God loves me. He sat beside her hip, leaned down as she put her hands behind his neck. More. He carefully slid a hand under her shoulders. Her satin skin stretched over smooth feminine muscles. He opened his other hand behind her head to enjoy the thick mass of silky fine hair. He was used to visual delights—she was a tactile symphony.
He lifted slightly, just enough to draw her against his chest, so her breasts would press against him. Warm and firm and soft.
Bless Z.
When he gazed into her face, he could read her surprise at his daring, and then her eyes started to narrow. If he didn’t move, he’d lose his treat. So he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers.
Softness. Damned if he’d hurry. He settled his mouth over hers and walked empty-handed into the fire zone.
The guard dog had moves.
His lips were firm and far more competent than his quiet demeanor had promised. His massive size and strength made her feel delicate.
Feminine.
He’d leashed all that power because of her. For her. The knowledge was heady.
Her fingers curled into his thick hair, and she traced a line over his lips with her tongue. “More.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tilted his head and turned the kiss hot and wet, driving into her mouth with an expert thrust of his tongue, then teasing again.
Despite the pain and meds, she felt heat sliding through her veins. Her breasts were crushed against his rock-hard pectorals.
He gave a low growl and deepened the kiss.
And…she couldn’t have that. She curved her fingers, digging her fingernails lightly into his scalp in warning.
To her surprise, he broke off, laying her down with disconcerting gentleness.
She ran her hand over his jaw, feeling the scratch of harsh stubble. Several scars stood out, white against the deep tan, on his right cheek, his heavy jaw, his neck. Sun creases fanned out from his eyes. More lines bracketed his mouth. But, his shoulder-length caramel-colored hair was pulled straight back in his usual tied-back style. She realized the streaks hid a few strands of gray in front of his ears.
She hadn’t ever really looked at him, had she? “How old are you?”
“Older than you, Mistress,” he muttered.
“That is not what I asked, Benjamin.”
He was sitting on the side of the bed, hip against hers, leaning over with his weight supported on the arm next to her waist. His free hand, she realized, was toying with her hair. Somehow, she couldn’t summon the proper indignation.
“Got a couple of years on you. Thirty-six.”
Well, he wasn’t as young as she’d thought. Of course, guard dogs rarely showed their ages, did they? He was certainly different from her usual choices. Her brows drew together. And he knew he was older than her thirty-four? “How did you know my age?”
“The Shadowlands member files include a copy of your driver’s license so we know who signs in is the right person. You have a birthday coming up in April.” He hesitated. “No need to worry. All the guards sign confidentiality agreements.”
“Of course.” Z was nothing if not protective of his members. A second or so later, her hazy mind registered how he watched his finger stroking her cheek. “Ben?”
“You are so fucking gorgeous.” The bed creaked as he rose. He walked into the bathroom and returned to set a glass of water on her bedside table. He placed her purse next to it. “Is your phone in there?”
She nodded.
“Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?”
She bit down on her lips to keep from laughing. He was a demon submissive, fiercely determined to be sweet. “No, I think you’ve covered the bases.”
He said under his breath, “Didn’t get close to running the bases.”
She gave him a reproving look, and to her delight, he actually flushed.
“Thank you for the ride…and the care, Benjamin.” And the kiss.
He nodded, paused, and his heavy brows came together. “Ma’am? Stay in bed tomorrow and get healed up.”
A bossy submissive. Why couldn’t she summon the appropriate amount of annoyance? Her standards must be slipping, she thought as the bed rose up to enfold her and sleep carried her away.
Chapter Two
At the end of his three miles, Ben slowed to a jog and then walked the final block. Not that he’d cool down much in the humid Florida morning. It was only March, but the heat had already moved in. Growing up in New York, he’d often frozen his ass off in the mornings. At times, he missed those days.
Didn’t particularly miss the snow, though.
Once inside his warehouse, he pulled off his tank top, using it to wipe himself down as he trotted up the stairs to his living quarters and hit the fridge for a bottle of vitamin water. Designer shit, but didn’t taste too bad.