Page 5 of Guardian's Touch

“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.

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