GUARDIAN’S TOUCH

DARCY ROSE

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CONTENTS

Blurb

Prologue

1.  Camilla

2.  Dane

3.  Camilla

4.  Dane

5.  Camilla

6.  Dane

7.  Camilla

8.  Dane

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Darcy Rose

BLURB

She only wants him, and she’ll do anything to make him see that.

Camilla

I know it’s wrong to be attracted to the man responsible for caring for me since my parents’ death, but I can’t help myself. Now I’m an adult finding myself compelled to believe that Dane Miles is the man who should have my virginity.

Dane

I’m not a good man, but I’ve done everything I can to protect Camilla, shielding her from the darkness of my work and giving her the life she deserves. Now I just have to make Camilla see I know what's best for her. And I have to do so before she finds out who I really am.

PROLOGUE

Camilla

Two Years Ago

M y feet dangle down the side of my new bed. A bed the size of my old room. In a room the size of my old house. Everything is new and luxurious, like something out of a better home magazine. The attached closet holds thousands of dollars’ worth of designer clothes, and the bathroom is stocked with half a bath & body store supply.

This would be every girl's dream if it wasn’t for the nightmare surrounding me. Yes, I’m well taken care of. I don’t have to worry about money or a place to stay. At least not until I’m eighteen. But that doesn't help fill the giant hole left in the center of my chest. My parents are gone, and they are never coming back.

I’m an orphan. Unwanted. Alone.

My eyes burn with unshed tears. I let my head hang low and force the sadness away. I have to be strong now, but it’s so fucking hard.

A man clears his throat. The sound makes me jump off the bed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Dane’s gravelly voice fills the room.

My eyes snap up to where his large muscular frame fills the door. He is holding some kind of box in front of him. Great, another gift I don’t need.

He’s dressed in a dark suit, his black hair shaved on the side and longer on the top, slicked back today. As always, he wears an unreadable expression. I’m pretty sure if you look in a dictionary, you would find a picture of Dane next to the word stoic.

He looks like a grumpy businessman who doesn’t know how to smile, but he must have a heart in there somewhere. Because if it wasn’t for Dane Miles stepping up, I would be in some foster home or halfway house. He took me in, gave me a home, and everything else I could possibly need.

“It’s okay. I’m easily startled.” I wring my hands in front of my royal-blue dress. Being in Dane’s presence always made me nervous. Not the scared type of nervous, but the kind that has you hyperaware of everything.

“Did the maid bring your clothes?” Dane asks as he takes a small step toward me.

“Yup, brought them, put them in my closet and all. Thank you for those. You really didn’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to do anything. I do it because I want to.” His voice is stern, his gaze serious. “I brought you another gift.” He holds out the paper box but doesn't move closer.

Hesitantly, I cross the room until I’m standing right in front of him. He is much taller than me. Even though I stand two feet away, I have to tilt my head up to look into his face.

I briefly think about denying the gift, but I already know he’ll give it to me anyway. I stare at the box, waiting for him to hand it to me. Instead, he crouches down and sets it on the floor.

“Open it,” he offers.

The box isn’t taped, the flaps on the top are only loosely closed. I get on my knees and pull the box open. I expect many things, but what I find on the bottom of the box isn’t something I could have imagined.

“Oh my god.” I gasp.

The sound of my voice has the puppy inside on high alert. Ears pointing up and white fluffy tail wagging, followed by a high-pitched bark. Two black button eyes look up at me with pure joy, begging me to pick him up.

“It’s a puppy,” I stupidly state the obvious. “You got me a puppy?” I reach into the box and lift the tiny dog into my arms. He immediately starts licking my face, giving me kisses like he’s happy to see me.

“I work a lot, which means I’m rarely home. I figured he could be your company,” Dane explains. “Do you like him?”

“Like him? I love him!” The more I talk, the more excited the dog seems to get. His whole body is wagging now, and his kisses wet my face.

It takes me a moment to realize I’m smiling. I haven't smiled in the past two weeks, and I wasn't sure I would be able to again.

As the puppy continues his lick attack, I peek up at Dane. “Thank you.”

The ghost of a smile appears on his lips a second before he spins around and walks out of the room.

I don’t know what this new life will bring, but for the first time since my parents died, I have hope that everything will be okay.

1

CAMILLA

W e are pleased to welcome you to Yale University, Class of 2027.

It still doesn't feel real. No matter how many times I read the acceptance letter, I can't shake the feeling that I’m reading about somebody else's life. Their future, their education. I didn't want to apply in the first place and never expected to get accepted.

But here I am, holding the evidence in my hand and all the welcome materials that came in the mail today.

It should be happy excitement that makes my hands tremble like they are now. Going to Yale would mean finally having a little freedom for the first time in two years. At least I hope it would.

I know how lucky I am. I was only seventeen when my parents died, and I could have ended up in the foster system. Instead, Dane took me in, and I've had everything I could ever want since then.

Except the freedom to make my own choices. Yale is not my choice.

At least one of us will be happy about this. All I can do is feel guilty about taking somebody else's spot. Somebody who actually wants to be there, somebody who might have dreamed about attending an Ivy League school.

Why is he so determined to get rid of me? I’ve only ever tried to follow his millions of rules, but he’s set on sending me all the way from Chicago to Connecticut. I must’ve done something wrong. I wish he’d tell me what it is so I can make up for it.

I didn’t know I started tearing up until a pair of small paws plant themselves on my shoulder so my best friend can lick the salt from my cheeks. “You are such a stinker!” I giggle while Georgie gives me kisses. He always knows how to brighten my mood.

And how am I supposed to leave him? The thought makes my chest hurt.

It also makes me grab him and squeeze him while the tears fall twice as hard and fast on his white fur. It didn't take long for me to figure out Georgie was more than a gift to make me feel better after I lost Mom and Dad. He's been my constant companion, my company. Otherwise, Dane is always off working, traveling for meetings and stuff.

And you would think that would mean I'd have some freedom to do what I want the way other people my age do? Fat chance. Just because my guardian is always out of town doesn't mean eyes aren’t looking over my shoulder at all times. His security guys are always around the house and never let me go out alone. I'm sure they report to him when he’s out of town.

When I think about it that way, I feel even worse about being disappointed with the Yale situation. I should be glad. This means I'll be able to start having a life.

If only I didn't feel so much like Dane just wants to get rid of me. “Is that what it is?” I ask Georgie, but he's busy playing with an old sock. Even he's too busy for me today.

I know it's wrong to think about Dane the way I do. He's always going to see me as a kid who needs protection. Like I can't handle myself. He'll never see me as an adult capable of making my own decisions. Smart enough to know what I want.

If I had my way, I would stay here with him. Forever. And if he had to go away for business, I would go with him. I know what I want.

But I'm only an inconvenience. He probably regretted taking me in five minutes after I got here. I'm probably the reason he spends so much time away from home, too. It's not like he ever had a wife or kids of his own—his life isn't built for me. And that's why he wants me hundreds of miles away.

It doesn't matter what I want, and it never has.

I'm trembling as I hop off the bed, still holding the letter. “Come on, buddy,” I whisper, and Georgie happily follows me. I'm not leaving him here alone, that much is for sure. What would he do without me?

Instead of waiting for his little legs to make it down the stairs, I scoop him up and carry him until we reach the first floor. I'm in no mood to wait around now that I know Dane got home from his latest trip a few hours ago. He didn't come to see me, but then he never does. Straight to his office, as always.

It's amazing, even now, to walk through this house and compare it to the memories of the tiny home I shared with my parents. I'm still not quite used to it, even two years later. Dane always went out of his way to make sure I felt comfortable and like I belonged here, but you don't spend seventeen years of your life watching your mom scan the weekly circulars for coupons and suddenly adjust to living in a mansion. Servants, cook, the whole thing. They're the closest I have to a family now, and it only hits me as I stride down the wide hallway cutting through the heart of the house that I'm going to miss them, too.

It's like he never stops to think how I feel or what I want. I would be happier staying here in Chicago for so many reasons.

I hear him in his office, and he's not alone. Frank's voice is just as familiar as my guardian’s, being his right-hand man and everything. From the sound of it, they’re stressed out about something. Big surprise. They always are.

The door is closed, but when I try the knob, it turns easily. If it were locked, I wouldn't bother. As angry and hurt as I am, certain rules still don't get broken.

I rap against the wood with my knuckles as I swing the door open wide enough for Georgie to scurry into the office. “Can I talk to you?” I blurt out before either of the men has the chance to acknowledge me.

Dane turns away from the window, and it isn't the exasperation written all over his face that hits my awareness first. It's him, himself, overwhelming me as always.

Yet another unfortunate turn of events: I've basically fallen in love with him over the years.

I didn't mean to. I didn't want to, either. Who would deliberately get themselves in a situation like this? It would be like purposely hurting myself because there's no way this will end how I wish it would. I will only ever be a child to him, so longing for him is pointless.

I wish somebody would tell that to my heart, not to mention the rest of me. As usual, setting eyes on him for the first time in days steals the breath from my lungs at first. The flat planes of his cheeks and his chiseled jaw are covered in black stubble that leaves me wishing I could run a hand over it to test its roughness.

His eyes pierce me from across the room while his generous mouth tips downward at the corners in a familiar frown. “Since when do you barge into my office?”

“Sorry. I figured since it means so much to you that I get as far away as possible, you would care that my acceptance materials came in the mail today.” I march across the room and slap the letter onto his desk.

Frank clears his throat on his way to the door. “I'll leave you two alone for a minute.”

“Take the dog with you,” Dane mutters. Great. That means he's in a worse mood than usual today. He normally at least tolerates Georgie, and I've seen him play with him a few times when he didn't know I was watching. I don't know why he has to pretend to be such a hard-ass all the time.

“I don't want to go,” I announce, folding my arms once we’re alone. “And you know I don't want to go. Why are you making me do this?”

“Why are you wasting my time?” he counters, tossing the letter aside once he's skimmed it and dropping into his chair. “Who in their right mind doesn't want to go to Yale?”

“Me. I don't want to leave. I want to stay here.”

“That is out of the question.”

“Are you that desperate to get rid of me?”

He growls softly, and I wish he wouldn't. Not because it scares me but because it makes my nipples go tight. I'm too mad to let this insane infatuation get in the way. “Let me get this straight. You were accepted to an Ivy League school many kids would kill to get into. The tuition is paid. You're all set. And you're still in here, complaining to me about it?”

“Why does it not matter what I want? Can you at least answer that?”

“I know better.”

If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I could afford to pay the tuition myself.

“I have much more important things going on right now,” he continues, “and you’ve interrupted a meeting. If this is all you were coming in here to complain about, I have to ask you to go elsewhere.”

He means it, too. There isn't so much as a scrap of regret or even understanding in his cold, hard eyes. If he would only pretend to understand. If it even seemed like I had a say in my own life.

If he would only see me as a woman and not a little girl. Because that's what's at the heart of this. He'll never see me the way I want him to.

I almost run from the room because saying anything would mean bursting into tears. I always cry when I'm frustrated, and nobody frustrates me worse than he does. I pass Frank along the way, and he at least looks unhappy for me.

It’s only when I’m back in my bedroom that I can let myself dropkick a pillow after screaming into it. I hate him so much that I can’t see straight.

I want him so much that my pussy is wet and aching. So much that if he barged into the room right now, I would throw myself into his arms and beg him to touch me. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to fight my craving for his big hands, the shoulders and arms that always seem ready to shred the seams of his shirts. I need to test their firmness while he puts those hands of his on my body. Every inch.

The very thought makes my pulse race and my breath come short and fast. Maybe it really is a good idea to get far away from him. I don’t know how much longer I can be strong.

For now, I need to get out of the house. Screw him for thinking he can tell me what to do. I’m sick of being watched, questioned, and denied.

Fiona answers on the first ring when I call. Of all people, Frank’s daughter understands what it’s like to live in my world. He’s almost as overprotective as Dane. “What’s up?”

“There’s a party tonight, isn’t there?” I blurt out, already looking through my closet. “At that club downtown.”

“Um, is this Camilla? Because Camilla doesn’t even try to go to parties. And she never calls me out of nowhere and mentions a party at a club we’re too young to get into.”

“Everybody we know is too young to get in, but they’re going. We’ll be fine.”

“Dane would skin you alive if he knew.”

All her warning does is make me more determined than ever. “Are you in or not?”

Her heavy sigh tells me she’s in. “Don’t blame me if he finds out.”

“You know I wouldn’t.” While I’m talking, I twist my long blond hair into a topknot to keep it dry while I’m in the shower. “But don’t drive up to the house. Park down the street and text me when you’re here so he doesn’t know.”

“He always knows.” She snorts. Sometimes I wonder whose side she’s on.

“I’ll deal with that.” He’s too busy with her dad, as usual. Doing whatever big, important business they deal with while he makes plans to brush me aside and pretend I never existed.

That’s just fine. He wants me to have my own life away from him?

I’ll start tonight.

2

DANE

F rank leans back in his chair, rolling his head from side to side like he needs to loosen up his neck. I understand the feeling. My entire body is coiled, like a spring ready to pop. I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night.

“Bottom line, we get the girls out of town.” He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, wincing. “Right now, there's no other way.”

I hate to agree with him, but we've been through every aspect of this latest challenge with a fine-tooth comb, and there doesn’t seem to be a way out of it that doesn’t involve going to war. The biggest challenge I've dealt with ever since taking my place at the head of the Chicago mob.

The Irish were never happy about it, but until now, they were a lurking threat. A volcano occasionally releasing steam, reminding everyone down at the base of the potential danger once they blew.

They're not steaming anymore. The lava has begun to flow, and innocent civilians have already gotten caught up in it.

“We've got four men dead, and about a dozen civilians caught in the crossfire,” I mutter, shaking my head at the aftermath I witnessed firsthand when I was out of town to clean up the damage. Widowed wives, children who won't grow up to know their fathers. All because Jack O’Grady didn't appreciate not being consulted over my ascension. One of those old-school bosses who thinks he's still living in the old days. He’s pissed off because I didn't kiss the ring and pretend his opinion mattered.

And here we are, stepping up our protection, putting out the call to our associates that the Irish are looking to go to war.

“We've got to get them out of town.”

I meet Frank's weary gaze and would swear there's an animal inside me trying to claw its way out. The very thought of sending Camilla away makes me seethe, no matter the act I put on for her benefit. “What do you think I've been trying to do? Why do you think I paid a mint to get her into Yale?”

“I mean now, immediately. School doesn't start for another few weeks. You think O’Grady will hold off till then? Maybe we can call a time-out.”

I don't need his sarcasm, but I see his point. With his daughter also mixed up in this, he has just as much hanging in the balance as I have. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“We could send the girls on a trip, one last fling before college?”

“We’d have to arrange it under the strictest anonymity, and they'd still need guards with them at all times.” As always, the idea of letting Camilla out of my sight sends red flags waving like mad, but it's the only way. I need to convince myself it’s the only way.

“You think Camilla would go for it?”

He doesn't shrink under my penetrating stare. There's too much history between us for him to react the way most men would and have when they catch me looking at them like I want to tear their heart out for questioning me. “What makes you think she wouldn't?”

“I saw her run out of here in tears because she has to go to school. She's already taking it the wrong way.”

The memory leaves me unsettled, but not for the reasons he imagines. I clench my fists under the desk and have to fight like hell against the erection beginning to stir. She’s never as tempting as when she’s furious—baby blues blazing, fair skin flushed, chest heaving.

I’m nothing but a slobbering pervert for thinking of her that way, even if she is an adult. I’ve known her since she was a child. I remember the day she was born and how proud her father was.

Now here I am, recalling how close I came to throwing her on the desk and fucking her mercilessly for her defiance.

“She’ll get over it,” I choke out. “She won’t have a choice.”

I hate the way he chuckles. “Spoken like a man who's been a guardian for a couple of years. Try putting in a full nineteen years with a daughter, and let me know if you're still so confident.”

I get his point but resent the implication that I'm unaware of the way Camilla thinks. If there's one thing I'm an expert at, it's the workings of her mind. I've committed her to memory—every reaction, every wrinkle of her nose or furrowing of her brow.

Admitting that would mean admitting to a great many things he can't know.

Instead of confessing to my disgusting obsession, I check the time. “I'll talk to her about it. It's not too late, so she's probably still up. I'll suggest the trip as a peace offering.” And no, she won't go along with it willingly, but I will wear her down.

And if I don't? If she's dead set on being an obstinate little brat? Then I'll send her away by force. I'll have my guys take her out of here bound and gagged if need be. She’ll hate me for it, and I will most likely hate myself, but it’s for the best.

“I'd better be getting home before I catch hell for being too late.” Frank can pretend all he wants to be the henpecked husband, but I see through it. He's probably the only man I know in our world who's only got eyes for his wife. I've never been particularly interested in the idea of settling down or committing myself to one woman.

At least, not until recently.

Once he's gone, I stand and stretch my stiff body. The past few weeks have aged me five years, maybe ten. It's the weight of so many lives on my shoulders. All the money we could lose and have lost already, thanks to hijacked trucks and stolen shipments. Even that, I was willing to overlook for a little while. Somebody’s always trying to pull one over on somebody else, seeing how far they can push and still get away with it. Like children, even with all their swaggering and bluster.

But when a restaurant is shot up and dozens of civilians are sacrificed—the kind of thing that makes headlines and gets the cops all riled up—it’s time to take shit seriously. O’Grady fired the first shots across the bow. It’s up to me to decide how to respond.

Before I do, I need to make sure she's safe.

And I wish like hell it was only a sense of duty driving me.

Duty is the last thing on my mind as I walk the now quiet halls of my home. Guards are posted in their usual positions at the doors, all of whom stand up a little straighter when they see me approach. I should double the number of men around here. At least until she's gone.

There I was, thinking my troubles would be over once I got her out of here. Having her under this roof for the past two years has been torment, night and day. Like dangling crack in front of an addict. She doesn't know—I've worked like hell to make sure she doesn't know how I've craved her, fantasized about her, obsessed over her. It's fucking sick, not to mention disrespectful to the memory of my friend. He'd roll over in his grave if he knew I was salivating like a rabid dog over his little girl.

A little girl who is now a woman with a lush body begging to be tasted, touched, and worshiped by a man with the experience she deserves. Not some fumbling, selfish prick who doesn’t know where the clit is or what to do with it.

And I'm heading up to her room to have a talk with her? I need to change my fucking attitude and fast. It's bad enough I'm already imagining the pajamas she'll be wearing and how little her skimpy nightshirts leave to the imagination. Her clit and what she’d do if I licked it are the last thing I need to be thinking about.

The sooner she is out of this house, the better it will be for both of us. I'll never stop thinking about her, and I know I'll worry incessantly, but I can handle that. At least I'd be able to live with myself, which I doubt I'd be able to do if I stole her innocence.

This is for the best. You are the only parent she has now. You need to do what's right for her, even if she hates you for it. And what's right for her is getting her far away from me.

“Camilla?” My voice carries just enough irritation to mask my longing. It's like an act I put on, a mask I wear for her sake. I need to believe this is for her sake. “I want to talk to you.”

She's giving me the silent act. My blood's already at a simmer, and right on cue, the impulse to throw her over my knee and spank her flares up and looks almost too tempting to resist.

Instead, I bang harder with the side of my fist. “Do I need to kick this door down? You will not ignore me under my own roof.” To my surprise, the door isn't locked. I push it open, unsure whether or not I want her to be in the process of getting undressed.

“Where are you?” I call out when I find the room empty except for the dog, curled up in his bed at the foot of hers. Her bathroom is dark, empty.

And there are clothes all over the bed. Nice clothes. The sort of clothes a girl wears when she goes out for the night. It doesn’t take long to put two and two together.

“Motherfucker.” I leave the room at a jog, flying down the stairs and barking at the guard standing sentry by the front door. “Where is she? Did she get past you?”

“Uh—”

I cut off his worthless stammering by taking his collar in my fists and slamming him against the door. “What, did you forget how to speak? Answer me!” I bellow in his face. The fear pooling in his eyes is gratifying, but it's getting me nowhere.

“No! I haven't seen her all night, I swear.”

I release him with a snarl before continuing to the back of the house, my rage growing with every step. Rage and something else, something deeper. Fear. Goddammit, I'm afraid. I was never afraid before she came here, not of anyone or anything.

The men watching the security feed are already on their feet before the wall of monitors when I storm into the control center. They must have seen me coming from the rear of the house into the converted shed beyond the pool. “Where is Camilla?” I demand, my voice filling the small space.

“We're going through the footage—” one of them blurts out before I cut him off with a growl that makes his mouth snap shut.

“Tell me now. Did she leave these grounds without anyone noticing?”

They exchange a guilty glance. “We’ll look into it, sir.”

“A lot of good that does me. You already fucked up and let her out of here.” I can imagine her sneaking out to get back at me for bossing her around.

She has no idea the risk she’s taking.

“Send out word,” I manage to grit out, my teeth grinding together hard enough that my jaw aches. “I want every single man combing this city until she’s found and brought back to me. Understood? Try to do one fucking thing right tonight if you don’t want me to cut off your balls and feed them to you.”

I have to find her.

Before O’Grady does.

Though right now, on the verge of exploding in blinding rage, I’m not sure which of us poses the bigger threat.

3

CAMILLA

I  should have stayed home. I could be reading in bed with Georgie curled up next to me instead of feeling like my head's going to explode. The driving bass from the loud music thumps hard enough that I feel it in my bones. Everywhere I turn, it reeks of sweat and body spray and alcohol.

And it's not like I can talk to anybody since no matter how loud I scream, the music drowns me out.

This is how people have fun? People look forward to this?

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, a velvet-covered semicircular booth in what's supposed to be the VIP section. I don't see what the big deal is. Every once in a while, a barely-dressed girl comes by with a bottle of champagne or a tray of drinks. Big deal.

I meet Fiona's gaze when she turns away from the guy trying to hit on her. I think his name is Thatcher, but it was too loud for me to hear him well. He has to be at least twenty-five—meaning he probably isn’t a part of our group since we all graduated together. There are a couple of guys with him, but they hang out on the other side of the velvet rope that separates us from the rest of the club.

One thing I know for sure: he can't keep his hands to himself. Fiona's trying to look upbeat like she's having a good time, but I know her too well for that. Something in her eyes gives away how bored she is and how much she regrets coming here tonight. Just like I do.

That's what gets me on my feet. I take her hand and give it a tug. “I have to go to the bathroom!” I shout, speaking slowly so she can read my lips.

Thatcher only smirks and wraps a hand around her elbow. He gestures for her to stay, but she shakes her head and pries his hand away. I catch sight of his disgusted expression before we work our way through the crowd. Amazing how suddenly he went from grinning and trying to be charming to looking like he wanted to murder me.

I actually paid money to get in here?

“Where are you going?” one of his friends asks, trying to step in front of us.

“The bathroom!” I shout back, elbowing my way past him. The nerve of these guys.

We finally reach the ladies’ room, and at least it isn't as loud in here. My ears are ringing anyway, and my head is still aching. “I want to go home,” I confess to Fiona. “I’m sorry, but this sucks.”

“I know,” she mouths, eyes wide. Or maybe she isn’t mouthing it, and I just can’t hear her. “That guy was gross. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“I feel bad since it was all my idea.”

“No biggie. We tried, and we found out it was a bad move. It could be worse.” She has to be the most easygoing person I know. Nothing ever seems to faze her for long. That's probably why we get along so well since I tend to be a little more emotional. We balance each other out.

I catch a look at my reflection, and my heart sinks. I spent forever picking out the perfect outfit, a dress Fiona practically had to dare me to buy the last time we went shopping. It’s black, skintight, and the shortest thing I’ve ever worn.

Who did I think I was kidding? This isn’t me. I’m never going to be the hot, flirty girl. Not when every guy in this place seems like a little boy compared to the man at home.

“Dane’s going to kill me,” I groan. It's been hours since the face-off in his office, and I already regret reacting like I did. How will he ever see me as a grown woman if I don't act like one? All I can do is hope he never figured out I left. It's not like he ever comes to check on me at night. He's always too busy.

I usually wish he would come to my room. This might be the first time I hope he doesn't.

No, if I got away without one of the guards seeing me—and I know I did, or else I wouldn't have made it here to begin with—he's unaware. I'm just one more thing to tick off his to-do list. An inconvenience he took on a couple of years ago and wishes he hadn't.

The way I regret thinking I could handle coming out tonight. I've never been anywhere like this before, and I can’t say I want to go through it again.

We brace ourselves for what we know we'll find on the other side of the door before stepping back into the club. It's absolutely insane, so many strangers pressing in all around me. Our friends from school are still in the VIP section, but I'm sure they won't notice we left. Especially not with so many other people coming and going, total strangers trying to score free drinks or whatever. We won't be missed.

Or so I want to believe before Thatcher blocks our way. His friend stands next to him, and they look like they just walked off a football field. Tall and broad-shouldered with thick necks and bulging biceps.

In other words, they tower over us and make me feel shaky and unsure of myself. The thing about being in the middle of so many dancing bodies is anonymity. We might as well be alone in this club. Nobody’s paying attention, and I doubt they’ll hear us if we scream for help. A bead of perspiration rolls down the back of my neck.

“Aren’t you going to let us buy you drinks?” the friend asks, smirking. “We’ve been trying to all night.” I can barely understand what he’s saying, but his body language tells the story on its own. The way he hovers over me and makes me want to curl in a defensive ball.

“It’s really loud!” Fiona shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth to be heard. “We’re leaving!”

“That’s okay!” Thatcher insists before putting a hand against her lower back. Even though she flinches, he won't let up, pressing his fingers tight against her. “There are rooms in the back that are quieter.”

“We’ll show you,” his friend offers, leaning in and breathing almost directly in my face to be heard. From the way it smells, he's already had more than a few drinks tonight—and I guess it gives him the courage to grab my ass.

“Watch it!” I snap, slapping his hand away before I even think about it.

All he does is laugh, and so does Thatcher. Fiona wraps an arm around mine—she’s trembling like I am. “Thanks, but we're going home. Good night.”

We don't get more than two steps away before an arm wraps around my waist, tugging. “At least take a look at the room!” My heels slide over the floor even though I’m not moving my feet. He’s moving me like I’m a piece of furniture.

I'm not exactly familiar with the club scene. But even I know what their endgame is.

And it turns my discomfort into rage. “Not interested!” I shout, digging my nails into his hand to free myself before grabbing Fiona. She's wide-eyed and pale in the blue and purple lights shining down on us. “Fuck off, you piece of shit!”

Thatcher’s red face looms over me, his teeth bared in a snarl. “Fucking bitch!”

And then he’s on the floor. Fiona shrieks, and the two of us jump back in time to watch Dane take him by his shirt and haul him to his feet. He’s the one who knocked him on his ass.

Where did he come from? Why is he here?

Is he going to kill this guy? Because right now, it looks that way.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” he bellows in Thatcher’s face. “Huh? Answer me, you punk.”

Only he doesn't wait for an answer, tossing Thatcher to the floor again like he’s a rag doll before pointing at one of the men now surrounding us. I recognize him as the bouncer who let us in. “This is how you run things around here? You let underage kids in this club because, what, they pay you enough? You're fucking fired. Out of my sight, now!”

Then he turns to Frank, who until now has been glaring at Fiona. “I want IDs checked now. Every motherfucker in this place. If they're underage, they're out of here.”

I don't understand any of this. Who is he to tell people what to do?

Then he whirls on me, and there's no room in my head for any questions. Not when he looks at me the way he is, like he wants to kill me. He's breathing hard, almost panting. “So this is how you're going to behave? Sneaking out at all hours, paying off some brain-dead bouncer to let you into a club? What the hell has gotten into you?”

I want to answer him, I do, even if I don't know what to say.

The problem is, as intimidated as I am, and as much as I wish this had never happened, it's not so easy to think with all the blood in my body rushing south. He might be scary, but he's also the hottest thing I've ever set eyes on. Until now, he's always kept his temper in check—I know that since he's never acted this way before.

And even though he's furious with me, the sight and the sound of him are enough to make me wet. Nothing about what he does to me makes sense.

“Get her out of here,” he mutters once Frank has passed on his orders, jerking a thumb at Fiona. She manages to slide me a single horrified glance before her father pulls her away. I can't hear what he's saying, but from the look on his face, it can't be anything good.

I glance around and realize we've attracted a lot of attention. And there are people here I know, who I used to go to school with. Now they're going to get kicked out, too, all because I came here tonight. Maybe it's for the best that I won't be around much longer. I won't have to see them and relive this embarrassment.

“Let's go.” Instead of dragging me off the way Frank did to Fiona, Dane shocks me by sweeping me off my feet and into his arms. I'm too stunned to react, frozen in surprise, and more than a little excited to be this close to him.

You idiot. He's going to tear you a new one for this. Maybe so, but I'm still breathless with anticipation, and my heart still races because at least I'm in his arms. Where I've always wanted to be.

Even when we're outside, he doesn't put me down. Instead, he carries me straight to a waiting SUV. The black-clad man I recognize as one of his drivers opens the back door for Dane to place me inside, then slide in after me.

Without a word, he pulls me onto his lap and cages me against him, his arms like steel bands I couldn't break free of even if I wanted to.

And I don't want to. I've never wanted anything less than to be in his lap, pressed against his firm chest where his heart pounds out of control. Just like mine is.

4

DANE

I  don’t dare say a word in the car. Not in front of a witness. I can’t trust myself.

Besides that, words escape me. There’s nothing but screaming in my head. The sense of a hand squeezing my heart until it's on the verge of bursting. The deafening rush of blood in my ears.

Of all times for her to decide to break the rules.

How do I get it through to her how dangerous that was? How she can’t take risks like that ever again.

It would mean telling her about my work, something we’ve never discussed. As far as I know, Fiona is as much in the dark about what Frank does. There’s nobody to set her straight on how I make my money.

I’ve gone out of my way to keep the truth from her. She’s safer that way.

She was, at least. Now I’m not so sure. What started as an act of youthful rebellion might’ve turned much uglier if any of O’Grady’s guys had spotted the girls. For all I know, he could have eyes on the house, on our comings and goings.

It isn’t until she let out a strangled groan that I realize my grip has tightened around her trembling body.

How unfortunate. Now, it isn’t only her safety on my mind. It’s the body—in a skimpy scrap of a dress—pressed against mine. A look down at her creamy tits and deep cleavage makes me twitch and lengthen in my pants before I know what’s happening.

No. That is not the way this goes. She needs me to get beyond my lust and do what’s best for her. No matter how I long to bury my nose in her neck and inhale her deep into my lungs. She smells like vanilla and honey, and I could easily lose myself in the scent.

She could’ve gotten herself killed tonight.

Yes, that’s what I need to focus on, not to mention how close she came to getting dragged off by those assholes. What if I never went to her room earlier and headed for the shower instead? Where would she be now?

All thoughts of my dick are long gone by the time we reach the house. Heads are going to roll for what happened tonight. They might as well have ushered her to the end of the driveway. Better yet, they could’ve driven her to the club.

“What are you doing?” Her question falls on deaf ears while I carry her in through the front door. My jaw twitches, and a hundred replies run through my head, but I hold them back. What matters most is getting her alone, where I can say what she needs to hear.

She wriggles in my arms—a bad move since I could drop her on her ass, but I have no intention of doing that. My arms are strong enough to keep her safe from herself.

I don’t know what’s pushing me forward down the hall, but it propels me past her bedroom door. She stiffens against me, but I ignore her reaction, my gaze focused on the larger room at the end of the hall. My room.

“Where are we going?” Her voice is small, scared, almost childlike. She’s finally beginning to understand what she’s gotten herself into. How dangerous it is to screw with me.

My silence leaves her whimpering in dismay until we reach my bedroom, and I set her on the bed like the willful child she is. That’s who I’m looking at now. Not a voluptuous woman whose body begs to be stripped naked and ravished until dawn.

“It’s time for us to have a talk,” I growl. Those are the first words I’ve spoken since we were in the club, and they come out slowly through gritted teeth. I’m furious—enraged, ready to kill—but I can’t pretend the craving has eased. If anything, I only want to throw her down and impale her on my cock that much more.

“Why did you do that?” The catch in her voice draws my gaze to her flushed face and the tears swimming in her eyes. “In the club? How did you find me? Why were you telling everybody what to do?”

At least these questions are easy to answer. “I own that club. I got a call as soon as one of the bouncers recognized you—not the one whose ass I fired. Maybe you should’ve greased a few more palms if you wanted to get away with it.”

“You own a club?” Her mouth falls open in surprise, and I’m reminded of how little she knows about me. On the list of businesses I own, a club is nothing. “Why didn’t I know that?”

“Why is it any of your business?” I counter. Her head snaps back, and for a split second, I’m sorry for snapping. She’s tested my patience lately, but I’ve never shown my temper that plainly. “For what it’s worth, you should be on your knees, thanking me until you lose your voice for saving you from those assholes back there. Do you have any idea how much worse it could’ve gotten?”

“I know.” She lifts her trembling chin. “You rescued me.”

I can only shake my head at first. “No. Don’t do that.”

“But you did. You saved me. You came to my rescue.”

This is all wrong. She’s supposed to beg forgiveness and promise to never do anything that stupid again. She’s supposed to realize I’m not a man to disobey and will make her regret even considering it.

Instead, her big, blue eyes shine with trust and admiration. “Don’t look at me that way,” I warn, pacing in front of her. This is all wrong. She’s supposed to be crying and begging.

“What way?”

“Like I'm… heroic.” I have to force the word out when it gets stuck in my throat. “I’m not a hero. And I could have killed that bastard for putting his hands on you.” The memory is enough to make my fists clench. He's lucky so many people were around. I doubt I could have stopped myself from caving his face in otherwise.

“I was so afraid, but you stopped him. That’s heroic.”

“It's not, dammit.”

“I don't understand why you're still so angry. I'm sorry for what I did, and I'm grateful you came in. What's so wrong about that?”

Everything. “There’s a lot you don’t understand.”

“Then tell me. Why does everything have to be such a secret? I've been here for two years, and I hardly know you. I didn't even know you owned a club! It's like we're strangers, and I don't want to be. Do you wish I had never come here?”

Her question rocks me back on my heels. “No. Not once, not ever.”

“Then why do you always treat me like an inconvenience? Why are you never here? You never tell me anything. Even when you’re here, you hardly look at me. You're not even looking at me now.”

The fact that she calls me out so easily makes my body go hot while I force myself to lift my gaze from the bed. “I have my reasons for everything I do.”

“So what's your reason? Do you hate me?”

“No.” Though at the moment, I do a little. I hate her for putting me through this. I hate the way she threatens my self-control. The fact that she's invaded my every thought, every dream. That she's the first thing I think of in the morning and the last before falling asleep, after jerking off to the thought of her and the hundreds of filthy fantasies I've concocted over many long, sleepless nights.

“Then I don't understand why. What did I do wrong? How can I make it up to you?” Her teeth sink into her lip, and I have to avert my eyes again because dear God, I don't know how much longer I can stay away.

“You should go to your room, Camilla. Right now.”

“See? You're doing it again. You're pushing me away. Why?”

Maybe it's because there are limits to a man's control.

Maybe it's to shut her the hell up and end these ceaseless questions.

Maybe it was always going to be this way.

Whatever the reason, I drop to my knees in front of her like the weak bastard I am, take her face in my hands, and cover her mouth with mine.

She gives a single, violent jolt like she's been shocked—then melts against me, whimpering when I skim the seam of her lips with the tip of my tongue. She parts them readily, and I plunge inside while sinking my hands into her hair.

A switch has been flipped, and I don't think I could ever go back to the way it was before. All the desire I've struggled to suppress rises to the surface, heating my blood, demanding more. I've waited so long.

And she is so willing, her crescent nails biting into my shoulders before she winds her arms around my neck and draws me closer.

Her perky tits press against my chest, drawing a growl from deep in my throat. I need to touch, to feel, to taste. I deserve it after fighting against my nature for so long. Denying myself what was right here in front of me, something I now know was just as eager to be claimed.

With my tongue massaging hers, I take one of her tits in my hand and squeeze, testing its firmness. Her guttural moan leaves my erect cock dripping in my pants while she parts her legs, inviting me closer. I can practically feel the heat radiating from her pussy—it draws me in, promising release. I could finally let go and lose myself in her.

I'm still touching her when she pulls back, her eyes wide and hazy with lust. “I need you,” she rasps, her fingers running through my hair, nails dancing along the back of my neck. “I've only ever wanted you. Please, take me. I'm yours.”

She's so fucking young. If I still had a heart, it would break thanks to her innocence. “Don't you know you don't say things like that to a man unless you are ready to deliver?”

“I want to deliver.” One of her legs hooks around my hip, making me groan in frustration. She's killing me.

“I've only ever wanted you,” she insists, arching her back to thrust her tit against my palm. It isn't enough to touch her through her dress. With one hand, I lower the zipper in back, and she peels the front of the dress away to reveal the two most perfect breasts I've ever set eyes on. Full and round and tipped by rosy nipples begging to be sucked.

The sight of them is enough to knock the air from my lungs at first. “Touch me,” she begs, almost on the verge of tears.

I do better than that. I lower her onto her back so I can kiss and lick and suck while working the dress farther down, over her waist and her hips. Soon she's in nothing but a see-through lace thong and a pair of heels, splayed out on my bed the way I've envisioned countless times. Staring up at me with those wide, innocent eyes, her chest heaving, her greedy fingers clutching at me, trying to pull me closer.

“Spread those thighs,” I groan, because what's the use in fighting? This was always going to happen. Eventually, I would break.

I could’ve lost her tonight. Camilla, the center of my life, the one good and pure thing Fate ever saw fit to grant me. I can’t afford to waste this chance.

“Has anyone ever looked at this pussy? Has anyone ever touched you?” All she does is shake her head. I knew the answer, but the confirmation is gratifying. No man has ever been where I'm about to go, pulling the soaked fabric away from her shaved mound to reveal her glistening, pink perfection.

I hold the thong up to my nose and breathe in deep, allowing her sweet, musky essence to overtake my senses. Soon that isn't enough, not with desire oozing from her entrance and soaking into the sheet under her. I almost can't remember why I ever fought this. She’s so eager, as hungry for my touch as I am to finally feel her under my tongue.

Still, she stiffens in fear when I lower my head and begin placing soft kisses against her inner thighs. “Relax,” I murmur, easing her into it, teasing both of us by taking my time and covering every inch of skin before dragging my tongue along the seam between thigh and mound.

Her hips lift, and she gasps sharply, tensing again. “Shh,” I whisper, wrapping my hands around her thighs and holding them still. She slowly relaxes, and all her breathless whimpering turns to something deeper. Soon, she's running her nails over my scalp until my skin tingles while her puffy lips part to reveal her glistening pink button.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” I breathe, staring down at her perfection.

The first swipe of my tongue over that bundle of nerves arches her back while her hands tug frantically at my hair. “Oh my God, Dane!” I can barely hear her over the roar in my ears, blood pumping, adrenaline racing through me because finally, finally, I have her on my tongue. I don't have to imagine her moans of delight as my tongue works her swollen folds.

“Dane... Dane... that's so good... oh God, yes... I think I'm going to...” A rush of hot juices coats my chin an instant before she shouts out her release, thighs clenching around my head, hips jerking. All I can do is lap up every drop like a mindless animal until she collapses with a sigh and her thighs open again.

I pull back reluctantly but know it’s for the best now. Even when my cock feels like it’s going to snap in half, it’s concern for her that drives me. She’s trembling, still coming down. I don’t want to overwhelm her.

Even when her eyes fly open like she’s surprised when I stand. “That’s it?”

I can’t help chuckling. “What more did you want?”

Her gaze falls on my very obvious, very uncomfortable erection. “I could… you know… Let me take care of you.”

Oh, I want her to. Who wouldn’t?

Instead, I pull back the blankets and remove her heels. “Right now, what you need is rest. It’s late. We can talk more in the morning.” Though I can’t imagine what I’m going to say or how we can fix this. I only know there’s no chance of thinking clearly when I’m this hard. I need some of the blood to return to my brain first.

By the time I’ve finished undressing in my closet, she’s under the blankets, her golden hair fanned out across the satin pillowcase. I’ve never seen her this contended, almost glowing. It’s probably my imagination, encouraged by my ego. I’m the first man to ever eat her pussy.

And the last. No one else ever will.

I don’t know how I’m going to ensure I’m the only man in her life. I only know that’s the way it has to be as I slide into bed beside her and clutch her warm, willing body against mine.

5

CAMILLA

I t was real. I didn't dream it this time.

So many mornings, I've woken up after an amazing dream. Dane wanting me, loving me, touching me, and making me feel things no one has ever made me feel. Finally claiming the body I've saved for him, just for him. I'll never want anybody else.

So many mornings, I've woken up and even wanted to cry sometimes, brokenhearted once reality came rushing back.

This isn't one of those mornings. Instead of waking up in my room, I'm in his. In his bed with the satin sheets, with the big windows that let sunlight stream through to highlight his strong profile.

He’s still sleeping, so I can lie here and study him to my heart's content. There's no one to stop me. I could cry, I'm so overwhelmed by the simple joy of being so close to him.

He looks so much younger now. The worry lines on his forehead smooth out, and he's almost smiling. What’s he dreaming about? Am I a part of it?

His thick, dark lashes touch his cheeks—I'm jealous of them. It's so unfair that men have those beautiful lashes. Wasn't I just thinking yesterday that I wished I could test the stubble on his cheeks? Last night, it chafed my inner thighs and made me squirm with pleasure.

Now, I ever so gently run the backs of my fingers over his cheek. It's almost enough to make me forget to breathe. Finally, finally, finally mine.

At least, as good as mine. I don't know what will happen after this. I might never share his bed again even though that seems unthinkable right now.

But he's unpredictable. He could wake up and decide last night was a mistake we can never talk about. I don't know that I could live through it. Not now, when I know how it feels to sleep in his arms. I don't think I've ever slept that well, come to think of it.

He's on his back, and my gaze slowly travels the full length of his body—over his chiseled chest and abs, gleaming in the sun and begging to be touched. The arm bent under his head so his bicep bulges.

But it’s what’s under the sheet draped across his hips that makes me bite my lip. I’ve always guessed he was big—he’s a big man, after all. And last night, I got a glimpse of his size when his bulge was in front of me.

What a tease. All he did was go to bed instead of taking what he so obviously wanted.

Well, he turned me down last night. I'm not going to let him turn me down this morning. If this is the first and last time we're ever going to do this, I'm going to make the most of it.

Besides, I need to know how he tastes. I need to hear him moan my name while I make him feel as good as he made me feel.

So even though I don't really know what I'm doing, and my heart’s racing out of control, I slide down until my face is level with his crotch. My hand shakes, but I lift the sheet and reveal his enormous, erect dick. I've seen them before but never in person and definitely never this close-up. It's thick, veiny, and it twitches in my hand when I wrap my fingers around it.

He mutters in his sleep but doesn't move. Now I'm feeling a little bolder and more determined. I part my lips and let him into my mouth, only getting around halfway down before I gag a little. The skin is like silk even though he's so hard, and a faintly salty taste spreads across my tongue.

“What... What the hell are you doing?” His voice is thick with sleep but full of surprise. I don't stop to answer, only bobbing my head up and down in a slow rhythm while watching him from the corner of my eye. I don't know what I'm doing, but it must feel good because his eyes close, and his head falls back.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, moving his fingers in my hair. “I should stop you. I really should. But fuck, that feels good.”

I'm doing it. I'm making him feel good. I could cry from happiness.

“Use your tongue,” he grunts, lifting his hips to sink deeper into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. “Harder. Suck harder. I knew you would be good.”

He knew I would be good? He's been thinking about this. I wonder if we've fantasized about the same thing at the same time, separated only by the wall between our bedrooms. I wonder if he’s jerked off while I touched myself and imagined my fingers were his.

The thought makes my already wet pussy ache. I want to touch myself so badly, but this is more important. Especially now that I know he’s wanted this. I need to make it good.

Besides, there’s something powerful about it. Knowing I can do this to him. That even though he’s probably told himself it’s all wrong, he can’t help but give in. His grunts and sighs are music to my ears as I lose myself in the rhythm we set together. I want him to come. I need him to come.

That’s why my heart sinks when he pulls my head away. “Not like this,” he pants. His teeth are gritted, his eyes filled with lust as he rolls me onto my back.

I can’t believe it. This is happening. What I wanted more than anything in the world. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how you want me. I’ll do anything for you,” I vow, and I mean it with all my heart.

“Spread your legs. Are you wet for me?” Instead of waiting for me to answer, he finds out for himself, sliding his fingers through my dripping slit. “Oh, yeah. And so hot. Do you want me to take this pussy? You want me to be your first?”

“Please,” I plead. I don't care if it makes me look desperate or pathetic. I need him too badly.

“Just relax.” He lowers himself over me, close enough for our mouths to touch. His kiss is soft, sweet, tantalizing. All he's doing is driving me crazy, kissing me until I’m almost sobbing with frustration.

And he knows it, smirking when he lifts his head to look into my eyes. “There's no going back from this,” he warns. “Once I have you, you’re mine. Always.”

I've never heard anything better.

The pressure against my virgin pussy makes me gasp. He’s so wide. How can I take him inside me, no matter how much I want to?

“I’ll take it easy,” he promises. The feather-light touch of his lips against mine eases my fear until I’m relaxed and ready.

He slowly presses forward until he's inside me.

“So big!” I gasp. A blinding flash of pain freezes me at first, but soon it turns into something sweeter.

“That’s nothing.” He’s barely breathing, his teeth gritted, his face flushed. Like it's killing him to stay still.

He’s doing it for me. For my sake. I didn't know it was possible to love somebody this much.

“I'm okay,” I whisper, smiling, and he takes that as his cue to go deeper. So deep I'm afraid he'll split me in half, but I wouldn't stop him for anything. Not when it feels this good, body and soul. Being in his arms, with my arms around him, locked together like this.

“Camilla,” he moans, helpless. A powerful man like this, helpless because of me. “I need to fuck you. I have to.”

His words ignite the desire already pooling in my core. “Yes,” I moan, pulling him deeper with my legs. “Fuck me. Please.” I want to feel everything. All of him.

And he gives it to me. Every inch, deeper and harder with each stroke. Grinding against my clit, grunting in my ear while the heat from his breath sent shivers racing through me.

“So fucking tight.” He pushes himself up on his palms, eyes closed, his abs clenching with every thrust. “Holy shit, so tight. All for me.”

“Yes,” I moan, moving with him, hanging between pain and pleasure while he stretches my sensitive flesh.

“Do you like it? Do you like what my cock does to you?”

“Yes!” I sob out, raking my nails across his shoulders and down his arms until he hisses in pain. “Yes, give it to me, I love it!”

“Will you ever give this pussy to anybody else?”

“Never!”

“Because it's mine now. You are mine.” He opens his eyes and stares down at me while his hips pump. “Say it. Mine.”

“Yours. Your pussy. Your everything!” I don't even know what I'm saying. Whatever he wants, he has it. He always has.

This familiar pressure is building, tension spreading, and he feels it. “Getting tighter,” he grunts. “Are you gonna come for me? Are you going to come on my cock?”

“Yes! I am!” I'm whiny, needy, and I don't care. He has a way of making me not care at all. Not when it’s so right to have him inside me, to clutch his bulging shoulders and arms, to run my hands down his back and caress his ass as it clenches with every deep stroke. Who cares how I sound when this is the reward?

“Be a good girl,” he croons, rolling his hips, grinding until all I can do is moan helplessly. “Come from me. Come with me inside you. Make me feel it.”

If I wasn't already going to, his words and the way he growls them would push me over the edge.

All at once it happens. The wave crashes over me, and I hear him groaning over my ecstatic cries. “Milk my cock,” he grunts in my ear, pumping wildly in and out while I ride the waves of ecstasy. “You’re gonna make me come, little girl. Is that what you want?”

“Yes!” I hold him tighter, jerking my hips, desperate to make him feel good. I need it. I need him to come because of me—since I know how it feels to finally have what I’ve only been able to imagine for so long. He’s imagined it, too. He needs this.

“Fuck… Camilla… you’re so good… so fucking… good!” He throws back his head, and a sudden rush of warmth floods my core. He’s coming inside me, I realize, and I smile to myself in satisfaction. Somehow, it feels right.

What if I had his baby? No, I can’t afford to think like that, no matter how much I want to. I can’t get all caught up in another fantasy.

Even if he did say I’m his. Even if I meant it when I agreed.

“Oh, fuck.” He collapses on top of me for a second before rolling away with a groan. “That was better than I thought.”

“How many times have you thought of that?” I can’t help but ask, looking over at him. I’d roll over, but I can’t move. I’m too exhausted and sore.

But happy. So happy.

“Too many times,” he confesses with a smirk before rolling onto his side to face me. “But that’s over. You’re mine now. There’s no going back.”

That’s just the thing.

He says it like he’s sentencing me to punishment.

When really, I’ve never wanted anything else.

6

DANE

F our chairs sit around my kitchen table.

Yet for some reason, Camilla sits in my lap while we eat the meager breakfast I managed to put together on our cook’s day off. I didn't ask her to sit here, and she never asked permission. She merely placed her plate of toast and fruit next to mine, then settled on my leg.

I wouldn't tell her to get up even if I wanted to. I’ve spent too long denying myself already.

“Can we finally talk about all the stuff you didn’t want to talk about last night?” She pops a blueberry into her mouth before tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears. She’s still messy from earlier, and I'm sure anyone who's set eyes on her since we left the bedroom knows what happened.

It doesn't help that she's wearing nothing but one of my dress shirts.

If anyone has spotted her, they're smart enough to keep their mouths shut about it.

She’s waiting for an answer. “You'll have to refresh my memory.”

“Don't do that.” There's a playful twinkle in her eyes when they meet mine, and she wiggles a little in my lap. A dangerous thing to do when she's wearing no underwear. There’s nothing but a pair of pajama pants between us.

“Don't do what?” I have no choice but to slide a hand over her silky leg. It’s right in front of me, begging to be touched. I’m not about to waste the opportunity.

“Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Why is there so much you haven't told me? What are you trying to hide?” Considering she's asking a loaded question, she has no business being so playful and sexy. Sexy enough that I'm tempted to clear the table with a sweep of my arm and throw her over it.

The part of me that's still able to think with a willing pussy so close to my dick knows I can't keep the truth from her forever—and keeping it from her this long might have ended up hurting her last night if it hadn’t been for a well-timed phone call. She has to understand the forces she's fucking with when she decides to defy me.

“What do you think I do for a living?” I ask, letting go of her leg in favor of picking up a piece of toast and taking a bite.

She frowns while picking at her toast, pulling the crust away a bit at a time. “I don't know. I always figured you were in business.”

“I am. But do you know what kind of business?”

“Is it something bad?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Why else would you be so secretive?” she counters.

That's fair. “It was to protect you. I didn't want you to get too close to what I do. Yes, my work is dangerous.”

“Are you a spy?”

She shouldn't have asked while I was chewing. I almost choke on my toast before laughing. “No. I am not.”

My humor fades quickly. “I’m sort of a CEO. Only we don't exactly follow the law.”

She doesn’t blink. “Are you saying you're in the mob?” Strange, but she doesn't sound scared or even all that surprised. If I had to choose a word, it would be intrigued.

“What do you know about the mob?”

“Everybody knows about the mob. It's not a big secret.” She chews more slowly now, thoughtfully. “Does that mean my dad was in the mob, too? You worked together.”

“Yes. He was. We both grew up in the life. It was all we knew.”

“Okay.”

I wait for more, but she says nothing. “Are you all right?”

“I mean, now I know. That explains a lot. Like all the security and stuff.” Then she eyes me, lifting a delicate brow. “And why you’re so protective all the time.”

“Yes. Now you understand. None of that was arbitrary. I've only ever tried to keep you safe.” She reaches for a strawberry, but I pull her hand back, forcing her to look into my eyes. “Which leads me to last night.”

“I said I was sorry—”

“No, you don't understand. Things are more dangerous than ever right now. There are some... complications between our faction and another. I can't tell you more than that, so don't bother asking. I need you to trust me and to believe me when I tell you I know what's best.”

She frowns but nods slowly. “So I guess it's not a good idea for me to go to school.”

This again. “No, that's exactly why you need to go. You asked me why it seems like I don't want you here? It isn't because of you. It's because my life is too dangerous for you to be any part of it. That's the truth. It's better for you to go somewhere else, far from here, and to make a life for yourself.”

“What about what I want?”

“We don't always get what we want, Camilla. You’re a smart girl. Don't play dumb now.”

“I'm not playing dumb.” She tries to hop off my lap, but I hold her in place. “No, not if you're going to insult me. I'm a grown woman.”

“I realize that. But I need you to listen to me. Put your pride aside for a minute. I know what I'm talking about. I've seen what can happen when innocent people get mixed up in the shit I do.” I won't say it, I won't do it to her, but eventually, she’ll figure out that what killed her father was what killed her mother, too. She was just as innocent as Camilla and had never hurt anyone, but she was with her husband at the wrong time.

I can't let that happen again. I couldn't stand it. To lose her...

“But I just want to be with you. That's all I'm trying to say. I've wanted to tell you for so long, and I know it isn't right, and I know it's not the way you want me to feel. But I don't want to leave you. Isn't there a way I could stay?”

She has no idea what she's doing to me. What a struggle it is to stay strong when she’s so damn tempting. Not only physically—though that's bad enough, having her this close, smelling her skin and her hair. She's almost enough to make me forget why I'm trying to be strong in the first place.

But I have to be. One of us has to be. “I know what I'm doing,” I whisper, stroking her cheek while gazing into her eyes. So clear, as blue as an autumn sky. Heartbreakingly young, she is, and trusting and so stubborn.

I might love her.

Her chin quivers while her eyes dart over my face like she’s looking for the truth. “Even if it's going to make me miserable? You would rather make me miserable and send me away from you?”

Did I say she was innocent? Because nothing about the way she buries her face in my neck and lets her lips trail over my skin is innocent. “I could make you happy. That's all I want. You're all I want, Dane. Don't send me away. I don't want to live without you.”

“You're not being fair.” And neither is my cock, stirring to life thanks to the way she kisses me and rubs against me. She knows just what she's doing, and she's doing a damn good job of it. It's getting harder and harder to remember why I wanted to send her to school.

And I'm about to tell her that when there's a thump overhead.

She goes still while I immediately look up at the ceiling. On Sunday morning, I typically loosen things up a little and let most of my guys sleep in. We're down to a skeleton crew, but at least one guy should still be patrolling the second floor.

“What is it?” she whispers.

“I'm not sure, but I want you to stay here. Do you hear me? I'm going to check, but you have to stay put.” She sputters, but I ignore it, lifting her from my lap and placing her in another chair before going to the cabinet under the sink.

“Was that always there?” she gasps, staring open-mouthed at the Glock I pulled from inside a bucket.

“No, Santa Claus left it,” I mutter, checking to be sure it's loaded. “Now, remember. Stay here. For once, do as I say.”

Where the fuck is everybody? The front door should have a guard, but the post is empty. A feeling of dread settles over me, cold nausea I fight back only when I think of the girl waiting in the kitchen. She needs me to keep my shit together. Come to think of it, maybe I should have sent her outside.

I take the stairs two at a time, silent thanks to my bare feet. My thumping heart is the only thing I hear once I reach the landing.

At first, nothing seems out of the ordinary. Still, with my guard up, I go from room to room in a quick search. Is this O’Grady? Would he pull something this over the top? Invading a man’s home is a shit ton more serious than shooting up a restaurant.

When I come to Camilla’s bedroom, I realize the problem: Georgie’s playing with a sock. He flops around on the floor, swinging his head violently from side to side. When the sock flies from his jaws, he pounces on it again. I lower the Glock, rolling my eyes. Way to jump to the worst possible conclusion.

“For a small dog, you are very fucking loud.” I can't help but laugh with relief as I scoop him off the floor. “But I guess you do need to go outside.” He only licks my face and wags his tail.

The fact is, I can't imagine life here without her, and I'm sure the dog will be devastated once she's gone. Is this who I've become? The kind of guy who gives a shit what a dog thinks? Or am I only making excuses to keep her here?

“Never fear,” I call out on my way to the kitchen. “Your very fierce killer dog showed a sock who's boss.”

The kitchen is empty, her chair pushed back from the table. I should’ve known she wouldn’t listen. “Dammit, Camilla!” I growl on my way to the back door to let the dog out.

The door is already open.

Once again, nausea washes over me.

“Camilla?” I step outside, sweeping the area with my gaze. She's nowhere to be found.

But the rear gate hangs open, and all at once, I know.

I set the dog down, and he whimpers, following me instead of going outside. My phone is on the counter, and I grab it with a trembling hand. “Frank?” I bark when he answers. “We've had a breach. They took Camilla.”

7

CAMILLA

I t’s dark.

It stinks.

My head is pounding so hard that I’m afraid it will split open.

How long was I out?

Panic makes my heart race—not a good idea since that only makes my head pound harder. I’m going to throw up if it gets worse, which would seriously suck since there’s a gag in my mouth.

I’m going to die here. I’ll choke to death on my own vomit.

Get it together. I can’t afford to lose my shit. These are not friends, obviously. I need to stay calm and pray they don’t hurt me any worse than they already have. Whoever they are.

Is this the kind of thing Dane was talking about? How dangerous things are now? He wasn’t kidding.

I’m in a car, lying across the back seat. I feel the door against my feet—my ankles are bound together and going numb, but there’s still some feeling left. The same is true for my hands, bound at the wrist behind my back. I flex my fingers, hoping it will keep the blood flowing.

What difference will it make? I honestly don’t know. I only know I have to do something to help myself. Otherwise, I’ll fall apart and be useless.

“No wonder he was such an animal over her last night.”

I don't know the voice, but there's nastiness in it. From the direction of his voice, he’s driving the car. “I would have kicked the shit out of anybody trying to put their hands on this one.”

“Dressed the way she is?” a man in the passenger seat responds. “You know he's been tapping that ass.”

“Who wouldn't? Can you imagine having that running around your house all day long?” They both laughed nastily before he adds, “I thought you said you heard he wants her out of there.”

“Nobody ever said he was smart.”

My head might be pounding like it's going to explode, and I might be blindfolded and gagged, but I can still put a few things together.

These men kidnapped me. I didn't have time to scream and didn't even think to until the last second, figuring one of the guards was coming in through the back door. I was too busy being embarrassed about what I was wearing to turn around—if I had, I would have seen whoever ended up hitting me across the back of the head and knocking me out.

I must be bleeding back there. My scalp is on fire. What else have they done to me? A fresh flash of terror bursts in my chest.

Focus.

Ignoring the pain in my head isn't easy, but I do it and focus on my body. I'm not sore anywhere I wasn't before they took me, so the slight ache still throbbing between my legs must be from Dane. They didn't hurt me, not that way.

But they could. They could hurt me badly. They could even kill me. What's stopping them? I don't even know why they took me in the first place. I'm not involved in Dane's life that way. I don't even know how anybody knows about me.

From the way it sounds in the front seat, these guys knew exactly who I was when they took me. It wasn't like they broke in, found me, and made a split-second decision.

It sounds like word got out about what happened in the club. Maybe that's how they know I exist. Dane did sort of make a scene, and then he carried me out.

Maybe the bouncer he fired went to their enemy, whoever it is.

And maybe I need to stop making up stories in my head to explain this. What I need to do is figure out how to deal with it.

“Boss.” I flinch at how the passenger seat man barks the word. I've never had a headache like this before. Every little move, every sound makes the pain worse. “We got her. We're taking her to the location.”

At least now I know for sure they went in to get me. Not that it makes a difference. I’m still tied up in a car that stinks like old fast-food wrappers and cigarette smoke.

This is all my fault. They probably wouldn't know I existed if I hadn't gone to the club. And he was talking about this when he said I need to listen to him, that he knows better.

Maybe he should have told me that sooner. If I had known how dangerous his life really was...

No, I can't do that now, either. Blaming him, hating myself. Nothing I did last night means I deserve this. I didn’t earn a kidnapping by going out with a friend.

This is all on them. These animals who stole me from my home and now have the nerve to laugh at me—and my relationship with Dane. They don’t have the first clue about us.

The car takes a wide turn out of nowhere, and I almost roll off the seat. I try to stifle my groan, but it's no use. “Awake back there?” the driver mutters with a laugh. “Welcome back.”

“Now behave yourself and be a good girl,” the passenger adds, “and you'll be just fine. Don't start shit, and there won't be any shit. Got it?”

It's not like I can answer, but I don't think they're looking for an answer anyway. All they want is to make sure I know who's in charge. Right now, I'm too scared to think about fighting.

Earlier, Dane said I'm a smart girl. I need to act like it.

Dane. Oh, my God, what's he going to do when he finds out I'm gone? I'm sure he must know by now. It couldn't have taken him very long to check the house for intruders. Were there anymore in there? What if somebody went in and attacked him after I was gone?

Calm down. You can't afford to get upset. I need to remember that, but it's getting harder and harder. My heart's breaking at the thought of him worrying about me.

What if he does something crazy like killing people over this?

We come to a sudden stop, and this time my body is thrown against the back of the seat while the men laugh viciously. Okay, so maybe I wouldn't mind too much if he killed these two.

“I'll untie your ankles so you can walk,” the driver grunts after he turns off the engine. “But that's it.” All I can do is groan my response, thanks to the gag still in my mouth.

At least they don't try to carry me—the shirt is long, almost to my knees, but I'm naked underneath. Even though the ground is rough and broken and hurts my bare feet, I would still rather go through this than have them touch my body.

Soon it gets colder, no more sunlight on my face. And now I'm walking on a wood floor that’s not exactly smooth but better than broken concrete. “Take her to the first office,” one of the men says to the other, and the one holding my right arm drags me off so fast I stumble, blind and confused.

“Like I said, behave yourself,” the man mutters, and I groan louder than before. I need this thing out of my mouth.

He puts me in a cold, metal chair, then rips the blindfold from my eyes. Even though we're in a pretty dark room, it still takes a second for my vision to adjust.

He's not as old as I would have guessed. He might not even be much older than me. He could be a college student, maybe, but instead he committed a kidnapping today.

And considering the way he's staring at my boobs, he doesn't want to stop there.

I lift my chin, grunting, hoping he gets the message. “No way,” he says with a snicker, narrowing his dark eyes. “You'll just start screaming.”

I shake my head, eyes wide. I really won't scream, either. What's the point? It felt like we drove for ages, and I was unconscious for part of it. We could be in the middle of nowhere. Who's going to hear me?

“Fine. But if you make me regret this, I’ll make you regret it.” He pulls the cloth from my mouth, and I suck in a deep breath before coughing. My throat is so dry, but it’s still an improvement.

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper, then cough again. “Can I have water?”

“No on the water, and none of your business on everything else.” He strides from the small room and closes the door without another word. The room is only lit by what’s slipping in from between the pulled blinds.

But it’s enough for me to get a sense of the layout. There’s a metal desk in one corner, a bunch of papers tacked to a corkboard behind it. Somebody works in this room, and now there’s a kidnapped girl in it.

Earlier this morning, I lost my virginity to the man I love, and now I might die because of whatever he’s involved in.

It’s all too surreal. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Instead of doing either, I get out of the chair as quietly as possible and tiptoe to the desk. My hands are behind me, but I might be able to get a desk drawer open and find a letter opener or a pair of scissors. I could cut through the duct tape on my wrists.

Then what? I could get out of here, maybe, but where would I go? I’d need to get the keys from the driver to take the car, and that’s my only hope of getting away. I’m not going to get far in my bare feet otherwise.

One thing at a time. I have to get into the desk.

The locked desk. “Dammit,” I whisper while tears fill my eyes and blur my vision. No matter how I tug, none of the drawers budge. There are pens and a stapler on the desk, but that’s no help.

What else can I do? There must be something I can use. I look around, panic building, flexing my fingers to keep them from going totally numb. I can’t do anything with numb hands.

You can’t do anything at all. Who are you trying to kid?

No. I can’t believe that. Dane would want me to fight this somehow. Especially if he knew how that guy was looking at me. A couple of bored men and a half-naked girl who can’t defend herself? You don’t need to be a writer to figure out how that story ends.

Footsteps outside the door make my heart lurch before I scramble for the chair. Only my body’s moving faster than my feet, and I can’t balance myself with my arms. Suddenly, I’m falling with no way of stopping myself.

I hit the chair on the way to the floor, and it tips over, landing with a jarring crash as I land in a heap.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The floor flies open and a pair of feet come marching toward me.

“No, please!” There’s nothing to do but let him roll me onto my back, hands pinned between me and the floor. To my horror, I realize the shirt’s up around my hips. “Don’t hurt me!”

“Fucking bitch,” he snarls, and I only notice him pulling his hand back at the last second.

Before pain flares hot and fierce in the side of my face and I sink into darkness again.

8

DANE

“I  shouldn’t have left her alone.”

“You didn’t know this would happen.”

I have no idea how many times Frank has repeated those words in the past couple of hours. Dozens, probably, since I can’t stop blaming myself for this. She’s gone, and I don’t know where they took her, and it’s all my fault. They would never have taken her if it wasn’t for me. I should’ve stopped at nothing to make peace with O’Grady, if only for her sake.

“I should’ve known,” I insist. As soon as I found an unmanned post, I should’ve insisted she stick close to my side. Our security was compromised.

I had no idea how badly at the time. It wasn’t until I went to the control center in the shed that I found the pair of dead men, one of whom must’ve been lured away from his post while the other was manning the security feed. The two men who would’ve been most likely to alert me to intruders.

They put thought into this, in other words. This wasn’t a random act.

And here I was all the time, eating breakfast with Camilla, reveling in her body and the things I wanted to do to her once we finished eating. In another life, I’d be in bed with her now, spending a lazy Sunday with her wrapped around my cock.

My phone rings, and I pounce on it, but it’s only one of the men reporting nothing once again. “Don’t waste my time again,” I warn in a growl while pacing my office. “If you call, it’s with good news.”

“At least we have the make and model,” Frank reminds me. We managed to get a look at the truck they parked on the other side of the fence, barely visible in the feed from the camera aimed at the backyard.

“How many black Rams are on the road, do you think?” No, it’s fucking hopeless. We’ll never find her that way. “What about the contacts at the DMV? When’s the last time you heard from them?”

“I’ll give them a call now.” We grease more than a few palms down there. They come in handy when we need fake IDs—and when we’re looking for a certain truck on the traffic cameras sprinkled throughout the area. That’s our best shot right now, following the truck’s progress through town by poring over traffic footage. Otherwise, we’re looking for a needle in a haystack.

There’s nothing for me to pace like a caged tiger and blame myself. They’ve had more than enough time to do unthinkable things to her, all to hurt me. O’Grady couldn’t have chosen a better way to do it.

The idea of her being in pain, terrified, is tearing me up inside. I can’t bear the thought, but I force myself to imagine it. Anything to punish myself for letting her out of my sight.

How could I ever have imagined being the man she needs when I couldn’t keep her safe in my home? She needed me, trusted me, and I let her down. I had no business bringing her here at all. I certainly had no business touching her.

And if I hadn’t burst into the club last night, prepared to crack skulls if it meant bringing her home safely, this wouldn’t have happened. It didn’t take long for us to figure that out. Until now, I’ve kept Camilla out of the spotlight and have never so much as mentioned her to outsiders. If anyone knew I had a kid living here, they couldn’t have known I gave a shit about her.

I made it fairly obvious. It took no time for word to spread of my weakness.

And less time for O’Grady to decide he’d take advantage of it.

“I’ll kill that fucker,” I mutter, smiling at the idea of blowing his brains out. I’ll torture him first. Slowly. I’ll make him regret ever finding out she exists—hell, by the time I finish, he’ll regret being born.

Frank bursts into the room, holding his phone out. “They have a black Ram entering an industrial park outside Chicago Heights two hours ago.”

TWO CARS WAIT for us half a mile from the warehouse where the Ram is parked. “We still have eyes on it,” Frank informs me. “A couple of guys come out for a smoke every fifteen minutes or so, but that’s all the movement so far.”

A couple of guys. Two of them, one of her. The idea of it—how frightened she must be—leaves my trigger finger itching. “They’re mine,” I growl, staring in the direction of the warehouse. I’m here, Camilla. I’m coming for you. Hold on.

“You shouldn’t go straight in,” Frank insists. “You have soldiers for a reason.”

“This is my job.” I stare unblinking at him, daring him to challenge me. “The way it would be yours if that was Fiona in there.”

“Fair enough,” he mutters before turning to the guys waiting for instructions. “We go in first. You cover our backs.” Soon all three cars are headed for the warehouse with ours in the lead.

I can’t pry my eyes from the building. Two stories, darkened windows on a Sunday afternoon. I wish we had the cover of darkness on our side, but I’m not about to wait for sunset, either. Every minute counts. She’s already been away from me for too long.

“I’m going to kill O’Grady for this,” I tell Frank while staring out the windshield. “You know that, right?”

“She’s more than just a kid you’re taking care of, isn’t she?” he counters. There’s no judgment in the question. “More than a daughter.”

I let my silence answer the question since my fevered brain can’t put thoughts to words now. Yes, she’s more than a daughter. She’s more than the girl I’m obsessed with. She’s my reason for living, my everything.

“You can’t go off half-cocked here,” he reminds me. “Get her back. But that might have to be enough for now. You have the entire family to think about. All our guys. Their families.”

I can’t hear this. Not now, not until I have her in my arms. “Talk diplomacy to me once we’re home.” He grunts but is smart enough to say no more.

Besides, there’s no time for it. We’re already approaching the black truck, flanked by our men. They pull up ahead of us to get in position before Frank pulls in, and I open my door.

The warehouse door opens a crack, and my heart stops. Time stretches out like taffy, on and on, while I wait to see who emerges.

Instead of using Camilla as a human shield, a kid who can’t be much older than her steps out with his hands in the air. “We don’t want any trouble from you,” he calls out, grinning affably, while I unfold my body and emerge from the car.

“Bring her out and give her to me,” I reply, my right hand around the butt of my Glock.

He sees it and shakes his head. “No weapons. There’s no need for this.”

“Like hell there isn’t. Your boss drew first blood.” Raising the gun, I take aim at the center of his forehead. “Bring her to me, or I come in to get her.” One thing I’m not going to do is let them hold me here in some bullshit standoff while the rest of them swarm around here like wasps prepared to attack.

“She’s fine. Untouched,” he assures me.

“I’m counting to three.” My aim is unwavering. I want so much for him to give me a reason to pull the trigger. “One. Two.”

His right hand disappears behind his back, but he doesn’t have the chance to aim the gun concealed in his waistband before a bullet pierces his skull and he falls to the ground.

The fuck did he think that would accomplish? I charge up to the door and kick his body aside before going in. The clock is ticking. I have no doubt his partner alerted O’Grady to our arrival.

That’s what this is about. It isn’t enough to get inside my head and take what’s mine. He wants to keep me here, bargaining for her, unwilling to take a risk that might end up getting her hurt. He has no idea who he’s dealing with.

Something buzzes close to my ear and I realize almost too late it was a bullet. There’s a scream from somewhere deeper inside—high-pitched, female—before another shot rings out. My guys pour in behind me, and the shooter drops his weapon when he realizes he’s outnumbered.

It’s the scream that keeps me moving. Her scream. She’s in an office on the other side of the warehouse floor. My Camilla in this filthy place, screaming for help. “Camilla?” I shout, my voice ringing out in the cavernous space.

“Dane? Dane!” The voice comes from behind a closed door I soon realize is locked. One carefully-placed kick and it swings open to reveal her in a folding chair, ankles tied to the legs, her arms behind her back.

At first all I can do is kneel in front of her and clutch her to my chest. Alive. She’s alive and in one piece and sobbing against my shoulder. My Camilla, in my arms. The world can keep spinning.

“I have to get you out of here.” I crush her lips under mine in a brief, hard kiss before pulling a switchblade from my pocket to cut her restraints. “We need to get home before they send reinforcements.”

She’s shaky when I help her to her feet, leaning against me for support. There’s a bruise along the left side of her face and dried blood on the back of her head. The sight of it tears at me. “What did they do to you?”

“I’ll be fine,” she whispers. “I just want to go home now.”

Frank meets us in the doorway to the dingy office and sizes up the situation in a single glance. “I’ll take you to the car,” he offers, reaching for her. Our eyes meet in a silent understanding.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I offer with a nod before turning my attention to the man pinned in place by four gunmen. He’s sweating, practically pissing himself, eyes darting all around.

He took her from me. He violated the sanctity of my home and took her. One of the only rules men in our world abide by: you don’t touch our women. Yet here we are, and my woman’s been bruised and bloodied.

“We didn’t really hurt her,” he babbles as I approach. “She’s fine. We were only supposed to hold her here.”

“And you did your job.” He whimpers when I raise the Glock. “Now, you’re finished.” His head snaps back and his body falls once I’ve pulled the trigger.

“Leave them here,” I decide, glancing around at my men. “Get moving. We want to be gone before the cavalry arrives.” I'm already moving, on my way to the door, out to the car where Camilla waits for me.

She's curled in a ball, knees against her chest, Frank's jacket draped over her legs. As soon as I have the door open she reaches for me, practically jumping into my lap and burying her face in my neck. Weren't we sitting like this back at the house, before this happened? It only took a few hours for everything to change.

“You’re safe,” I whisper, rocking her while she trembles in my arms. My Camilla. My everything. Safe again in the arms of the man willing to kill for her.

“I was so scared.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. No one will ever hurt you again.”

“But I knew you would find me,” she sobs. Her tears rolled down my neck, soaking into my shirt, but I welcome them. They're proof that she's here, with me. Where she belongs.

“I wouldn't let anything keep me from you.” I kiss her forehead, my stomach turning at the bruises on her cheek. But they'll fade, like the memory of this will fade with time.

One thing that will never fade is my determination to keep her by my side from now on. No matter what it takes. I will never leave her vulnerable again.

“I love you,” I murmur, pulling my head back when she lifts hers. “I love you, Camilla.”

“I love you, Dane,” she whispers, smiling in spite of her tears and her pain. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

“You and me from now on. Agreed?”

She nods. “Does this mean I don't have to go to Yale?”

I have to chuckle at her perseverance. Even now, she’s single-minded. One more thing to love about her, even if it drives me crazy. A small price to pay. “Are you kidding? You'll be lucky if I ever let you out of my sight again.”

EPILOGUE

Camilla

One year later.

T he sound of Dane’s voice steals my concentration from the book I’m reading in bed. I don’t know how long he’s been staring at me from the bathroom doorway. “You are fucking amazing. Look at you.”

“I look like a beached whale,” I remind him with a sigh, looking down over the length of my body. At least, I'd be able to do that if there wasn't a basketball blocking the way. I can't remember the last time I saw my feet without looking in a full-length mirror.

He scowls, shaking his head in disapproval. “We do not share the same opinion.” He drops the towel he was using to dry himself off after his shower, and his swaying erection tells me he's not just saying things to make me feel better.

But then he never does. I know he means it, even if I can’t fathom how it’s possible. If anything, he seems even more drawn to my body than he was before I got pregnant and started swelling up. He can’t keep his hands off me.

He’s not the only one whose hormones are working overtime, though. I thought I was obsessed with him before? Pregnancy has made my cravings unbearable, and not just the ones having to do with food. Lucky for me, he never has to be talked into taking a little time to satisfy my needs.

“And I still get another month of this?” he asks, stepping up to the side of the bed with his dick in one hand. “I could jerk off just looking at you. You are so beautiful, so fucking hot.”

It isn't only the sight of him that gets me going now. I mean, it still does—I'll never get tired of looking at him and knowing he's mine, that I don't have to hold myself back anymore.

It's the love in his eyes, radiating from him. His love for me, his desire for me, all it does is deepen the love I already felt until I'm sure I'll die from happiness. How did I get so lucky?

“Don't waste a good hard-on,” I purr, lifting my nightgown above my hips and rolling onto my side. “Give it to me.”

“No panties,” he observes in a soft voice.

“They only get in the way,” I remind him, shrugging as I look back at him. “When I want you, I don’t feel like waiting.”

“Listen to you. Who taught you to talk like that?” He climbs onto the bed, lying behind me, and we both sigh deeply when he parts my lips and drives himself deep. The first thrust is still magic, that sense of being filled.

“I must have learned it from you,” I whisper, moaning in approval when he cups my boobs, something else he's obsessed with now that they're growing.

His hot breath fans across my neck when he chuckles. “Then I've taught you well.”

He’s teasing me, but what he says is true. He’s taught me everything about my body, what makes me feel good, how to make him feel good. This past year has been like a dream come true. The two of us, building something together. Something special, something that’s only ours. The rest of the world exists outside these walls.

Here, now? It’s the two of us.

His skillful fingers find my clit and begin to work it in time with his deep strokes. “That's nice,” I whisper, moving against him, working with him. “Fuck me hard. Please. I need it.”

“Remind me to keep you pregnant,” he growls before driving himself harder, deeper, until the bed rocks rhythmically and I have to press my face to the pillow to keep the rest of the house from hearing me scream.

“That's right,” he growls in my ear. “Show me how much you love it, baby. Scream for me. Soak my cock with your cum.”

“Oh… Dane, yes… yeah, just like that… I’m… I’m coming!” And then I'm lost to sensation, to every blissful ripple that moves through me while he follows right behind. Soon a rush of heat fills my core and he sighs, wrapping his arms around me and panting against my neck.

“Sometimes it’s even better when it’s quick like that,” I point out.

“Sometimes there’s no taking it slow. Not when I want you so fucking badly.” There’s still a hungry little growl in his voice that makes me erupt in goose bumps. There’s no such thing as getting enough of him.

My heart sinks a little when his phone rings, but it's a necessary evil. According to him, the war with the Irish mafia could be wrapping up. The war I got caught up in back when it first began.

It's been a long year, and he's kept a lot of the specifics from me, but I can sense his anticipation. He wants this to be over, and I wouldn't mind, either.

I won’t miss wondering if he’ll come home whenever he goes out for a meeting. I can’t wait to raise our child without worrying what O’Grady and his family will do to destroy our happiness.

“What did he say about the terms?” I know right away it's Frank on the other end of the call, and I sit up with my heart in my throat. “Is he willing to play ball?”

I can hear Frank on the other end, just barely, and I lean in to catch more of what he's saying. “He’s willing to accept the terms with one caveat.”

Our eyes meet, and I see the irritation mixing with concern in Dane’s. “What would that be?”

“Instead of financial settlement,” he says, his voice heavy, “he wants another method of payment, and I don’t think we can go through with this.”

“What is it?” Dane demands. “Whatever it is, it’s worth it.”

After a long pause, Frank answers him. “Fiona. He wants my daughter.”

Darcy Rose is a USA Today Bestselling author of steam novellas with a dark edge.

If you like your books short, taboo and kinky, then you have come to the right place. Darcy writes about shy and innocent heroines, to match them up with dark and intense heroes who have only eyes for one girl.

For everything Darcy click here or scan the code below!

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STANDALONES

Extra Credit

Heaven

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Blurb

Prologue

1. Camilla

2. Dane

3. Camilla

4. Dane

5. Camilla

6. Dane

7. Camilla

8. Dane

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Darcy Rose