The Alpha Bodyguards Books #4-6

Chapter Seventeen

M y muscles stiff, my body sore, my skin too hot, I opened my eyes.

Groggy, as if a haze had descended over me, I fought to focus my eyes, but when I did…

Holy shit .

My head on his shoulder, my arm across his six… oh God, eight -pack, and my leg embarrassingly thrown across his thigh. Late afternoon light filtered in from where the curtains didn’t meet all the way and highlighted every hard angle and ripped muscle on his body.

“I’m sorry,” I squeaked, jerking back.

“Don’t be.” His arm under me, his hand around my waist, he tightened his grip. “Stay.”

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

I tried not to look, I did, but I couldn’t help myself. His impossibly long, impossibly huge hard length, barely concealed in his workout shorts, rested mere inches from my leg over his thigh.

One hand under his head, his biceps bulging out of his T-shirt, his eyes closed, a five o’clock shadow dusting his face—he wasn’t handsome. He was a god. A gorgeous, blond-haired, blue-eyed, so out of my league god.

His hand coasted over my hip. “How did you sleep?”

Like the dead. “Good.”

He opened his eyes and looked at me. “Your head?”

Not pounding nearly as much as my heart. “It’s okay.”

His stare as intense as it always was, but somehow different, he rolled to face me. Lifting his free hand, he brushed my hair off my shoulder, then ghosted a finger across the back of my neck. “May I?”

May he what? Touch me? My neck? My staples? My hair? My body? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I bit my lip and nodded.

“Roll over,” he commanded, using a tone that made my insides liquefy and my mind go blank.

Closing my eyes, not knowing if I was more afraid or turned on, I did exactly as he told me.

His gentle touch swept across my back as he pushed my hair out of the way. Then a single finger barely coasted over where my skin felt pinched. “How bad does it hurt?”

Not nearly as bad as the ache between my legs or the crushing feeling in my chest. “I’m okay.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It doesn’t feel good,” I admitted.

He let out an exhale. “After I feed you, I’ll give you another pain pill.”

I didn’t want another pain pill. They made me feel sad and out of sorts and groggy in a way that didn’t make me feel safe—not while I was around him. Because despite what my traitorous body was saying, that I needed to climb on top of him and force myself on him until he kissed me senseless, he was right about one very important fact—I was still married, and Sawyer Savatier was better than that. He didn’t deserve a woman too pathetic to cut ties with an almost ex-husband who’d never wanted her. He didn’t deserve a woman who couldn’t make it on her own, emotionally or financially.

Sawyer Savatier wasn’t only the heir to a multibillion-dollar real estate empire, he was a war hero. He deserved more than someone like me.

Regretfully, I moved away from his touch. “It’s okay. I don’t need one.”

As if knowing my emotions were spiraling, his hand landed on my arm. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t and still say what I had to say. “I need to go. If I can’t go home, I’ll find an out-of-the-way hotel.” And hide. Forever.

His thumb that had been caressing my arm stilled. “Why?”

“You were right,” I admitted. “I shouldn’t be here.”

He dropped his hand and his voice turned instantly formal. “My apologies.”

Regret swelled, and I fought stupid tears of frustration. “Don’t. Don’t be nice to me, not like that.” I swung my legs over the edge of the softest bed I’d ever slept on and stood. Vertigo hit, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t need your guilt or your sympathy.” My hand waved pathetically around his bedroom. “This… this is all you. Not me.” I sucked in a breath. “And that’s okay. I don’t expect anything from you.”

“Genevieve.” He dropped his voice to the one he’d used last night. “Turn around and look at me.”

Don’t do it, I told myself. Just walk away. One foot in front of the other. Spare bedroom. Get your stuff, get dressed, and walk out. He couldn’t force me to stay here. That’s all I had to do. Walk out.

“ Genevieve .” Lower, darker, he said my name like a warning.

And this time, I couldn’t ignore it.

I turned.

And then I saw it.

Blood. Smeared and dried, on his pillow, some on his sheets, all of it staining his perfectly perfect snowy-white bedding.

“Oh God,” I choked out, my hand going to my mouth before frantically reaching for the pillow and sheet. “I’ll wash these. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I still had blood on my neck, or that my cut was still bleeding. I never would’ve laid down on your pillows if I did. I didn’t mean for it to get all over. Oh God .” I grasped the pillow.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he moved. Quick, sure, his hand shot out and he gripped my wrist and pulled.

Gasping, I stumbled.

But I didn’t fall.

Because his movements, unlike mine, were perfectly coordinated.

Pulling me onto his lap, bringing my hand around his neck, he cupped my face. His nostrils flared, and the control he so diligently held on to crashed around us. “Stop,” he bit out angrily. “I don’t give a shit about the sheets, you hear me?” He stared into my eyes. “ They’re just sheets .”

I kissed him.

Awkward and fumbling, I pressed my lips to his and did what I’d wanted to do since I’d first laid eyes on him.

But that’s as far as I got.

The second my lips touched his, he took over.

Except he didn’t kiss me.

Holding my face, angling me into his touch, he took my mouth, slid his tongue in, and he claimed me.

Oh God, he claimed me .

A growl ripped from his chest and vibrated his throat.

Then he surged like he’d been starving and I was his last meal. Gentle, dominant, hot, forceful, he swept through my mouth and explored every inch like he was kissing me to remember me. Like he was kissing me because he couldn’t get enough of me. Like he was kissing me as if he’d been waiting his whole life for me. Everything that had been missing in every kiss I’d ever had, I felt in his.

Sawyer Savatier didn’t just kiss me.

He ruined me.

Gripping my face, dominantly holding me where he wanted me, he pulled back only to stroke once more through my mouth, tasting me like I wanted him to taste me everywhere.

My hand settled in his short, soft hair, and I leaned into him, needing more. I wanted every touch, every stroke, every thrust and every grind that his kiss promised.

But I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get any of it.

His hand on my face slid to my jaw, and he pushed me off his mouth until his hard eyes met mine.

My heart dropped.

Gone was the man who’d brought me to bed last night.

Back in his place was the man who caught my tablet from falling out of my arms and told me to take up drinking.

Unwavering and unforgiving, his stare cut into me. “That’s only going to happen once, understand?”

Rejection and shame crawled up my neck and exploded across my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, mortified and fighting tears.

“You’re staying here where I can protect you. You’re not going to a hotel, and you’re not going home, and you will continue to stay here until we find out who was behind the carjacking. You will rest, you will stay safe, and you will concentrate on healing. That’s it. Questions?”

Sucking my swollen lower lip into my mouth, his taste on my tongue, I shook my head.

Grasping me by the waist and setting me on my feet, he stood. Then he took my chin and angled my face up to his. “Do not apologize to me again. Understood?”

My heart thumped against my ribs in complete denial that his touch was anything but alpha, but I nodded.

“Words,” he demanded.

“I will not apologize to you again,” I recited like a lost schoolgirl.

“You’re staying here,” he reiterated.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Despite wanting to run away from him and my own embarrassment, I was trapped. I didn’t have any close girl friends I could crash with, and I wasn’t about to show up at Brian and his new girlfriend’s doorstep. And as much as I wanted to leave, he was right. A hotel wouldn’t be as secure as his palace in the sky, and going home while some gang member had my purse and wallet and address was probably not a good plan for longevity.

“Words,” he repeated, gripping my chin tighter.

“I’m staying here,” I whispered, giving in, hoping for the softer Sawyer to come back.

But he didn’t. The cold Sawyer nodded once and dropped his hand. “Go shower. I’ll make dinner.”