The Alpha Bodyguards Books #4-6

Chapter Thirty-Four

H is small hands moved with grace and precision. Why do we have to wait for Mommy?

The language still unfamiliar, I carefully signed a response. A real man always waits for the woman in his life. Its proper manners. The words were the truth, but the excuse was a lie. I knew she took him for swim lessons. I’d followed them enough times. But I didn’t know how well he could swim.

Okay , he replied easily, swinging his legs over the edge of the lounger where we sat. But she sometimes takes a long time to get dressed, and we could already be swimming.

I smiled. Women are allowed to take their time getting ready.

It’s swimming. All she has to do is pull her swimsuit on. How long can that take? In a gesture far beyond his years, he threw his hands up.

I chuckled. Be patient.

Nodding, he kicked his legs some more as he glanced behind him.

Warmth spread in my chest. I tapped his shoulder.

His eyebrows raised, he looked up at me innocently.

I momentarily paused, questioning myself, my intent. Then I gave him words no one had ever said to me. Your father would have been very proud of you.

Why? he asked. I didn’t do anything. And how do you know?

You are a good boy. That was the easy part to explain. The other part I went with an explanation I had no faith nor stake in. He can see from Heaven. He knows how special you are.

His angelic face twisted with an angry frown. I’m not special. His usual graceful movements jerked with tightness when he signed the last word.

I’m sorry. I did not mean special in a bad way. I meant it in the best way possible.

I don’t like special , he signed angrily.

Why? I asked.

His hands moved faster than usual. Some of the kids at school tease me. Jeremy said I ride the special bus.

Consuming anger flared, and I shut my expression down. You are not handicapped. You are simply deaf. There is nothing wrong with you.

I know. I told Jeremy that. He looked over his shoulder, but then he didn’t say any more. He stared at his lap.

I caught the gesture and read into it. What else did you do?

Uncle Ty says I can’t tell anyone.

The anger receded somewhat, and I caught his chin. “I hope you more than told him.”

Anxious, he bit his lip. Maybe.

I smiled.

He rushed through an explanation. Uncle Ty says I can always defend myself. He says men defend themselves even though Mommy says I can’t ever hit people, especially girls. But Jeremy isn’t a girl, and Uncle Ty said he would make it so I didn’t get in trouble if I ever had to defend myself. He even taught me how.

“So what happened?”

I didn’t hit him, he signed earnestly.

I raised an eyebrow.

I kicked him, he signed proudly.

I laughed out loud. “Good job, Nash.” I switched to ASL. Very good job. I’m proud of you.

I don’t like the word special, he replied, but he smiled.

Noted, I signed. You’re not special. You’re extraordinary.

He frowned, then slowly signed, Extra?

Extraordinary , I repeated. It means exceptional, great, amazing, very impressive.

E-X-C-E …, he signed, then stopped and tried again. E-X-C-E-P… I forget the rest. You use big words, Uncle Preston . He threw his hands up then held his stomach and pantomimed a laugh.

I laughed with him, then pulled him into a hug and kissed the top of his head.

His mother walked out onto the lanai, and both of us turned to look.

She stole my fucking breath.

Nash jumped up and grabbed her hand in an attempt to drag her to the pool as I stood.

Bright blue bikini, her breasts spilling out, her hips saying she was all woman, her cheeks flushed with desire and a shyness I’d only seen on her once before, she was stunning.

My cock came to life, and I caught her chin, angling my body so her son could not see my lips. Tipping her face, the sun caught her eyes, and they sparkled with amber, gold and brown.

I stroked her cheek with my thumb. “You’re blushing.”

“You’re staring.”

“You’re beautiful.” More beautiful than any woman I had ever laid eyes on.

She averted her eyes. “I’ve had a kid.”

“That makes you more beautiful.”

“Preston,” she whispered in admonishment.

“I’m going to come inside you tonight.”

Heat flamed her cheeks, and she inhaled a sharp breath. Her voice caught. “Are you now?”

“Yes.” Hard. “Multiple times.” I was going to own her sweet cunt.

Her throat moved with a swallow, and she shifted her legs, rubbing her thighs together. “Then what?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

I didn’t hesitate. “Then you’ll be mine.”

Her eyes met mine again. “You’re not going to leave?”

“Never.”

“Preston—”

“We’ll talk later.” I didn’t want to have this conversation in front of Nash. “Today we’re going to swim, eat, be together.” I kissed her forehead, then stepped back.

Nash danced between us, his hands moving. Swim, swim, swim! We waited for you, Mommy! Can I jump in now?

She drew in a shaky breath, and a smile curved her lips as she looked down at her son. You may.

The boy took off like a shot. Making a wide arc, he ran toward the deep end and took a running jump. Holding his nose with one hand, his legs with the other, he cannonballed into the water.

Instinct, fear, irrationally wondering if he could swim, I moved.

She caught my arm. “It’s okay. He can swim.”

His head broke the surface, and he smiled. Wide. Treading water, he waved excitedly at us.

My heart racing with adrenaline, I tipped my chin.

His mother gave him a thumbs-up, then signed. Not bad, but I’ve seen bigger splashes. She gave an exaggerated shrug.

Inspiration struck, and I picked her up. “I know how to make a bigger splash.”

“ Preston Vos ,” she squealed, grabbing my neck in a death grip. “Don’t you dare! Put me down!”

I smiled. “Never.” I jumped into the pool with her in my arms.

Cool water hit our bodies, and my feet hit the bottom before I pushed up and brought us to the surface.

One arm still around my neck, she tilted her head back in the water, then pushed her hair off her face. “You’re going to pay for that!”

I brought my lips to her ear and nipped as I swam us to shallower water. “Is that a promise?”

She laughed. “That’s a threat.”

My feet hit bottom and I stood, encircling her in my arms and holding her to my body. My cock pulsed, my chest swelled, and I wanted to sink inside her. More, I wanted this. Just to hold her, to be with her. Like this. No noise, no past, no boundaries.

For a long moment, I simply held her and stared, and it struck me.

I was happy.

“Hi,” she whispered as her son did another cannonball.

I glanced toward the deep end to make sure he surfaced. When he did, I looked back at his mother. “Hello.”

“I love that,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“You looking out for him.”

“I will always look out for both of you.”

Her chest rose with an inhale. “You know….” She glanced at her son as he swam to the edge of the pool and lifted himself out. “You’ve already been doing that. Since you got out of the Marines. The coffees, the meals, groceries.”

I didn’t deny it. I had. In a way. But it’d never been enough. “You deserved more.”

“But this,” she went on. “This right now? This is different.”

“Yes, it is,” I agreed.

“Is this us talking about it?”

I studied her face, her expression, looking for tells, but I didn’t see any. “Are you ready to?”

“Are you?” she countered.

“Yes.”

Her son jumped into the pool again.

She gave me a nervous laugh. “Well, since I have no idea what you’re going to say, you first.”

I frowned. “I’ve not hidden my intentions.” I glanced to make sure he surfaced. He did.

Watching her son, she didn’t say anything.

My mind reverted to old patterns, and I analyzed.

The way her body curved under my hold. The smile she gave when she looked at her son. The mischief in her eyes when she was about to throw out words you wouldn’t expect. The freckles on her shoulder. The scar on her stomach. The groceries she bought, the coffee she preferred, the way she pulled her hair up for work but left it down all other times—I knew her. I knew her better than I knew any other person alive.

But that didn’t mean she knew me.

“I thought you knew my intentions,” I admitted before adding. “At least the past eighteen hours.”

Turing to look at me, no guile in her expression, she threw me. “I’m not sure I know the first thing about you.”

Instinct had my muscles itching to move back. To release her, to swim to the steps and get out of the pool. The urge was so strong, my hands fisted at her waist.

“Preston,” she sighed. “You can’t be angry at that.”

“I’m not.” I was. Irrationally so. Her brother was the only other person I’d known longer than her, but I spoke to her more. I spoke to her every week. She knew my patterns, she knew my voice, she knew I made sure she got home safe after a late shift. She knew I looked out for her, and she knew I’d been there. Five years, I’d been there. I’d come back after Afghanistan, and I’d come for her, exactly as I’d said I would. How could she say she didn’t know the first thing about me?

“You are angry,” she challenged. “Tell me why.”

I released her.

She glanced at my arms. “That’s not talking.”

“I’m speaking.” I dunked under the water that felt refreshing a moment ago but now only felt stifling. Coming back up, I looked for her son.

At the deep end, he backed up a few feet, then signed, Watch me, Uncle Preston, watch me! He took a running leap and soared for a split second before his body hit the water and he went under.

I’d never had that kind of freedom as a child. Never.

Her hand landed on my shoulder. “When did that start?”

“What?” I asked absently, waiting for him to surface.

“The ‘Uncle Preston’ part.”

“Today.” Just now.

“Mm.”

We watched him swim to the edge and jump in again, but she didn’t say more. Two more cannonballs by her son, and I felt calm enough to speak again.

“I don’t want to be his uncle.” I didn’t look at her.

Silence.

Then, “Preston?” she asked quietly.

I turned.

Her hair slicked back, the sun on her face, she looked young and beautiful but also wary, and I knew I was responsible for that look, and I hated it.

I apologized immediately. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just talk to me.” She reached for my hand under the water, but she glanced at her son. “Feelings are never wrong, they just are. That’s what I tell Nash.”

“Is that what you believe?” Outside mandated state-appointed therapists when I was younger, no one had ever spoken to me about feelings. Until her, I abhorred them. I still did. Eliminating emotion was a skill. I was more than adept at it. When emotion wasn’t present, the human eye could see more clearly. The mind could process more efficiently. So I took emotion out of the equation. Except when it came to her. For her, I made room for them. “What about anger, hate and regret?” I threaded my fingers through hers.

“What about them?” Her free arm wrapped around mine and she held on to me.

“I don’t want to be his uncle,” I repeated. I’d spent years being angry he wasn’t mine, regretting my actions seven years ago.

She smiled up at me. “Pretty sure uncles aren’t supposed to kiss their nephew’s mother like you kiss me.”

My anger dissolved, but I didn’t drop it. “You know me, Kyrie Eleison Asher. Maybe not all the details, but you know what kind of man I am. Just as I know what kind of woman you are.”

“Why now?” she blurted.

I thought how best to answer. “To you, it may seem sudden—this, today, last night. To me, it’s been years.” Planning, executing. “I don’t have an uncomplicated answer right now beyond that, except that I got tired of waiting.” And when I saw her in her kitchen last night doing dishes, things changed. How many nights alone had she done that? How many had I? We could’ve been together.

Nash swam up.

“What were you waiting for?” she asked, her head turned away from her son.

I’d thought I was waiting for many things. Her brother to forgive me. Enough money to support her. The right house. The right time. A date on a calendar. The statute of limitations. All of it, none of it. In that moment, her skin wet, her hair back, the look of trust on her face, I forgot why any of them had been important. I wasn’t even counting the reasons.

I wasn’t counting a damn thing.

Not the time, not her smiles, not her son’s strokes, not the number of times he’d jumped in the pool, not the length of the tree’s shadows as the sun progressed overhead. I wasn’t counting or calculating or analyzing every detail, nuance and word.

I wasn’t doing any of it.

I was reaching out for the happy child swimming around me and I was picking him up. “I was waiting for the perfect moment.” I glanced at the trust on the boy’s face before looking back at her. “Which is now.”