Protected, p.3
Protected, page 3
part #1 of Holt Agency, Book Three Series
In the real world, her townhouse was upside down, a colleague was dead, and the work she needed to spend the summer doing hadn’t been started.
Tomorrow, she told herself. She needed a good night’s rest. She needed the glass of wine she poured after double-checking that the alarm was set. She needed the swirling warm water the bathtub promised.
The only way she was staying sane was to keep telling herself the break-in had been random and unimportant. She felt horrible for the kind older man who’d died, but she’d only met with him a few times. It wasn’t as though he were her long-time mentor whom she would mourn for months.
She took a sip of the wine as she moved through the luxurious cabin and spent yet another minute thinking about Professor Yang, his work in foreign studies, and how much his expertise would be missed. She wondered if he had a wife or adult kids in China.
She forced herself to shake the maudlin thoughts after she climbed the stairs and entered the master bedroom and then bathroom.
It only took a few minutes to get the water temperature right, strip out of her clothes, pin her wild curls up on top of her head, and lower into the swirling water.
With a heavy sigh, she sipped her wine.
Her entire life had taken an abrupt turn in the past day. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d arrived at her apartment, intent on climbing into bed, sleeping like the dead, and starting her research this morning.
Now, she was transported to a cabin in the mountains where it was likely she would accomplish more than she might have if she’d spent the summer at home. Too many distractions. It would have been too easy to make lunch plans with friends and go out at night.
Ha. Who was she kidding? She hadn’t been out on the town for an evening in forever. She winced as she took another sip of wine. When had she last gone out and really let go? Relaxed. Enjoyed the company of friends or co-workers.
She knew the answer, but it was too embarrassing to contemplate. If Callie knew… Well, Callie would strangle her. Mel had started lying to her best friend months ago. Perhaps more like two years ago. Telling her everything was fine. She was busy. Sure, she went out with friends. Sure, she had lunch dates.
Mel never went so far as to imply she’d been on an actual date with a man, but she also didn’t let her best friend believe she was holed up in her townhouse watching old movies and reading romance novels that made her tear up.
Why couldn’t real life end like a romance novel? Mel wouldn’t even think it was possible at all if she hadn’t had firsthand evidence that some people did live in a world filled with happily-ever-afters.
Callie and Grant did. They’d met on the same cruise as Melanie and Holden. Somehow they’d found a way to mesh their busy lives and sleep in the same bed most nights.
Mel had never seen Callie as happy as she’d been the past two years since she’d pulled her head out of her ass and let Grant permanently into her life. She’d insisted it wouldn’t work, but it had.
Unfortunately, the same could not be said of Mel’s relationship with Holden. They’d had too many obstacles and had agreed to go their separate ways.
The cruise had been the best eleven days of her life, even though it had been interrupted by a bombing in the Panama Canal and a long day of insanity that followed. Eventually, the ship had sailed out the Pacific side of the lake and detoured to San Diego instead of its original intention of returning to Florida.
Even though Callie had needed to return to D.C. early to deal with the fallout of the Chinese invasion, Mel had stayed on board and finished the trip mostly peacefully. And she’d done so in Holden’s bed.
After another sip of wine, she leaned back and closed her eyes, letting her mind go “there” but only for a few minutes. There was no sense repeating this pity party for more than short periods of time.
Mel was certain her brain had embellished how amazing the trip had been over time. Surely Holden hadn’t been that fantastic. Surely he hadn’t been that good in bed.
Pretending was fun though, and it didn’t hurt anyone. Plus, it meant a lifetime of fodder for amazing masturbation sessions. Now was a good time for such a session.
Mel let her hands skim over her breasts, flicking her nipples under the water before pinching them with just the right amount of pressure. Imitating Holden. Pretending her hands were his.
She let one hand slide down between her legs next and touched the smooth skin of her pussy. Two and a half years ago she’d gotten her first Brazilian wax before the cruise. She’d done so on a whim so there would be no fear of anyone seeing a stray hair around the edge of her bikini.
It had felt amazing, and Holden had loved her smooth skin. For whatever reason, Mel had continued to keep herself fully bare ever since. Every time she touched herself, she pretended her fingers were his. She’d perfected the art of make believe, putting Holden in the room with her each time she masturbated.
What she didn’t do was mention a word of her ridiculous obsession to Callie or any other human. She couldn’t. Callie would have a fit and insist Mel contact Holden if she knew how obsessed her best friend was.
Mel knew better. Life wasn’t a fairy tale for most people. The risk to her heart and her sanity if she contacted Holden casually would be more than she could handle.
Sure, it would probably be possible to hook up with him from time to time, invite him to visit between jobs, maybe even go on another vacation with him. But was it wise? No. If she slept with him again, it would destroy her. If she even spoke to him for any length of time, it would cause her pain and send her into a more reclusive life than the one she already lived.
No one needed to know, least of all Holden. So, their contact had been sparse, decreasing over time. A text now and then. A card at her birthday and Christmas between friends. Any time she was with Grant and Callie and they brought him up, she changed the subject. Dwelling on Holden wasn’t good for her sanity.
And yet… Here she was using her memory of him to get herself off. It was her one vice. She let herself have this, telling herself it would be no different from spotting a sexy man in the grocery store and using him to fuel her arousal. The only difference was she’d had Holden inside her body more times than she could count.
Melanie had perfected the art of teasing herself, making it last, dragging out her orgasm. She spread her legs wider, eased a finger into herself, and held her breath, taking it slow, riding the edge.
When she got too close, she backed off for a moment, postponing the bliss in the same way Holden had forced her to do on many occasions. Maddening. Frustrating. Delicious.
She circled her clit over and over before finally thrusting inside again. Two fingers. She didn’t need more. It was tight. No one had been inside her in… She wasn’t going to go there.
“Oh, God…” she moaned. Loudly. Who cared? No one was going to hear her. She could be as loud as she wanted in this cabin in the middle of nowhere. Another bonus. It wasn’t like her townhouse with a shared wall that always made her wonder.
Finally, she couldn’t wait another second. She let her head fall back, mouth open, and released the most primal sound as she crested, held the feeling a few seconds, and crashed into that amazing state of bliss.
Panting and shivering, she realized the water had chilled, but she had to wait a few moments to get her bearings before she turned off the jets, pulled the plug, and let the water run out.
She waited a few more seconds before hauling herself to her feet and stepping onto the bath mat. After snagging one of the giant fluffy towels, she dried off, wrapped it around her, and stared into the mirror.
Her hair was a wild mass of curls. Who cared? No one was going to see her. Not a living soul. She wouldn’t even descend the mountain until she was in desperate need of provisions.
She should feel calm and relaxed. This cabin was the most amazing vacation spot on earth. Secluded and serene. The perfect place to do her research and write her paper. She’d even opened her computer and checked to make sure she had internet access.
She felt uneasy though. Most of her believed there was no real threat. Just because her townhouse was broken into and Professor Yang was dead didn’t mean anyone was after her.
A part of her wondered though. But then she dismissed any fleeting concerns because there was no way Grant would set her up alone in a cabin if he truly thought someone was after her.
To be honest, nothing really added up. Maybe Grant and Callie had sent her out of the city for some other reason. They wanted to be alone? This hadn’t been a good week for a houseguest? Except Callie would never do such a thing. Not for any reason.
With a sigh, Mel removed the towel, hung it on a rack, and snagged her glass of wine. She took the last few sips, brushed her teeth, and headed for bed.
Another thing she’d started doing two and a half years ago was sleeping naked. She’d never done so before Holden, but she found she enjoyed the feel of the sheets against her. Or maybe sleeping naked somehow tricked her body into thinking Holden was next to her, allowing her to rest deeper.
There was no denying she’d felt safer in his arms. The man was a former SEAL, for God’s sake. He was armed and dangerous at all times, even when asleep. She could use a dose of safety right about now.
Damn, these sheets were nice. High thread count. Soft and smooth. They felt like extra-fine linens against her skin. Who kept such expensive sheets in a cabin in the woods? She had to assume this was a shared cabin owned by the Holt Agency. A vacation spot where employees could go to regroup and relax between assignments.
Had Holden ever been here? As she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, she imagined she could smell him as if he were in the room now. That was absurd. Even if he’d ever been here, the place wouldn’t smell like him. A cleaning service probably maintained the cabin when no one was using it. The sheets would have been laundered and changed.
There was something oddly unnerving about the idea that perhaps Holden had been here, maybe even slept in this bed in the master bedroom. When might he have last been in the country? Had he taken a small vacation and come to this cabin?
She needed to stop mulling over the possibilities. Why was she torturing herself? Ordinarily she permitted herself to think about Holden for only a few moments a day. Today, he’d occupied far too much space in her brain. Probably because she was unsettled from the break-in and then the death of the professor.
She needed sleep. She needed to stop dwelling on what-ifs. She and Holden had agreed to go their separate ways. It had been for the best. The fact that she hadn’t been on a single date since she’d walked away from him was just a coincidence. She’d been busy. Life had gotten in the way.
Sure… Keep telling yourself that.
The bed was amazing, the mattress obviously expensive to go with the sheets. Nevertheless, she couldn’t get comfortable. Her brain wouldn’t slow down. Every movement caused the sheet to rub against her nipples and made her aware she was still horny.
All this damn thinking about Holden had her edgy. The orgasm in the bathtub wasn’t enough. It never was, but today was worse. Maybe if she let herself come again, she could relax.
Taking a deep breath, she slid out of bed, padded to the bathroom, and grabbed the one toiletry bag she hadn’t opened yet. The one with her vibrators in it. Fifteen seconds later, she was back under the sheets, but this time she held the hot-pink clitoral stimulator. It was powerful and would do the job in no time.
Closing her eyes, she spread her legs and turned the battery-operated boyfriend to medium, applying it next to her clit. She circled the swollen nub several times, her entire body instantly wide awake and primed.
In her head, Holden was holding the vibrator, though he hadn’t ever used toys on her before. He hadn’t needed any help getting her off on the cruise. He did now though.
What a joke. He only needed the vibrator because he wasn’t in the room, and what the fuck was she thinking? Her thoughts were out of control tonight.
Needing the quick release, she slid the rounded tip of the stimulator directly over her sensitive nub and arched off the bed as she came. Hard. Fast. Deliciously.
As she floated back from the clouds, she set the vibrator on the bedside table and curled onto her side, breathing heavily, praying for sleep, willing errant thoughts of a past relationship from over two years ago to get out of her head.
Chapter 5
“You fucking killed Yang?”
“Didn’t have a choice. How’d you find out about it?”
“Are you kidding?”
“I guess you have connections.”
“Ya think?”
“Has Hurn returned to the townhouse?”
“No. Doubt she will. Not anytime soon. It’s trashed.”
“Guess you better use some of your connections to fucking find her.”
“I don’t see how this is my problem, asshole.”
“Whoa, watch how you speak to me. I have the power to end you, your career, and your family.”
“Don’t you fucking threaten my family.”
“I guess you better get me what I need then, huh?”
Holden was exhausted. He’d been in Europe for four months, trailing a rock star who had received multiple threatening messages from a crazed fan. That sort of job wasn’t the kind of thing Holden preferred to do. He wasn’t a babysitter. He was a fucking Navy SEAL. Or he had been.
The point was, he was trained to do all sorts of missions, but he preferred the adrenaline rush of sneaking up on a known sniper or tracking down a child-trafficking ring. Bodyguard wasn’t something he enjoyed.
However, in this case, he was glad he’d been there because the fan in question had actually been an extremely disgruntled ex-boyfriend who’d meant business and probably would have killed his estranged ex-girlfriend if Holden hadn’t been there to track him down and stop him.
It had taken far longer than Holden had bargained for, but the singer was now safe, and the ex was behind bars.
And Holden was fucking exhausted. He probably should have taken a day in France to sleep and recover in the hotel, but he’d wanted to get home. He wanted to sleep in his own bed. For a week.
After tipping the driver heftily for bringing him home in the middle of the night, he lugged his suitcase to the side entrance, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
He didn’t need lights. He knew how to disarm and rearm the alarm without seeing a thing. He’d done so many times. Lights would just cause him to be more awake, and awake wasn’t the goal. The goal was to aim straight for his bed, drop his clothes, slide under the covers, and sleep like the dead.
Leaving his suitcase and computer bag in the kitchen, he pulled his shirt over his head as he made his way up the stairs and into the bedroom. It wasn’t until he was halfway to the bed that he froze.
Goosebumps rose up his arms. Several thoughts went through his head all at once.
He could see the indentation of a person in his bed. Someone was sleeping there. This didn’t fill him with panic. The guys he worked with often used his cabin. Frank and Nancy Holt had several sets of keys and all the codes. Anytime someone needed downtime away from the homebase in Indiana, they could be sent here to relax.
Grant had keys. He and Callie came here too. There was no way they had come this week though because Grant had known Holden had been wrapping up his mission and would be home soon. Plus, there was only one body in the bed. Not two.
The next thought, one that overlapped the first, was that the person in the bed was a woman. The form was too small and slight to be one of his co-workers.
Thought number three, perhaps a quarter of a second behind the first two was why anyone had sent a woman to the cabin. That wasn’t the norm. Especially not alone.
Thought number four, lapping over the top of number three, why hadn’t anyone told him? A simple phone call… And then, fuck. When was the last time he’d checked his messages? Not in over a day. Not since he’d wrapped up his job and headed for the airport. Not even in the car on the way here. He wasn’t even sure where his cell phone was. Buried in his computer bag, probably.
Fuck fuck fuck. Holden was fucking tired. He needed sleep. He was in no mood to entertain. He wanted to be right where this woman was, sleeping in his own fucking bed.
He could slip back out of the room and take over one of the guest rooms, but whoever was in his bed would die of fright when she found him in the morning. Or hell, if she was military or in some way involved with the Holt Agency, she might shoot him first and ask questions after. To her, he would be an intruder.
Nope. He was going to have to wake her now. Confront her now. Figure out who she was and why she was in his bed. Afterward, he could negotiate with her and convince her to move to a guest room so he could have his own damn bed. He hadn’t slept on his fucking expensive mattress for months. He fully intended to tonight.
Taking a deep breath as he faced the inevitable confrontation, he dropped his shirt on the floor and ran a hand over his hair.
That’s when another thought slipped into his brain unbidden and made him stop breathing. Or moving. He wasn’t sure he was even standing any longer. His legs were jelly.
Surely he was imagining things. No way in hell was the woman in his bed Melanie Hurn. The fact that he would never forget her scent in a million years just meant his brain was playing tricks on him.
He took another slow deep breath. Fuck. Closed his eyes. Breathed again. Fuck. It wasn’t logical. He hadn’t seen her in over a year. Hadn’t touched her in over two years. Hadn’t held her in all that time. But damn, her scent permeated the room.
He would know it anywhere. His room smelled like sex. That scent he liked to bury his nose in after he had her. After he made her come. He’d dreamed about it a thousand times since he’d last experienced it.
What were the chances? Surely his mind was playing tricks on him. Why would Melanie be in his cabin, in his bed? He’d like to go back about an hour, find his phone, check his messages.
