Sweet One (Titan Book 8) Read online

  “Heard vacation bliss has a hiccup.” Boss Man’s voice cut in and out, echoing. “What do you need?”

  The tension in his neck was instantly dispelled, and without thinking, Cash began to rattle off a shopping list that would make the NSA jealous.

  “Done.”

  With the Jared stamp of approval, Cash knew by the next morning he’d have satellite feeds and thermal imaging of every sand dune a thousand yards in any direction. If a seagull took a piss, if a fish jumped out of the water, Cash would know about it. That promise of intel soothed his soul, and he went to double-check the Titan-esque security system installed on the beach house and then go find his wife. Like hell she’s sleeping alone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nicola woke, clinging to a blanket tucked under her chin. She’d cried herself to sleep on the couch, and hours must have passed because the sun was gone and the room was a deep shade of hours-gone-by. Only a few lights from a hallway were on, and she couldn’t remember grabbing the blanket, but it did something nice to ward off the loneliness of dozing on the couch.

  Today sucked. Fighting with Cash, her paranoia—or maybe reality—whatever it was had been just too much to handle. She shifted on the couch, and a whiff of man caught her attention, as did the light breath of a snore—Cash, asleep on the floor at the base of the couch.

  Of course, she shouldn’t have doubted him. Fight or not, he couldn’t have been more of a perfect man. A hardheaded, alpha protector of a man, but one who bugged the snot out of her, made her smile, and who’d sleep on the floor next to the couch when she didn’t come to bed.

  God, he was a good one, and to think she’d almost lost him…

  He had a pillow and a blanket and must’ve been responsible for her blanket too. “I hate fighting with you.” No answer, so maybe his Spidey senses were turned off for the moment. Nicola reached down and found his hand. “Come here.”

  Awakening, he focused his blue eyes on her in the shadowy dark. “Hey.”

  “Don’t sleep on the floor.”

  He chuckled, low and sexy. “Don’t sleep on the couch, and I won’t have that problem.”

  “Come up here. You’ll still fit.” She pulled him up, and with just a tug, her heart was happy, and he was under the blanket.

  He kissed the back of her head. “Someone wants to find one of us, sweet girl.”

  “Doesn’t make sense.”

  “Of course it does. We have a laundry list of enemies. It’s only a matter of time.” He kissed the back of her neck softly, letting his lips linger. “No one will hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  His tongue lingered where his lips had been, and she sighed, half melting into him, half awakening. Weeks of feeling ill and then days that felt like centuries had made her numb without realizing, but buried in the blankets, feeling safe and secure, loved and cared for, she felt a flood of sexuality in her blood. It came with an unexpected intensity and warmness.

  “That feels nice.” Her back arched.

  “Good.” Cash brushed her hair away from her neck and tugged her shirt over her shoulder, drifting languid, sleepy kisses at a maddeningly slow pace from ear to shoulder and back again. “Take the dress off, Nic.”

  Pushing up out of their blanket cocoon, his hands found her stomach and lifted the long sundress before she had a chance to do it. Nicola unhooked her bra, and Cash enveloped her, pressing her back to his chest, spooning them together under the cashmere blanket. The palm of his hand swept across her flesh, back and forth, and every little touch ignited sparks a thousand times more sensitive than she’d ever before had. Nicola squirmed, in heaven.

  “What, are you ticklish now?” he whispered against her earlobe.

  And, good God, pregnancy hormones might be the greatest thing for sex since… since God made Cash Garrison. “Just…” Her voice shook. “We haven’t since I was pregnant.”

  His hand paused. They’d passed the time frame in which he had to be careful about TBI-related sex injuries, whatever that meant, but he hadn’t thought about pregnant sex. “We shouldn’t?”

  “If you dare stop, I will strangle you.”

  His laugh ran down her spine. “Ten-four, sweet girl.”

  “I think it’s called heightened awareness.”

  “So if I do this…” He palmed her breast, letting his thumb gently rub her erect nipple.

  “Yeah, if you do that…” She squirmed against him, aware of her breathy nonresponse and not caring.

  His strong fingers massaged her mound, and Nicola gasped.

  “Christ, Nic.” His voice had dropped too. With lips close to her ear, Cash sounded equal parts aroused and curious, as though heaven had sent him his favorite playground. He flicked her earlobe with his tongue then grabbed it with his teeth, sucking it into his mouth, kissing the spot that he’d memorized years ago as one of her hot buttons.

  With his fingers plucking her nipple, his tongue behind her ear, and his erection pressed against her ass, Nicola could stay buried in blanketed bliss, bordering on an almost orgasm without him even touching between her legs.

  Heat blossomed inside her body at the thought. Wow. Hormones could be a curse, but at that moment, they were a blessing. She was wet beyond a doubt, moaning for her man, and enjoying every sensation—from the light scratch of his chest hair pressed against her back to the heavy sound of his breath.

  Cash shifted, his hand dropping to the swell of her belly. “Beautiful. You with more curves.” He kissed her bicep and moved to her breast, sucking the tip into his warm mouth. “Tits that I want to bury myself in.”

  She wriggled, pushing herself under him, letting his massive hulk cover her body, holding against her but not smothering her. He’d long ago mastered that perfect balance of dominance and carefulness that was almost a requirement for someone so strong, long, and muscled, but it always came coupled with sexy gentleness.

  But now that she was pregnant, he’d upped his game. Cash Garrison was worshipping her body as only an alpha male could do. There was a mix of pure, unadulterated possession, longing, love, and need all rolled up in one sexually driven man intent on making her batshit crazy. It was working.

  His hands skimmed over her taut stomach. Every day, she had to put lotion on it. The skin itched from where it was growing and stretching and from where the baby was kicking. She hadn’t been sure if it was pretty or sexy, but in the shaded light with him dropping to his knees in front of her, her pregnant stomach next to his golden hair and scruffy cheeks, those blue-blue eyes that she could picture in any shade of the dark—that was gorgeous.

  Goosebumps popped on her stomach where his hands were. He chased them down with kisses, letting his palms rest on her hips. “I need you naked, baby.”

  Nicola lifted her hips, and he tugged down her panties.

  He snaked a hand behind her head, pulling her down for a kiss that could draw a climax out. He didn’t stop. His tongue delved into her mouth, and he ate at her lips, breathing in every breath she tried for. Nicola pressed to him, widening her legs to get closer, to wrap her arms around him, to taste him, to love him, to consume him in every possible way she could think of—his free hand stroked her pussy, and she bucked and balked. Arched and moaned. Cash gripped the back of her head, forcing her still, greedily owning that kiss, and she groaned and nodded, needing him to touch her harder and kiss her longer.

  “Don’t stop.” She bit through the kiss.

  He didn’t bother with words. Her legs were wide, and his fingers were fast, sliding the seams of her needy lips. Nicola flexed her hips, trying for more, begging for his fingers to push inside.

  Fuck it. He wouldn’t let her dictate a thing. Nicola gasped, giving up the moment, threading her hands into his hair and holding his mouth to hers. As though that had been the key, he thrust two fingers into her body.

  She couldn’t help it. Her hands fell loose, and her body went lax. The world spun on that simple invasion, and Cash laid her back on the couch. “Such
a sweet girl.”

  She nodded because she was putty—agreement was all there was. His mouth dropped to her chest, sucking one tit then the next as he fingered her pussy and teased her clit. There was nothing slow about it. What started out strong went to insane.

  “God. Cash.” She thrashed on the couch, dragging one leg up as he kneeled on the floor. “Please.”

  Clawing on the couch cushions, she thought there might not have been an orgasm this strong ever in her life. He curled his fingers inside her body and moved his mouth lower, kissing over her stomach until his lips found her clit. “Cash, please.”

  He threw her other leg over his shoulder and buried his face between her legs. His scratchy cheeks abraded her sensitive lips. Her clitoris screamed in pleasure as he sucked deep and swirled his tongue, and his fingers fucked her as she tightened, tightened, tightened and—

  “Cash.” She came, calling his name.

  He thrust his fingers in time with each rippling wave of orgasm, his tongue lapping and licking, her body shaking at the response. Tears seeped out her eyes. Sniffles too. Stars were in her head, the explosion of the climax rocketing from toes to fingertips, and she shook… because she was crying and had no idea why.

  Goddamn hormones. But wasn’t it just the best orgasm ever. With the best man ever.

  “I love you.” She sniffled and whispered and found herself speaking against his lips as he kissed her sweetly.

  Who knew where those lost seconds went, but now he was over her body. “Always, baby. What’s with the tears?”

  She laughed. “I have no freaking clue.”

  His forehead touched hers, and their eyes locked. “You sure?”

  “Best orgasm of my life, maybe?”

  “I don’t know about that.” His lazy half grin almost looked as though it had been issued a challenge. “Top five?”

  “Shut up,” she teased, but he caught her with another kiss.

  “Don’t fight with me again or fall asleep elsewhere.”

  Nodding, she agreed, hooking her fingers in the drawstrings of his pajama pants, tugging them lower. “Deal. We’re not done making up, are we?”

  “Not a chance. I made you cry. Don’t know how I feel about that.” He kissed her cheek, nuzzling into her hair.

  “I didn’t cry. Just tears. Very good tears.”

  Cash scooped her into his arms, grabbed the blanket, and threw it over the back of the couch. “You’re up, I’m down.”

  Before she could think, he had her straddling him with the blanket wrapped around her. Then he lifted her a bit so he could tug down his pajama pants. There was nothing sexier than her husband, golden tan with hair mussed from sending her to orgasm, lying in front of her, his cock gorgeously thick and him staring, waiting with those beautiful, boyish looks, too cocky for words, too sweet for his own good. She stacked her hands on his hardened length and watched his eyes stutter closed as she gripped him and stroked, thumbing the top of his head in that special place that made him turn to mush, right under the crown.

  That she could do that to him, the guy who was God’s gift to women—who, even when her belly poked out, still drank her up—made him more than someone to marry. He was the one to spend forever with.

  His eyes were sealed and his head pressed back into the pillow. Nicola rose on her knees and guided his shaft between her legs. Cash sucked air as his blunt head made contact with her needy, wet flesh, and she hungrily inched herself onto his cock, letting the invasion stretch her, feeling the slight difference of pregnancy sex and the pressure from within her body.

  “Nicola?”

  She hadn’t realized her eyes were closed and her lips had parted. “Yeah?”

  “You okay, baby?”

  Nodding, she tested how true that was. Whoa. Yes. Very okay. Her breaths shook. “Yeah. This is good.”

  His hands went to her sides, where he so often had held her as she fucked him, and his strong fingers were expertly gentle. He wasn’t too careful but wouldn’t come close to bruising her. But, God, he commanded her hips to sway, and they did. Her lungs couldn’t fill deep enough to keep away that moaning, gasping, needing breath that fell from her lips. “Cash, this is… so…”

  His fingers gripped tighter on her hips as she relaxed and, now completely accustomed to his length, slipped back and forth on his shaft, riding him as her heavier-than-normal breasts tingled with newfound arousal. He dropped a hand to her butt cheek, squeezing it while the fingers of his free hand teased her clit.

  “Sweet Jesus.” Cash’s low growl of a curse came as his hips began to flex just a little. Just enough. Meeting her stride, letting her still dictate, he sent her straight to the pearly gates of almost orgasmic overload.

  Nicola ground down on him, and his mouth gaped.

  “Killing me, Nic.”

  “Yes,” she panted.

  He reached for her face, threading his hands into her hair, pulling her into a kiss, and took over, thrusting into her body, and she cried as the orgasm hit hard. Shaking and bucking, Cash kissed her harder, holding her to his chest, owning her kiss, and he came too, hot and deep inside. Each thrust felt better than the last as he slowed.

  They were tangled—arms and legs, locked lips and heavy breaths—pulsing, sated, and still attached at the hips. She went limp as bliss rolled from deep inside her belly to the far reaches of her fingertips and toes.

  Cash twisted their bodies and lay over her without crushing, his mouth unmoving and not kissing but not leaving hers, and their hearts slammed back and forth, talking in unspoken words.

  “I…” He inched back, brushing the hair off her cheeks, then kissed her forehead, letting his love-swollen lips linger. “Need you as much as I love you.”

  Thank God for her husband. “You just made my soul smile.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Three days had ticked by, and Nicola and he had left the lack of bad vibes unsaid. Whoever had been watching them was gone. Today something was different in the air. There was a reason both had been called to their careers. They possessed a sixth sense where doom and gloom were concerned.

  “You check the imaging?” Nicola casually sipped her tea—which the local coffee shop had assured her a dozen times was decaf—but her cool and laid-back act wasn’t fooling him.

  “Yup.”

  “The baby’s Spidey senses are tingling.”

  His eyes dropped to her stomach. “Guess it runs in the genes, huh?”

  “HQ have any idea?”

  “On who’s snooping around?” He shook his head. “But if all three of our Spidey senses are humming, we’ll know soon enough. The White House has less security protocol per square inch than we’re running in this place, so—”

  Both their phones lit with an alert.

  Her eyebrows went up, and she met his I-knew-it gaze. Cash swiped the screen of his phone, knowing that they’d see more than a roaming seagull or a wind-tossed piece of trash. Sure enough, in the distance, thermal imaging picked up two men burrowing into a sandy position on the bank of a dune. “Get comfy, assholes. Make it a nice place to die.”

  “Do you want to call the cops?” She sipped her tea.

  Cash scoffed. “Do you?”

  She put her lips to the mug. “Nope. Just checking on that injured brain of yours.”

  He leaned over to kiss her. “Glad my interest in avoiding law enforcement means I’m doing better.”

  “Avoid reinjury. Okay?”

  “I don’t have to convince you to stay put?”

  “Not a chance in the world unless you need backup, in which case, I’m calling Jared rather than the cops.”

  “Good girl.” He kissed her again. “Time to go find out who these fuckers are and what they want.”

  Nicola smacked his butt as he walked by, and it was equally unnerving and calming that they were back to who they were. She might be pregnant, and he might be on the upside of TBI, but they were still trained operatives, lethal and dangerous and more able to protect hou
se and hearth than most standard operators.

  Cash cracked his knuckles and suited up with what he’d already scoured the house for: two handguns, extra ammo, a throwing knife, serrated blade, and a fist full of flexi-cuffs. They could never be too careful or overprepared.

  He slunk out of the house and relocked it then re-engaged the security system. With the binoculars spotting the men, Cash backed around, letting the wind mask the sound of his footsteps, and he melted into the brush and weeds. Sniper training often served him well, and this was no exception. His target never saw him coming.

  Cash centered, visualized his targets, saw them as dead. One was a light-haired man who had a military haircut with a week or two of overgrowth. The other was a dark-haired man in a poor prone field position. His build was athletic, but he clearly had no tactical training. They both might be killers, and neither one was what Cash would call comfortable in the sand dune—they made rookie mistakes all over the place—but Light Hair looked more experienced than Dark Hair.

  Assessment done, he lunged.

  Landed.

  Attacked.

  With a choke hold on the dark-haired man, who was definitely athletic, Cash had the upper hand. His mark had been trained at one time, but in the sand and the brush, the man couldn’t get his footing. The other man stuttered in his decision to help before going for Cash’s back. A single punch over his shoulder knocked the light-haired man to the dune.

  Dark Hair and Cash rolled down a hill; the other man, capable but untrained, couldn’t handle the elements, inhaling the sand and letting it scrape into his eyes. Cash gained the momentum, ducking a blind punch. He straddled the attacker and drilled two fists, one and two. Lights out.

  God. Damn. Cash blinked.

  The morning sun shone overhead, and there was no question of what Cash looked down on. He reached into his back pocket, grabbing the flexi-ties and keeping an eye on the other unconscious man on top of the hill, then patted down the asshole in front of him, removing weapons before he pulled out his cell phone.

  Cash wanted to puke. Parker answered on the first ring. “What the fuck is going on? We’re watching—”