had no intention of making love to her. That’s why he had a wallet full of condoms.
He rolled one onto his still rock-hard cock while she dozed beside him. Better late than never, he supposed.
His knee hurt like hell, which also pissed him off. With the titanium implant he should be able to leap tall buildings et cetera. The fact that his knee ached just because he’d lifted a hundred and thirty pounds of woman bothered him more than he’d let on to the doctors. If he ever went back for a checkup. Which he wouldn’t. His leg would be fine. Just fine.
A T-FLAC operative—even one in the psi branch—needed full mobility. It would heal, he assured himself as he tried to block the pain, eventually.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
He cupped the pale globe of Hannah’s ass, stroking his thumb over the scars marring her smooth skin.
Scars that he could make disappear in a second if he wanted to.
Not only couldn’t he remove her scars, which would necessitate an explanation he had no intention of giving, but he couldn’t exactly bundle her into her clothes and kick her out of his hotel room—hell, out of his life either.
Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.
Not just yet anyway.
He stroked a finger along the widest scar. “You must’ve been terrified.” The punctures had been deep, and widely spaced. And not a dog bite.
“It wasn’t pleasant.” An understatement, Caleb knew. He’d seen people who’d been hit by shrapnel.
This was bad. But it could’ve been a whole hell of a lot worse. He leaned over and brushed his lips across the slightly raised marks on her left butt cheek, feeling more than hearing her hmm of pleasure as his mouth skimmed her skin. “Where did you encounter this beast?”
“My bedroom.”
What was the real story? Why in God’s name did a socialite have shrapnel cuts? “How did a vicious dog get into a kid’s bedroom?” Where were your bodyguards? Who did this? And why?
Not only couldn’t he ask the questions, they were none of his damn business, he reminded himself.
Still, he also wondered why she was estranged from her father and living thousands of miles away from her friends. And having seen where she lived, she was clearly doing it without Daddy’s money. Good for her.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
What had happened between her and her father to drive her halfway around the world?
“He was a guard dog.” Hannah wiggled as he kissed the small of her back, then trailed his lips up the bumps of her spine.
“Who the hell was it supposed to guard?”
“Me.” Her voice was thick with sleep.
Caleb lifted his head. “You? From what?” He had a pretty good idea. Kidnappers. Assassins. The choices were numerous. God only knew the kind of enemies a man like Brian Shaw had collected over the years. Not only because of his incredible wealth, but because of the people he did business with.
People it was Caleb’s business to find and eliminate.
“I come from a life of privilege,” she said matter-of-factly of her billionaire father. “That kind of wealth brings out the crazies. I had several bodyguards as well as two dogs that stayed in my room at night. I—I wanted to sneak out to see the fireworks. Fang had different ideas.”
“They put the dog down, I presume?”
“Of course not. He was doing his job.”
By biting his protectee in the ass? No matter what the true circumstances were, Caleb felt a surge of anger at Hannah’s father. A father should protect his children, not shove them directly in harm’s way.
His own father had been absentee, living in Scotland for most of his life. Caleb and his brothers had loved Magnus. But they rarely saw him, and when they did, their father was obsessed, consumed by protecting their mother. In his own way his father hadn’t been able to protect his three sons either.
Gabriel had tried his best to be the
He rolled one onto his still rock-hard cock while she dozed beside him. Better late than never, he supposed.
His knee hurt like hell, which also pissed him off. With the titanium implant he should be able to leap tall buildings et cetera. The fact that his knee ached just because he’d lifted a hundred and thirty pounds of woman bothered him more than he’d let on to the doctors. If he ever went back for a checkup. Which he wouldn’t. His leg would be fine. Just fine.
A T-FLAC operative—even one in the psi branch—needed full mobility. It would heal, he assured himself as he tried to block the pain, eventually.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
He cupped the pale globe of Hannah’s ass, stroking his thumb over the scars marring her smooth skin.
Scars that he could make disappear in a second if he wanted to.
Not only couldn’t he remove her scars, which would necessitate an explanation he had no intention of giving, but he couldn’t exactly bundle her into her clothes and kick her out of his hotel room—hell, out of his life either.
Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.
Not just yet anyway.
He stroked a finger along the widest scar. “You must’ve been terrified.” The punctures had been deep, and widely spaced. And not a dog bite.
“It wasn’t pleasant.” An understatement, Caleb knew. He’d seen people who’d been hit by shrapnel.
This was bad. But it could’ve been a whole hell of a lot worse. He leaned over and brushed his lips across the slightly raised marks on her left butt cheek, feeling more than hearing her hmm of pleasure as his mouth skimmed her skin. “Where did you encounter this beast?”
“My bedroom.”
What was the real story? Why in God’s name did a socialite have shrapnel cuts? “How did a vicious dog get into a kid’s bedroom?” Where were your bodyguards? Who did this? And why?
Not only couldn’t he ask the questions, they were none of his damn business, he reminded himself.
Still, he also wondered why she was estranged from her father and living thousands of miles away from her friends. And having seen where she lived, she was clearly doing it without Daddy’s money. Good for her.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
What had happened between her and her father to drive her halfway around the world?
“He was a guard dog.” Hannah wiggled as he kissed the small of her back, then trailed his lips up the bumps of her spine.
“Who the hell was it supposed to guard?”
“Me.” Her voice was thick with sleep.
Caleb lifted his head. “You? From what?” He had a pretty good idea. Kidnappers. Assassins. The choices were numerous. God only knew the kind of enemies a man like Brian Shaw had collected over the years. Not only because of his incredible wealth, but because of the people he did business with.
People it was Caleb’s business to find and eliminate.
“I come from a life of privilege,” she said matter-of-factly of her billionaire father. “That kind of wealth brings out the crazies. I had several bodyguards as well as two dogs that stayed in my room at night. I—I wanted to sneak out to see the fireworks. Fang had different ideas.”
“They put the dog down, I presume?”
“Of course not. He was doing his job.”
By biting his protectee in the ass? No matter what the true circumstances were, Caleb felt a surge of anger at Hannah’s father. A father should protect his children, not shove them directly in harm’s way.
His own father had been absentee, living in Scotland for most of his life. Caleb and his brothers had loved Magnus. But they rarely saw him, and when they did, their father was obsessed, consumed by protecting their mother. In his own way his father hadn’t been able to protect his three sons either.
Gabriel had tried his best to be the
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