Rev It Up (Black Knights Inc. #3)(40)

When he’d decided to come to Chicago to finally lay claim to Shell, he certainly hadn’t imagined himself stalking around her backyard in his damned skivvies, acting as her bodyguard and bullet-catcher. Hell, no. He’d imagined himself upstairs, in her bed, sunk deep into her warm, soft body.

Ah, the ever optimistic turn of the male mind…

But given that Shell was about as close to inviting him to bed as she was to starting a career in pole-dancing, he figured this was as good as it was going to get. And honestly, it did appear that perhaps Fate, the unbelievably fickle bitch, had finally seen fit to throw him a bone.

Because this was what he was built for. Fighting. Protecting. Defending. And maybe if Shell began to see him as less like the man he used to be—the one who’d treated her so terribly—and more like the man he was now—the one who’d lay down his life for her and her son—he’d be able to charm his way into that invitation for a sleepover. If the heat of those kisses was anything to go by, yo, mama, she was closer to inviting him upstairs than she knew.

Of course, first he had to deal with whoever the hell was lurking around out here. And there was someone lurking. He could feel eyes on the back of his head as surely as he felt the cold, damp ground beneath his feet.

Just like back in BKI’s courtyard, a tidal wave of anger washed through him at the thought of someone hurting Shell or Franklin. But now, the sensation was much more acute. Because back there, Shell would’ve simply been collateral damage for whoever was gunning for Boss. But here? Whoever had come here, to the sanctity of her home, was aiming specifically for her.

For the first time in a long time, the monster inside him reared its head and blinked red eyes, stretching its claws.

Who are you, you bastard. Where are you?

There. By the trash cans. Movement.

Heart pounding in hungry anticipation, monster inside him growling and scratching to be free, he slowly stalked in the direction of his prey.

***

What the hell?

Johnny had ducked back into the prickly hedgerow when a large man with an even larger gun stealthily emerged from the back door of Michelle’s brownstone.

This wasn’t what he’d planned for…

Last night, when he scouted out the place, he was gratified to learn that Michelle and her son lived alone. And though she was more suspicious than most women and had a security system to match the Pentagon’s, he knew just how get around that. All he had to do was cause a little racket. And when Michelle came to investigate, and she would come to investigate—humans were intrinsically curious which, in his experience, also made them intrinsically stupid—he’d simply grab her and drag her back inside before forcing her to rearm her system.

Yeah, that was the idea. But this dickhead, the one wearing the ridiculous boxer shorts, screwed everything up. Johnny wasn’t prepared to take on a full-grown man, especially one handling a very deadly weapon. He hadn’t brought the correct tools with him.

Shit!

Fury mixed with disappointment to sit like a bitter pill, burning his gut.

He’d so been looking forward to this. Dreaming about it all day, in fact. Especially after he’d heard the sound of her smooth, sexy voice when she told him to leave the roses.

But he hadn’t gotten to where he was in life by being careless.

So…he’d wait. Again. Go back to the hotel and regroup. Again.

And tomorrow night when he visited them? Well, he’d be ready for all possible scenarios, now wouldn’t he?

Silently he slid back through the bushes and disappeared into the neighbor’s yard. He hadn’t gone more than twenty feet when he heard a clearly disgruntled meow followed by a string of curses.

Ah, perfect…

***

Michelle blew out a relieved breath when she heard Jake close the kitchen door and reset the alarm. Tucking the pistol in the pocket of her robe, she waited for him to mount the steps.

Oh, why did her heart jump into her throat at the mere thought of seeing him in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts?

Because it’s a silly organ, that’s why. A silly, forgetful, forgiving organ. And, let’s be fair, Jake can fill out a pair of underwear like nobody’s business…

“What was it?” she asked once he climbed to the landing, fighting not to let her gaze drift down the delicious tan expanse of his naked chest.

“That’s the second time today I nearly shot a cat,” he mused, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Black with white paws?”

“Yep, and chowing down on your garbage like it was chock-full of tuna fish. He must’ve knocked the lid off the can, and that’s what caused the racket.”

“That would be Seymour, the neighbor’s cat, and he’s obviously getting a lot more resourceful. I thought I’d finally bested him with these new garbage cans. Apparently they only foiled him for a little while.”

Jake nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to massage away the tension, and she took the opportunity to sneak the teeniest little peek at his chest.

Unfortunately, even in the dim hall, she must not have been all that stealthy, because no sooner had she allowed her eyes to drift down to the corrugated muscles of his stomach than she felt it happen.

A subtle shift in the atmosphere…

When he lowered his arm, his gaze zeroed in on her cleavage, revealed by the deep V of her nightgown and her hastily donned robe. She grabbed the robe’s satin lapels and jerked the two halves tightly together.