligations. Even dating hadn't been fun. It was clear now, he'd been finding the wrong women. He knew now his type was a petite, curvy redhead with an overly developed sense of fashion.

He stood and smiled at the sight of her sprawled naked on her desk. She seemed to sense his sadness and sat. “Are you leaving now?” she asked quietly.

A wry grin formed as he looked down at his exposed body. “Mind if I shower first?”

“Sure.”

He stared at her for a minute, then bent to kiss her lips. “Hey, no looking sad. I'm leaving for the night, not forever. You're going to see me again. Remember, we're dating now.” He ignored his discomfort that she'd be seeing him again under his boss's orders to stay close.

“Promise?” she asked softly.

“Promise. This is not good-bye.”

F
ifteen minutes later, Ari hung up the phone to the caterer, satisfied the food would meet her standards at the upcoming show. It had taken all of her concentration to focus on the conversation when the room still smelled like sex and her desk showed signs of hard use.

With Lance upstairs in the shower, she had a minute to herself to catch her breath. He kept her on edge sexually, and she could go from crying about her father one minute to soft and ready for him the next. And oh, man, when she'd realized what his hand was doing…whew. Was there anything sexier than watching a man stroke himself to completion?

When he'd stood to leave to get cleaned and packed up, she'd nearly done something out of character for her. She'd nearly begged. She, Arianna Rose, begging a man? Had never and would never happen. It was better that Lance was leaving. It wasn't as if she could ask him to move in with her. They'd known each other a few days. It'd be ridiculous. He'd said he wanted to explore their new relationship by continuing to date, which should've been satisfactory. It still didn't explain why the thought of a professional security company taking over made her want to cry. She wanted her personal sexy bodyguard.

She added some handwritten notes to the printed catering menu, with one ear listening to the sounds of running water upstairs. A knock at the back door startled her; she wondered how long someone had been standing there knocking while she worked in a daze.

It must be the hired security company. Already. Why were they at her back door? She froze at her desk, unwilling to answer the door, because it meant her idyllic interlude with Lance was over. He'd go back to his real life, and she'd go back to her nightmare.

When the knocking grew louder and faster, she stood and made her way to the door. Her footsteps quickened with renewed sadness, and she yanked open her back door to tell the hired guard to go away until tomorrow, only to be smacked in the chest and face with something warm and rank smelling. She opened her mouth to scream but closed it immediately when a vile taste flooded in. With eyes and mouth squeezed shut, she felt for the doorframe. What in hell had happened? What was on her shirt and splattered on her face?

From the feel and smell, she could only surmise it was dog poo. Holy grossness, she'd been shit-smacked. What jerk had done such a thing? There was no number of showers that would make her feel clean again. Screw it, the shirt was ruined anyway. Without a care for anyone watching, she used the sleeve of her blouse to wipe the droplets of dog poo away from her eyes and mouth, enough to open her eyes to be on the lookout for another attack.

She stood alone in the alley surrounded by trash bins and recycling cans. Any sign of her mystery attacker was long gone. Part of her wanted him to resurface so she could give him a piece of her mind, but the rest of her thanked her lucky stars he'd disappeared without doing anything worse. Bullet wounds didn't wash off in the shower the way feces would.

“Ari?” Lance's incredulous voice came from behind her.

Slowly, she spun to look at him. Why she was embarrassed, she had no idea. It wasn't as if she'd purposely rubbed dog poo on herself. “Hi,” she said a bit sheepishly.

“What the hell happened to you?” He stood looking way too handsome and—well—clean in khaki pants and polo shirt. Water still beaded in his hair from the shower.

“I think my attacker is back. And this time it's personal.” She made her voice deep like a movie voice-over.

“Skip the humor, Ari. Why the hell did you open the door to a stranger?”

“Hey, I've been shit on enough today, literally. Don't dump on me too. I opened the door because I thought it was the new security company.”

Lance pulled his shirt over his head and stepped forward to use it to wipe at her. “New rule, you don't open doors anymore without me right there.”

How sweet, he'd ruined a nice shirt for her, not that he couldn't afford a new one, or a million new ones, but still, it was sweet. He wiped her viciously as if he could wipe away the attack by clearing away the poopy evidence. He muttered angrily as he wiped. “Where the hell are the FBI clowns? I'm calling Sullivan. Ridiculous, useless, glorified cops. Did you at least get a look at the person? Please tell me you saw the person's face.”

She hated to disappoint him when he had such protective fury in his voice, but she had to. “Sorry. I opened the door and
pow
, right in the kisser.” Dear God, help her. She couldn't stop with the celebrity quotes.

His frown would have scared her if aimed in her direction. Instead he peered up and down the narrow alley, hoping to find a glimpse of the attacker, but it was way too late. There were too many hidey-holes and turnoffs; he was long gone.

She turned to head back into her gallery, but his hand yanked her back.

“Where are you going?”

“Duh, look at me. Shower.”

“If you walk through your gallery like that, you'll be mopping shit for weeks and still not get the smell out.”

She yanked her hand back. “Gross. What should I do?” She hated that he was right, but she was going to vomit if she didn't get clean in the next thirty seconds.

“Take your shirt off.”

“How? I'll get it all over my face and hair if I try.”

Lance's brow furrowed for a quick second. “Do you have a hose?” He spotted her neighbor's hose coiled on their converted carriage house and stepped toward it. “Perfect.”

Ari shrieked as icy water slapped her across the face and spilled onto her shirt. “That's cold.”

Lance kept spraying. “Suck it up, you're getting clean.”

“You're enjoying this way too much,” she accused when he lowered the spray to her filthy shirt.

“Of course I am. I hate that someone attacked you, but silver lining: I've got a hose on a hot girl in a wet t-shirt.” She could make out his grin between the water drops dripping from her soaked hair.

“Oh, grow up and leave the frat house. Give me the hose.” She snatched it out of his hands and rinsed herself while shielding her chest from view, not that he hadn't seen it all anyway, but it seemed a fitting punishment for being in the shower while her attacker got the best of her.

“Hang on,” he said, then stepped back out of the spray's reach and pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

Ari heard bits and pieces while she cleaned up under the icy spray.

“Sullivan. It's Lance. I need the number of the team trailing Ms. Rose.” There was a long silence as Lance committed the number to memory. “Uh-huh, no, okay. Bye.” He clicked off, then looked at her. “I'll go get you a towel. Stand in the doorway and scream bloody murder if anyone approaches.” Without waiting for her consent, he dashed off upstairs and was back in less than twenty seconds, barely breathing hard.

Ari gratefully wrapped the fluffy towel around her body and stepped back into her air-conditioned gallery. “Brr, turn the AC off, please.” She raced upstairs to get into a hot shower with bottles of shampoo and many bars of soap.

Lance took advantage of Ari's prolonged shower to call the FBI surveillance team. When he learned they were parked in the front of the building, he stepped outside to give them a piece of his mind. “Where the hell were you?” He barely resisted shoving the older suited-up agent who stepped out of the car to chat.

“What are you talking about?”

Lance could see two white-and-green paper coffee cups balanced in the vehicle. Great, they'd been getting a caffeine fix while Ari had been attacked. Thank God it had only been dog shit. His heart rate sped up and pounded at the thought of all the other things it might have been.

She was damn lucky, and he mentally swore that he was going to personally scrutinize the new security guard to make sure he was competent. For now, he wasn't moving more than a few feet from her until the hired guards arrived. Right now she was in the shower; he'd simply have to go join her. He smiled inwardly at that excellent solution and decided to go implement the new policy immediately. As soon as he'd kicked a little FBI ass.

“I'm talking about Arianna, just now in the alley,” he said in the other agent's face.

“What happened?”

The agent looked way too calm for Lance's liking. “You weren't there. That's what happened. And her crazy vigilante slung a bag of shit her way.” If the older man even cracked a smile at Ari's bad luck, he was going down on the Georgetown sidewalk. Hard.

“When?”

Lucky for him, he maintained his impassive expression.

“Five minutes ago. She opened the door and
bam
. She could've been shot.” Lance was startled to hear the hitch in his voice at the words. “Why don't you have somebody watching the back door? It's not like Stanley Rose will waltz up to the front door in plain sight.”

“Agreed, and we're not here for her protection. We are here hoping she leads us to her father. All we need to do is circle every hour or so. Plus, your chief told ours that you're on the inside, and we lessened our presence.”

“Well, bump it back up.” Lance took a step toward him, hoping his height would intimidate since his lack of shirt made something less than a serious impression. Jesus, he had it bad for Arianna. She had him running around Georgetown shirtless yelling at fellow agents.

“No can do. We are purely surveillance for clues into Stanley Rose. Like I said, we are not here for Ms. Rose's protection. That's your job.”

“I don't live with her,” Lance protested, his stomach churning at the thought of leaving Ari to the callowness and red tape of the federal system. “I'm leaving tonight, and you know as well as I do that rent-a-guard is useless against a professional.”

The man shrugged. “She'll have to figure it out, then.”

Lance muttered a few creative curses, then stalked back into the gallery and made his way into the upstairs apartment and crashed on the couch to catch his breath. He'd abandoned the shower idea. Someone had to stay alert against security threats, and that someone, for the next few hours, was him.

A
few days later, Lance was back in Arianna's loft checking in on her and Tony, her retired police officer hired guard. Tony liked to hang out in the main room of her gallery reading NRA magazines. Lance had been calling and dropping by periodically, which she thought was so sweet.

However, she knew this was likely a temporary relationship, despite all his talk about dating and seeing where the relationship went. For one, she sucked at relationships. Without a model or roadmap to use, she managed to scare off every male suitor she'd ever had. Sure, ninety-nine percent of the time it was intentional, but she harbored no expectations that dating Lance would be more successful. Soon, Lance would go back to work, Ari would have her big show, and her father's angry victim would or would not rear his ugly head again, and Lance wouldn't feel the need to play hero.

An unworthy, lame part of her psyche believed that was the only reason Lance was with her. She knew she wasn't his usual type, and Mr. Clean-cut certainly wasn't her usual style. If she wasn't a damsel in distress, would Lance keep talking about dating and relationships? She didn't think so, but she was enjoying it while it lasted, which she assumed would end the day her attacker was caught.

The police seemed to have more leads on her missing father than they did on her would-be attacker. Lance warned Tony to be crazy vigilant and never allow her out of his sight for more than a minute. Now he kept muttering about her need for eating in restaurants. If it were up to him, she'd be on lockdown in the apartment eating peanut butter and jelly.

“Worse than the president wanting to walk the parade route at the inauguration. Sheesh,” he muttered to himself whenever she suggested an outing.

She ignored his grumblings with a smile, since she took it to mean he cared a little. As for her, she was starting to care way too much. When this—whatever it was—between them ended, there was going to be a giant, gaping hole in her heart, but she kept suppressing that thought and focused on the now.

“Want to go to a movie tomorrow night?” She turned from her computer, where she'd been reading a positive review of the latest rom-com starring Clive Owen, who pretty much topped her must-see list.

Lance frowned at her from where he was sprawled on her sofa. “Like I want to take you to a large, dark room full of strangers? Use your head, woman.” He softened his rebuke with a grin. “But I can't anyway. I have to go out tomorrow night.”

“Oh, hot date?” Ari asked. She left her desk and kneeled on the couch next to him.

He smacked her bottom gently. “Yeah, like I have the energy for that. You wear me out, sweetheart.”

She didn't want to be the nagging girlfriend, but Lance looked uncomfortable about his evening plans; she couldn't help but ask. “Where are you going?”

“Um…” He scooped up the remote and flipped the channel a few times before answering. “My dad's in town meeting some friends. He requested my presence at dinner.”

She snuggled into his side, inhaling the earthy alluring scent of his skin. “Requested your presence? What is he, the king?”

He snorted. “You could say that.”

It was clear she'd have to dig. Lance was closed up tighter than an ice cream truck in a snowstorm. “I thought you weren't close with your parents.” He still hadn't given her any details about his wealthy family despite her hints and questions.

“They call or visit once or twice a year to nag and lecture me on my duties,” he said.

She sat up. How was that possible? “Duties? But you're, like, the perfect son.” She ticked off his qualities on her fingers. “You're smart, responsible, have an important job, trustworthy, sexy…”

Lance stroked a large hand over her scalp. “I don't think my parents care about that last one.” He laughed. “At least, I hope not.”

“I care,” she said, hearing a sultry note slide into her voice. She crawled over to straddle him, thankful she wore another of her adorable spring dresses today. Lance was happy about it too, she could tell as his erection rose under his pants.

“
Do
you care?” he asked.

There was more to his question than sex, and Ari was starting to recognize that she cared about him a whole lot more than any man she'd ever slept with before. In fact, other than Valerie, she couldn't think of a single person she'd let get this close. She leaned in to press a warm kiss to his lips. “I care,” she said. “I really care.”

“You sound shocked.” His hands roamed under her skirt and rubbed tantalizing patterns across her hips and rear.

“Don't tease. This is a big deal for me. I've never copped to caring before.”

“Well, then, thank you. For the record, I care too. Even if you are a spoiled brat.” He managed to undo the zipper of her dress and slide it down, revealing today's lacy confection. Ivory lace with scattered navy satin bows harnessed her breasts to defy gravity. She jutted her chest out, teasing him with nipples barely hidden.

“Jesus,” he muttered, “you're fucking sexy. I don't know whether to go for the porn fantasy and leave that excuse of a bra on, or get you totally naked.”

“Viewer's choice.” She smiled, totally aroused by his heated stare. It was always nice to be desired, but to have the object of your affection be equally into you was sheer perfection.

Lance lifted the hem of her dress. “I'm almost scared to look. Are you commando again?”

Ari pushed back off his lap and stood in front of him with one bare foot on the couch between his thighs. If she stretched her big toe she could graze his cock. “Wouldn't you like to know,” she said, and held her dress lowered over her midriff, showing her breasts and nothing more. She wasn't quite bare under the dress—it was, after all, a windy day. But the matching cream lacy thong didn't cover much.

“Show me,” he said.

She wiggled her eyebrows and blew him a kiss. Her best stripper moves consisted of a little belly dancing and part macarena, minus the arm movements. After a few hip swivels, she dropped the dress and posed in her lingerie, letting him look his fill. Her nipples peaked and she'd have to lose the thong soon before it became too wet with her desire.

“Come here.” He crooked his finger.

If any man before Lance had dared crook his finger at her, she'd have sent him out the door, but with him, his total masculine cockiness sent waves of heat straight to her core. He couldn't win her, not that easily. She raised her foot to the couch again, then lowered her hand to finger herself. Her eyes closed from the pleasure of performing for him; she was wet.

“You little tease,” he said, nearly growling. “I said get over here, or two can play at that game.”

“Shh,” she said, laughing. “We'll frighten Tony.”

“I sent Tony to dinner. It's just you and me, baby.” He unsnapped his pants and released his cock. Wowza, she was influencing the lawman more than she'd realized. She wasn't the only one who went commando on occasion. Seeing her stare, he let out the sexiest laugh ever and stroked himself from base to tip.

Her fingers paused and she licked her lips, wanting to kiss and taste the pearl of moisture beading up at the top of Lance's penis.

“Don't stop. Keep going,” Lance said.

“But I want that.” She whined a little and reached for him, but he shifted out of her reach. The bastard. How dare he deny her? She dropped to her knees; no man could resist the possibility of a blow job.

Lance, apparently, was made of sterner stuff than most men. He continued stroking his cock and used his knees to prevent her from getting closer. Damn him and his martial arts know-how. “I said, keep touching yourself.”

He wanted to play? Fine. She was game, but now he was going to be the one begging and pleading. With a saucy smile for him, she strolled over to her nightstand and selected a vibrator from her collection and lay back on the bed, making sure to remain in his line of vision. Ooh, now who was distracted? Lance's hand froze mid-stroke.

“You're evil,” he choked out, but he couldn't seem to take his gaze away from the picture she made lying on the bed, legs spread.

The buzzing of the vibrator sounded like a busy little bee flitting around the room. Lance yanked off all his clothes and came to kneel on the bed next to her. “I've never seen that before.”

She looked at him, confused. “A vibrator?”

He smiled slightly. “Yes. No. Well, a woman actually using one.”

“You've lived a sheltered life, then.” She decided to put on the best show ever for him, one he would never forget even when he was back in his normal life dating boring, colorless, K Street lawyer types, women who didn't share their sex toy collection with him.

He couldn't pull his gaze away, not even if the president walked through the doorway begging him to return to work. He'd never seen anything sexier than Arianna Rose pleasuring herself as if she didn't have a care in the world other than her next orgasm. Every inch of her pink, wet pussy was on view for his pleasure.

For the first time in a long time, he was unsure of his next move. Did he stand there like a voyeur with wide eyes and drool dripping from his mouth? Maybe he should attend to his own needs; he'd never been harder in his life and his dick might explode if it didn't get some much-needed attention.

He knelt on the bed next to Ari and pushed her hand out of the way and grasped the vibrator. It was a two-pronged orange device and looked more like a piece of the modern art she had downstairs than any sort of fake phallus from a porn flick. He slid one end into her slippery passage and let the other piece touch her clitoris. “Hold the headboard,” he ordered. “Don't move until I give you permission.”

“You're a fast learner,” she said and arched her hips slightly toward him, with her hands above her head. “Slide it in and out, slowly.”

Lance followed her instructions, but he was torn between wanting to take her to completion this way and tossing the sex toy aside and filling her with his aching shaft. Ari solved his dilemma when she reached her hand to circle his cock. He shifted over to grant her better access.

He sped up his gentle thrusting, moving his hips and hands in a similar quick rhythm. Ari responded by tightening her hand on his shaft. He gritted his teeth against the sheer pleasure and need to come. His balls tightened, creating a throbbing pleasure pain at the base of his cock.

Now he was having trouble sliding the dildo in easily. Her inner muscles squeezed around it in little flutters, sucking it in then pushing it back out. With a curse, Lance tossed it on the bed and balanced himself over Arianna.

Her eyes flew open at the loss, then widened when he lowered himself down, entering her in one smooth thrust.

“Oh, God.” She wrapped her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders. “I didn't think there was anything better than Robert.”

“Robert?” He tried to concentrate on her words, but it was hard with her wet, snug sheath wrapped like a second skin around him. They'd been making love furiously since they'd met, but this was the hottest, best time yet.

“BOB, battery operated boyfriend. The cost of that particular one made him much too nice to be simply Bob, so I formally christened him Robert or Roberto, depending on my mood.” She smiled and did a circling with her hips that had his eyes rolling back from the pleasure.

When she looked like she was going to keep chattering about a machine named Robert, Lance lowered his mouth for a ravenous kiss, leaving no room for words, and changing their fun evening tryst into something much more.

They both kept their eyes open and stared at each other in silence. The only noise was the slick slide of him thrusting into her and the subtle mattress movement. His arms tightened under her shoulder blades, locking them together. They ceased to be Ari and Lance and fused into one entity steaming forward on a pleasurable freefall into uncharted territory.

He'd never made love to a woman like this, with his whole being, his heart, his mind, and his body. It terrified and exhilarated him at the same time. He clung to her and tried to make it last.

Her little cries of pleasure were a siren's song to his jaded ears. He could listen forever. The wet heat of her squeezed his shaft, nearly making him spill his seed with every thrust, but he hung on to his sanity by a filament. He wanted Ari as desperate to prolong the lovemaking as he was.

Her hips shifted under him and her inner muscles did something that caused his eyes to lose their ability to focus, and all too soon, the familiar rush of pleasure raced upon them both. Ari squeezed around him, milking his response up his base and into her. As his seed left his body, he realized, too late, why this time felt different, so good.

He'd forgotten the damn condom.