Bound Guardian Angel by Donya Lynne Page B

participant rather than the object
of someone else’s stimulation.
    A true mate—one he bonded to and experienced
a calling with—would allow him that. At least, he assumed she
would. And in his mind, his true mate was a female. A
dynamic, spunky, spitfire of a female who could take as well as
give. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he dreamed of. Where could
he find such a female?
    Cordray.
    His eyes flashed open as Cordray’s name
whipped unbidden through his thoughts, as if she were the answer to
his question. Hell no. Cordray was the last female he needed. The
last who could give him all that he desired.
    Wasn’t she?
    His brow tightened as he recalled how his
body responded every time she was around. Not one time had he
walked away from her without an erection. She heated him inside and
out with her smart mouth and verbal jabs. Even now, just thinking
about their aggressive exchanges made him want to find her just so
they could argue and toss insults at each other. The only time he
felt as alive as Cordray made him feel was when he was with Micah.
But with Cordray, he didn’t have to go submissive. He could get in
her face, verbally spar with her, and still feel his power bow out
and recede into the shadows.
    Maybe that wasn’t the same as being
dominant, but it sure as hell wasn’t falling into submission,
either.
    Was it possible that Cordray could
be . . .?
    He couldn’t even think that question to its
conclusion. Cordray couldn’t be his mate. She simply couldn’t
be.
    He mentally shook off the possibility. In
his dreams, the female he imagined he would mate didn’t have
tattoos all over her body and didn’t come prepackaged with the
attitude of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
    Still, Cordray was a fine piece of female.
She had all the right curves in all the right places. He didn’t
have to like her to appreciate the package she came in.
    “Come on, buddy,” Micah said, pulling him
from his thoughts, “let’s get you to bed so you can rest.”
    He let Micah help him up then followed him
into the master bedroom, where Micah pulled a pair of boxers and a
T-shirt from his bureau.
    “Here.” Micah tossed the clothes at him.
“You can wear these.”
    Trace held up his hand and motioned toward
the doorway leading to the stairs. “I’ve got my own bedroom,
Micah.” He stayed at the house enough that he’d all but moved in.
“I can go up and get my own clo—”
    Micah softly slapped his cheek. “No arguing
with me. Wear mine and get into bed.” Micah snapped his fingers and
pointed to the massive, custom-made bed he normally shared with
Sam.
    “But—”
    “Do I have to dress you myself and strap you
down?” Micah grinned, crossed his arms, and propped his hip against
the dresser. “Don’t think I won’t.”
    “You’re impossible.” Trace dropped the
T-shirt on the bed and unfolded the boxers.
    “Sam says I’m incorrigible.”
    “Same thing.”
    “I know.” Micah chucked his chin toward the
boxers. “Now, get dressed.”
    “Shit, but you’re bossy.” He smirked and
pulled the shorts on and snapped the elastic waistband around his
waist.
    “Yep. But that’s why you’re here, isn’t
it?”
    Trace’s grin stretched even wider as he met
Micah’s gaze. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here.” He picked up the
T-shirt. “But this is your bed. Where are you going to sleep?”
    Micah’s eyes flicked upward, indicating
upstairs. “Sam set us up in one of the spare rooms.” The tone of
his voice, as well as the erection straining his cargo pants,
suggested that while Trace’s fun was winding down, Micah’s was only
beginning.
    “Gotcha.” Trace tugged the shirt over his
torso. “Wish I could join you.”
    Micah pushed away from the dresser and
closed the distance between them. “Yeah, me too. I’d have invited
you, but you need about a week of sleep,
so . . .”
    “Next time.”
    “Absolutely.” Micah swiped his palm over
Trace’s head. “We’ve missed you, but we can