Billionaire Bodyguard (15 page)

Yanking her panties aside, he entered her with a deep thrust.

The plane took off, soaring into the air. He raised her to the tip of his shaft then plunged her down again. He buried himself to the hilt.

She threw her head back and rode him. Better than any fantasy, she was flesh and blood. And his.

She took him deeper with every plunge. He lunged his hips to meet the rhythm she set.

“Who do you belong to?” His words were darts of breath between clenched teeth. “Say it.”

A flash of wariness took over her sensual gaze.
She hesitated.

He was too much in the throes of passion to consider it. He gripped and pumped her harder. “Tell me. Who are you going home with tonight? Every night?”

“You, Logan.” She shivered from her shoulders to her curled toes. “Only you.”

“Damn right.”

The plane rose at an incline, positioning her perfectly over him. He pulled down her satin camisole, tearing one strap. Her breasts spilled into his waiting hands. “God, you’re beautiful.” He nipped and laved her nipples that beaded against his tongue. His breath came in rapid-fire bursts. “So good, Allison.”

His words seemed to excite her. She moved feverishly up and down his cock.

Then his control snapped. He surged into her with enough force to launch a rocket. His lungs fought for air. He groaned, gasped. A curse roared from his chest. And he came. Hard.
Harder than he ever had in his life. Pulsing inside her, he felt her spasms deep inside build to a crescendo. He swore he was still coming when she collapsed into blissful quivers in his arms.

The jet leveled to cruising altitude.

Their ragged breaths slowed. She breathed out, he breathed in. Their hearts beat in rhythm together. One arm draped across her shoulders, the other molded around her waist.

Perfection
.
He sighed.

He felt her lashes flutter against his bare chest, a whispering tickle. In his secure hold, her muscles relaxed like a gentle cascade. She snuggled into his embrace. He closed his eyes, amazed by how good it felt to hold her.

Her breath warmed his shoulder like the soft flex of butterfly wings. He didn’t move, didn’t dare. He held her close, kissed her cheek, smoothed her hair. Whispered things he couldn’t say when she was awake.

Give her time
, he told himself.

But the refrain was getting old. He wanted her heart, her vows, their baby—everything. Right now. 

The Thanksgiving holiday was coming up in less than two weeks. Maybe then, surrounded by his family and friends, she’d realize how serious he was about her becoming a permanent part of his life.
Steph and Tracie knew about the baby. He’d told his sisters the day he found out. They couldn’t wait to meet her. The woman who’d managed to get their bachelor brother to give up all he had for everything he finally realized he needed.

He wanted Allison to feel welcome, like she belonged. Along with his sisters and husbands and their kids, Rick and Vivi and their four hellions would land at his place, as well as Devon. The tradition of Logan hosting Thanksgiving for the past few years was his way of immersing himself in the family he didn’t see often enough, along with the friends who were like family. Kids and chaos, great food and even better conversation. The precious, priceless things he’d believed he had to acquire vicariously.

Until Allison and the baby knocked him off course.
And finally onto the right track.

Still, he wasn’t sure she could handle what he wanted from her, with her. He kissed her hair. “It’s a good thing I like a challenge, baby doll.”

He felt her lips curve. She said sleepily, “I like you, too.”

A smile glowed in his heart.

*

Where is Logan?

Tapping her fingers impatiently, Allison checked the clock again. He should’ve come by her office ten minutes ago. She was due for her first pregnancy exam at three-o’clock. The one Logan had arranged without investigating the options together, or even asking her if she’d be comfortable with a man instead of a woman.

Regardless, being late wasn’t an option, considering the strings Logan had pulled to get an appointment with the best, busiest, most expensive OB/GYN in the Denver area. She grabbed her coat, turned off her computer and went to his office. She knocked on his closed door.

No answer. She frowned. Maybe he was caught up in last-minute contract details for his latest score with the Brazilian government.

To hasten their departure, she decided to wait for him in the front lobby. As she neared the designer glass partition separating the lobby from the elevators, the heavy scent of gardenias nearly knocked her over backward.

She’d once loved gardenias. They were the single splurge Trevor had agreed to for their small chapel wedding. The gaudy smell reminded her of days when she’d adored big dreams, and men who made big promises. Trevor had tapped into sentimentality occasionally, surprising her with a bouquet of gardenias for their anniversary. Mostly, she’d received them the morning after Trevor had exhibited appalling behavior or descended into one of his violent tantrums. Like an over-worn perfume, the sticky-sweet scent no longer reduced her to a knee-weakened puddle.

When she rounded the oval-shaped front desk, she stopped short. She’d never seen so many flowers outside a greenhouse. At least a dozen vases sprouted with thick, fluffy blossoms.

One of the receptionists must’ve had a birthday or anniversary—or was being proposed to right there in the lobby. Allison hung back, taking a quick sweep of the scene. She didn’t want to interrupt the big moment.

The receptionists were cheerful and perky as usual, but neither wore the blushing look of a woman enchanted by an extravagant gift from a lover. When she didn’t see Logan in the lobby either, she paused to inquire about the white garden.

Lacie, the dark-haired receptionist in her early twenties, caught her eye and smiled. “Anything I can help you with, Miss Dupree?”

Allison gestured to the piles of flowers. “What’s the special occasion?”

Instead of launching into one of her rambling sagas, Lacie shrugged. “No idea.”

“All these are here for no reason?”

“I wish some handsome stranger would walk in off the street to bring me dozens of flowers, just because.”
Lacie sighed wistfully. “There was no card, no message—not even a note to say who they were for.”

An eerie sensation prickled up Allison’s neck. The type of flower was merely coincidence, she told herself. It had nothing to do with her, no added meaning or hidden agenda. Just an accidental mix-up at the flower shop. “Did you try to return them? There could be a wedding missing its floral arrangements.”

“I didn’t want to,” Lacie admitted. She wrinkled her nose at the other receptionist. “Gloria made me.”

Gloria smacked her gum and rolled her eyes. “I thought the same thing as you, Allison. We called the shop. They said there was no mistake. The guy who ordered them paid cash and demanded anonymity.”

Lacie looked at them curiously. “Ana… What?”

Gloria gave a world-weary sigh. “He wanted to remain nameless. Said something about them being a memento of sorts, I guess.”

The edgy feeling returned with greater force, and this time, Allison couldn’t shake the shadow creeping over her. She looked over her shoulder. The lobby was bright and clean and filled with normal looking people. She exhaled with agitation, at herself and the worry stabbing her gut. “That’s all he said? A memento.
Nothing about memories…or an anniversary?”

“Nope.
Nothing.” Gloria popped her gum again, bored with the interrogation. She went back to answering calls.

Lacie wore a far-away look. “Aren’t romantic mysteries the best?” She swayed dreamily. “I’ve always imagined I had a secret admirer out there. He’d see me at the grocery store, or the coffee shop, or I walk past him on the street everyday at lunch hour. I always take the same route, just in case.” Her eyes gleamed. “It could happen, you know.”

By contrast, Allison had trained herself to never walk the same route twice. Never park in the same place. Not even use the same door when she entered and left a building.

Lacie rambled on. “He’s desperately in love with me, but I’m so far out of his league he hasn’t found the courage yet to talk to me, or ask me to marry him.”

Gloria stabbed the mute button. “Yeah, right, keep dreaming.”

“I will,” Lacie retorted. 

Allison admitted a truth. “Obsession is not as romantic as it sounds, believe me.”

“Neither is a stalker,” Gloria muttered. “You want to answer your phone already, Cinderella?”

Allison cut in. “Lacie, have you seen Logan around?”

The girl snapped her fingers. “That’s right! I was supposed to tell you he’s waiting out front.”

Allison swallowed her frustration. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Lacie chirped. She picked up the blinking phone line. “Thanks for calling Stone Security. How may I direct your call?”

Racing out the door, Allison wove through the pedestrian-packed sidewalk. She barreled through ankle-deep slush and nearly ran into Logan.

Gripping her elbows to steady her, he demanded, “Where have you been?”

“Waiting for you.”

He glowered. “Didn’t Lacie page you?”

“No, but I’m here now. Let’s go.” She glanced around. “Where’s your Escalade?”

“We’re taking a different mode of transportation.” He gestured to the glistening black limousine. Without waiting for the driver, he opened the door. “Ladies first.”

“Good grief, Logan. Are you serious?
A limo?”

“We’re about to be late. Get in.”

She scooted across the warm leather bench seat. “Why the extravagance?”

He shut the door and brushed snowflakes off his trench coat. “I don’t know what’s involved. If you needed to take the rest of the day to relax, I’d have the limo drop you off at home. Then I’d go back to work, since I’ve got six blueprints to approve and a stack of agreements on my desk to sign.”

The gesture was thoughtful, but unnecessary. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal. Just a routine exam.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Nothing is routine when it comes to my kid.” He patted her thigh. “Just taking precautions.”

As they sped away, Logan glanced out the window as buildings zipped past. He sat forward, elbows on his knees. The toe of one shoe drummed impatiently. His thumbs tapped together in an anxious rhythm.

“Logan, are you nervous?”

“No way.” He sat back, ran a hand through his hair. He looked at the floor, then at her. “Okay, maybe.”

Her heart warmed. Her big, brave bodyguard—the King of the Security Mountain—was worried about a tiny being barely the size of a pea. She smiled reassuringly. “It’ll be fine.”

Thirty minutes later, she was naked on her back with a scant cloth over her, knees splayed under the flimsy paper gown, bare feet wedged into stirrups.
“We need to go over your past history,” the doctor stated. As if they were discussing the weather or Starbuck’s latest coffee creation.

Right as Dr. Murray inserted the metal speculum and cranked it wide, Logan breezed into the room.

Allison clenched. “Oh! My gosh.” Her hands fisted. “Logan, what are you doing?”

“The nurse said I could be here for the exam.”

She sent a steely look to Dr. Murray. The doc smiled benignly at Logan and nodded.

“Excuse me.” She levered up on one elbow. “I’m the patient. I have a say in this.”

“It’s perfectly normal,” the doctor said. “It’s natural that a first-time father is interested in the process. You’re fortunate. Most men don’t show up with the mother to the first appointment.”

“Fortunate isn’t the word I’d use.”

She wanted time alone with the doctor, to discuss sensitive personal information like when she’d had her last period, how many partners she’d been with though it was only two, if she had a history of down-there problems. Things Logan had no business knowing. “I’d rather you wait outside,” she told Logan.

“Don’t be embarrassed, babe. I’m in this with you, all the way.” His eyes held hers, a soft emotion glowing in them.

She sighed. He was trying to be sweet and thoughtful. “Okay—”

“So, doc.” Logan turned his attention to Murray. “Talk to me about timelines. When do we start scheduling future appointments?”

Allison turned her head, mortified as the doctor inspected her most private parts, then retracted the steel apparatus, with Logan in the room. The doctor talked cordially—to Logan—as he investigated, probed and pressed. Like the two men were chatting about last night’s Broncos game.
Facts and statistics, stages and tests, bodily functions, and details about what was happening inside
her
womb.

Her teeth gritted. “Are we finished?”

“Almost,” Dr. Murray said.

This was humiliating.

Logan seemed oblivious. “What about hiring a midwife? Should I start interviewing people now?”