Girlfriend.
The word doesn’t even nearly cover what Zara is to me. Her presence in this house, in my bed, in my arms, makes me feel more at home than I’ve ever felt in my life. I sleep better with her beside me, and not just because I know she’s safe from that lunatic who escaped from prison all those months ago.
I instructed Gabriel to look into Jack O’Connor’s disappearance, but he has apparently vanished.
Or crawled under a rock and died.
I’m beginning to think the latter is the only option because as much as I hate to admit it, Beckett Elite Security have a reputation for being the best. If Killian Beckett can’t find the man who’s spent his entire life claiming he’s going to kill his family, and Gabriel can’t either, then I don’t think there’s a lot left to be found.
But, still, I refuse to take any chances when it comes tomyfamily’s safety.
I stride towards the front door, but my housekeeper, Helen, beats me to it. She opens the door as Tate helps Zara out of the passenger seat.
‘Tell me that glass is bulletproof,’ I say dryly, eyes narrowing on the sleek black SUV. ‘Because if it isn’t, that’s the last time you ride in that vehicle.’
‘Yes, Cole.’ Zara rolls her eyes, her lips tipping upwards into a sexy grin. ‘It’s ballistic-grade laminated polycarbonate over tempered glass. It’s designed to stop high-calibre rounds, explosives, and—apparently—your anxiety. You could fire a bloody rocket launcher at it and I’d still be able to do my makeup in the rearview mirror.’
‘Good.’ I press a kiss to her lips and run my palm over her bump.
Tate nods in greeting. He doesn’t say a lot—not to me anyway but we’ve come to an understanding, the same way we did in the Dominican. We both have Zara’s best interests at heart. That’s why when she moves in with me, I’m going to insist he stay on with her as her protection. It’ll mean leaving Elite Security, but I’ll make it worth his while.
Besides, I owe the bionic bodyguard big time.
If Felstead had been in Punta Cana, I wouldn’t have got near Zara Beckett, and I wouldn’t be expecting a baby with the only woman in the world to steal beneath my skin.
Felstead. He doesn’t even attempt to hide his disapproval of our relationship—something which I find downright disrespectful as well as diabolical. Something else about that man disturbs me too. He radiates a weird vibe. Like he’s hiding something, but I have no idea what. I make a mental note to get Gabriel to do some digging—preferably with a JCB.
I treat my staff well. Pay them well over the expected rates, whatever their role. But in return I expect three things: loyalty, discretion and respect.
And so far, Felstead has shown Zara none of those things.
‘Are we going inside, or are you planning on standing out here palming my stomach all night?
I usher her in. Tate reaches into the boot of the vehicle and hauls out her overnight bag.
‘Tate, you know you don’t have to be here.’ I motion to the four security personal at the bottom of the driveway. ‘Gabriel’s here too.’
‘I know,’ Tate shrugs, following us into the huge hallway. ‘He texted me. Reckons he’s going to whip my ass at poker tonight.’
‘So that’s how you spend your evenings here.’ Zara spins on her heels to face him, tilting her head back to meet his eye.
‘Got to pass the time somehow.’ His lips slant upwards.
‘The left wing is yours. Gabriel will show you. You may as well have your own space here. If I get my way, you’ll be here permanently soon.’ I press a hand to the base of Zara’s spine and usher her through to the drawing room, the one where I just raised a toast to my father.
‘Cocky—again,’ Zara comments, but she doesn’t shoot me down entirely.
‘Confident, for the hundredth time.’ I pull her against me, breathing in her familiar scent, her shampoo and that citrus perfume. She snakes her arms around my waist and presses her cheek to my chest, inhaling my neck.
‘What is that?’ She peers around me as Tate makes himself scarce. The staff have their own quarters to the left of the property. That’s probably where he’s headed if they’re playing poker. I don’t mind. I prefer it when it’s just us in the house. I’m not shy; I don’t mind an audience, but I prefer to have Zara all to myself.
I assume she’s talking about the whiskey. ‘It’s a Macallan,’ I admit. ‘I’ll do you a deal. I’ll start drinking Beckett’s Gold when you agree to introduce me as your man.’
‘I didn’t mean the whiskey.’ She side steps. ‘I’m referring to the pile of parenting books stacked on your coffee table.’
‘Oh, them.’ I clear my throat. ‘I like to be prepared.’
‘Is it possible that beneath your bad-ass reputation, you’re actually a bit soft? Maybe even sweet?’ She lifts her fingers to cover her mouth as she strides towards the books. I follow, hot on her heels, because I can’t not. The need to touch her constantly is overwhelming. I press my erection into the crack of her ass. ‘Does that feel soft to you?’
