Paul

Paul sat down on the sofa next to Amaya, studying her as his mind kept repeating her words.

Will I have to change my name again?

Not for the first time, but again.

“Amaya? We need to talk.”

She let out a small groan. “Can we talk tomorrow? Please? I’m all talked out. I can’t talk anymore tonight. I’m just spent.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers lingering over his scar. Part of him wanted to give into her request, to not wanting to add anymore grief to what had already been a stressful day, but her words had all kinds of alarm bells ringing in his head. Little bits and pieces of the past five weeks began to fall into place, conversations that had left him confused, parts of her history that didn’t line up. Like how she’d talk about her parents every now and then like they were alive, even though she’d told him they died in a car accident, along with her brother, when she was a teenager.

And then there was Peyton’s father. Amaya absolutely refused to discuss him in any way, shape, or form. All Paul knew was that the man wasn’t part of their life and never would be.

A sinking feeling hit his stomach. Maybe Amaya’s ex was abusive. That would explain Kelly’s involvement in the situation. And Agent Marquez seemed more like an old friend with Amaya than an agent recently assigned to a stalker case. Hell, did the FBI even deal with stalkers? There was something going on here that he was missing.

He was in over his head, and the only person that could answer his questions was Amaya.

“Honey,” he reached out and took her hand in his, noting the stiffness in her grip. “I know you don’t walk to talk about your past, and I respect that, but I gotta know—do you think your ex is your stalker?”

She removed her arm from over her face and stared at him. “My ex?”

“Peyton’s father.”

A full body shudder shook her hard and a terrible fear flashed across her face before she got control of herself, making him feel sick. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

She blinked rapidly, then nodded. “I’m sure.”

“You said something about changing your name, your face...could he have found you?”

“No. He’s dead.”

She started to shake, and he cursed himself for doing this to her. “I’m sorry, I—fuck. I’m sorry, honey.”

At first, she resisted his hug then she wrapped her arms around him and climbed onto his lap, letting him cradle her until the shaking subsided.

“Don’t be sorry that he’s dead,” she whispered into his chest. “I’m glad Marquez killed him.”

He tried to keep his touch light and soothing as he stroked her back, but inside he froze. “Agent Marquez killed Peyton’s father?” She nodded, but the silent sobs shaking her body felt like a blow to his heart.

She leaned back so she could meet his gaze, her face puffy and red from her tears. “Please, Paul, I can’t tell you anything more. I really can’t. Please just accept this and don’t push me on it. It’s not that I don’t want to discuss it...I can’t, for Peyton’s sake. If people found out about her birth father—” She took in a ragged gasp of air. “Please, Paul, don’t say anything to anyone about what I’ve told you, not even your mom. And promise me you won’t treat Peyton any different. Swear it.”

“I won’t say anything, I promise. And you don’t have to worry about me treating Peyton differently. I love her, and I don’t say that lightly. Believe me, the only thing I want for both of you is happiness. But if you ever need to talk about it, I’m here for you and you can trust me, okay?”

“Okay.” She moved so she was straddling him, then closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for, sweetheart. I’m here for you, however you need me.”

With a slight shift of his hips, he adjusted her to make room for his growing erection. The head now pressed right against her core and she sucked in a quick breath. Something about this man made her lust go into overdrive, and she couldn’t resist the lure of losing herself in pleasure instead of fear. He made her feel so alive, and safe, and desired.

“You’re such a good man.”

He rubbed his nose along hers before cupping the back of her head and bringing it holding her still so he could steal one sweet, soft kiss from her tear-swollen lips. “I haven’t always been. In fact, I’ve been a right bastard in my past, but for you and Peyton, I want to be the best.

She sighed against his mouth, then tucked her head into his neck, the temptation of kissing his skin too much to resist. Slowly, with great care, she licked up the pulse along the side of his muscled throat, the taste of his skin fueling her desire for him. Before she completed the journey, Paul had his hands buried in her hair and pulled her into a kiss that left her pulse racing. He ravaged her lips, sliding his tongue along hers and basically stealing her breath. The tension holding her stiff against him melted away beneath the heat of his adoration and she softened in his arms, taking the comfort he offered her.

Breaking their kiss, but not moving more than an inch away, he said, “What do you need from me, honey?”

“I need you to take care of me.” She ground herself against him and loved how his cheeks flushed.

“You sure?”

“Paul, maybe I’m not being clear enough. I need you inside of me, and I’m done waiting.”