Live-In Lover

He must remember to tell Ford Devereaux how fortunate he was to have such friends as Avery to work with. If he ever saw him again. Like as not, Damien would be gone before Devereaux returned. If not, some tall explanations would be in order when Molly found out they hardly knew each other.

Shrugging off the thought, he interrupted them to proceed with the plan. “Brenda, while you’re here, you are supposed to be Kim Avery’s aunt, so you’ll use her last name. She’s an agent who grew up here in Clarkston, but lives in Nashville. She and your son work out of the same office.”

Brenda frowned. “I don’t believe I know her.”

“It doesn’t matter. Kim will be your contact if you need to reach us. Whatever you do, don’t call us directly. Her number is on the list by the phone in the kitchen.”

“Will I get to meet her?” Brenda asked. “It was very nice of her to do this.”

“She’ll probably check in with you by phone to see if you need anything she didn’t provide. You needn’t be reclusive, but stay indoors as much as you can. The backyard should suffice as a play area so, hopefully, you won’t get cabin fever,” Damien assured her.

“We’ll be quite comfortable here, I think.”

“Get some rest now,” he suggested. “Molly and I will wait in the living room for a couple of hours, just to make certain everything’s safe. We need to be back in Nashville before dawn, but we’ll wake you before we leave and say goodbye.”

To his surprise, the woman came toward him and encircled him with her arms. “Thank you so much, Damien. I know you’ll keep my baby safe, just like her brother would if he were here.”

Then she stood on tiptoe, took his face in her hands and kissed his cheek, a warm, friendly display like none he could ever recall receiving.

“And you be careful yourself, hear?” she added, patting his shoulders firmly before she released him completely and stepped back.

“Of course,” he answered, feeling decidedly off center. Nobody ever gave a damn whether he was careful, unless it affected the outcome of a case.

He looked at Molly to see her reaction to her mother’s gesture toward him, but she was busy making the baby comfortable in the new crib.

At that moment, she leaned over the side and kissed her daughter’s head, much in the same way Brenda had just kissed his face. With caring and worry and affection.

Damien felt something well up inside his chest and throat, a keen ache almost like hunger. He was afraid these little tastes of familial warmth would never be enough if he ever got used to them.

Might as well shake it off, he decided firmly, because he didn’t intend to spend more than two weeks dealing with this problem.

What did a man like him know or even care about family interaction, anyway? He must be getting maudlin in his old age.

He gently grasped Molly’s arm and guided her toward the door. “Sleep well,” he ordered Brenda in a curt whisper. “Molly, you might catch a few winks on the sofa. I’ll keep watch.”

But Damien couldn’t dismiss the feeling that gripped him, the powerful need for human contact these three somehow had awakened. Loneliness overwhelmed him all of a sudden, a bleakness he had accepted as his due for so long that he hadn’t even realized it was there.

As soon as he and Molly cleared the hallway and stood in the darkness of the living room, he turned and enfolded her in a fierce hug. Unable to stop himself, he pressed his lips against her temple and simply held her tight. Much to his surprise, she allowed it.

“Try not to be afraid,” he whispered. “I will keep you safe from him.”

“I know,” she answered softly. Her voice quavered, but not with fear. Damien wondered if he had made a total fool of himself and it amused her, or if his holding her this way pleased her as much as it did him.

He realized they couldn’t stand there all night locked in an embrace. Eventually, he had to let her go. He did so with as much dignity as he could manage to recoup, and led her to the overstuffed sofa.

“Better get some sleep, if you can,” he advised, looking down at her, sounding gruff when he hadn’t meant to.

“Come sit with me,” she offered, patting the cushion next to her.

Damien looked down at her strong, capable hand with its long, flexible artist’s fingers. His gaze traveled up her arm, noting the soft fleecy shirt with the brightly colored hearts embroidered just above her left breast. “Not wise,” he answered with a self-deprecating laugh.

Molly grabbed his hand and tugged. He sat.

“Do you feel it, too, Damien?” she asked, her voice soft, worried.

He could pretend he didn’t understand her, but what was the use? Every time they touched—however lightly, whatever the reason—blood rushed though his veins at warp speed and heated to a boil. Of course he felt it, too. How could he not? And it was certainly more than familial warmth he wanted when he did. “Yes, I’m afraid I do.”

“Nothing can come of it,” she said. “I know I already warned you once, but I just wanted to make sure you understand that I mean it. I’m not playing games here, Damien.”

“Oh, I believe you. No games.” He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to draw on his professionalism or anything else that would rein in these impulses that were so new to him.

He couldn’t count the people who had accused him of being cold, dispassionate. Never in his life had he been so near to losing control, so close to saying and doing things that would be totally out of character. He wanted this woman more than his next breath.

Molly threaded her fingers through his and squeezed his hand, placing her other palm on top. “Trust me, Damien, this will go away. It’s probably just the…situation or something causing it. In the meantime, I think…I think we should just ignore it.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked up at him. “Don’t you?”

He shrugged. “If you want.” Her face looked so earnest in the faint glow of the streetlight through the sheer-curtained window. “However, if you do want that, my darling, then I have to get up from here and sit somewhere else. If I don’t, I am definitely going to kiss you.”

Her silence and absolute stillness seemed to imply consent. God, he hoped it meant consent.

Slowly, giving her time to escape, Damien lowered his mouth to hers. A tentative touch of lips, and then all hell broke loose.

He just lost it. His brain reeled with relief at her eager response, the lush texture of her mouth, her tongue, the unique and heady taste of her. A fire broke out within him that consumed them both.

Molly threw herself into the blaze, grasping him as urgently as he was holding her. Her heart thundered against his chest. He stretched out, pulling her entire length parallel to his, half on, half off the sofa.

Dimly, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he realized he should be holding back, letting her lead the way. But she followed so passionately and with such abandon, he refused to heed the instinct for self-preservation that had protected him for so long.

On and on they kissed, turning this way and angling that, their lips and bodies seeking better purchase, a closer melding, a oneness….

“I guess a pot of coffee’s out of the question!”

The lamp came on and Damien and Molly broke apart like teenagers caught by the cops.

Brenda laughed. “I could almost hear the pop! Well, I’ll just—” she waved one arm aimlessly “—toddle on back to bed, I guess.”

“No! Wait!” Molly gasped. “Mama, I swear this is not what you think—”

Her mother flapped a hand in their direction. “Oh, can it, Molly. You’re too old to owe me any explanations. Sorry I interrupted.”

“Brenda?” Damien was stymied when she actually stopped and turned around to face them, grinning wickedly. In the dim light, she reminded him so much of Molly that he shook his head to dispel the comparison.

“Yes, Agent Perry?” she drawled.

“Uh, coffee would be good.”

“Exactly what we need!” Molly proclaimed a little too loudly. She scrambled up off the sofa and dashed toward the hallway, halting suddenly.

“Kitchen’s the other way,” Brenda advised her drolly. She glanced at Damien, shook her head and winked. “The girl needs a keeper.”