Chapter 3

Three

Maddox

S ugar.

That's what they call her, and aptly so, but I know her real name. Amber McBride.

Smart. Stunning. Young and ambitious.

All good traits that have my dick hard since day one of seeing her in the back row, fourth brunette from the left and the prettiest of them all with her honey-colored eyes.

Hell, way too damn young for a man of my age. She's too good for the likes of me and what I've seen and done in this lifetime. It doesn't matter if I did it for land and country. The stain on my soul is permanent and she deserves better. I knew it when I spotted her that first time as much as I know it now.

Sweet to watch with a body made to tease a man. A body made for me and me alone. I can't touch, but I crave a taste of her sweetness all the same. I've seen every part of her luscious curves except the beautiful pussy she keeps hidden behind glitter G-strings.

Women come and go for a man like me who is never home to tend to their needs. Up until now I was always off on one mission or another with the occasional fuck buddy when I returned stateside. Believe it or not, a man can only take so much meaningless sex. That's why I'm surprised by my reaction to such a sweet, tender thing like Amber.

She's nowhere near the settling down age, but the second her eyes found mine something in me snapped into place. Like a thousand-piece puzzle when the final piece falls into its jagged slots and you get the full, beautiful picture. I don't know if that makes me complicated or broken.

Maybe both.

But it doesn't take away the fact the woman I can't have yet teases me from school to the stage has me toeing the razor-thin edge of my control daily and completes something inside me no other woman has come close to touching.

Bourbon in one hand, I settle back into the shadows and wait to start our little game. She dances, I watch, and in the morning we both pretend it never happened. I swirl the liquid and take in the sweet smell, wishing it was her scent filling my senses.

Strobe lights work the crowd, turning smooth curves of round hips and bouncing tits into gyrating lines of jerky movement that are starting to hurt my eyes.

I turn the untouched drink in front of me round and round, causing the amber liquid to whirl within its glass confines as I wait for the reason I'm here instead of back in my office going over paperwork as I should be.

Eight months ago, I was sitting in the middle of a combat zone waiting for my tour to end and now that I have my papers and freedom from Uncle Sam I'm right back where I started in a sense. No control over my destiny and it's pissing me off.

I wanted away from all the noise that the military life offered and something that could give me a bit of quiet. Becoming a bearded mountain man didn't sound half bad and sat at the top of my list until an old military buddy heard of my retirement. A fifteen-minute phone call and I had a new job that moved my rustic cabin idea to the back burner.

It wasn't hard to land the job with my skill set and connections. To be honest, a decade of flying bullets, turmoil and endless reports was enough for me and why this job appealed. Don't get me wrong—I love my country, my dress blues, and commanding the men under me as a Marine Corp Captain, but there comes a time in a man's life when something else, something more, is needed. Or, at least that's true in my case and I have the scars to prove it was only a matter of time before I had my time card punched for good. Before that can happen, I decided to stop pushing my luck and try out the other side of life that doesn't involve a gun in my hand.

I shift my attention away from the stage. A few students I recognize and some I don't hug the rim of the raised platform, throwing away their parent's money. Others are dotted amongst faces I don't recognize enjoying a night out with friends. To avoid awkward eye contact, I stick to the shadows and keep my head down for the most part.

The night I stepped into Insomnia for the first time I was fresh out of uniform and helping a buddy celebrate his engagement and my new job. That's when I saw her.

At the time I had no idea Amber was forbidden fruit I shouldn't want. But everything from her pink-tipped toes to the top of her head screamed back off. Hell, it's wrong for me to be here now waiting for her to come on stage.

Five-three of delicious sun-kissed, dick-teasing perfection with the most gorgeous legs and beautiful eyes I've ever seen. I tighten my fist around my glass thinking about how her dark hair spills down her back to tease the tops of her ass. All those luscious locks make me want to run my hands through it as she moans my name. I've traveled the world over and have yet to see a woman with such beautiful amber eyes which fit her name to a T.

That first night I wanted to rip off her little cat woman leather getup and taste her sweet, creamy skin with my tongue right there on stage and in front of everyone like the sugar she is. The heated looks and breathy kisses she shot my way that first night didn't help the beast inside me cool its jets any.

It's safe to say that night everything clicked like I found some missing part of myself. A fire flamed inside me straight from the fire pits of hell, coming for the sinner in me, and I knew I was in trouble. Big trouble because in the span of about four seconds I realized she was the something I had no idea I was in search of.

Then I found out she was off-limits.

That first morning I walked into the lecture hall to cover for a friend, I nearly fell over. There the little sex kitten sat in the back row wearing white frills and a short skirt like some vision of angelic innocence and determination. The complete opposite of what I witnessed the night before.

When my eyes landed on hers, I knew she recognized me from the little O her mouth formed.

As the class progressed, I got to see the brains behind the beauty and if I hadn't already fallen for her, I would have right in the middle of my class.

Sexy as hell. I mean, she's what? Twenty? I've used my privilege as the Dean of Blackthorne to dig into her files and it held interesting facts like her age and birthdate, but that's about it on the useful front. Her as a person…I know more about her by watching her sashay her delicious body over a brass pole five nights a week than I do from reading her file, which has more blanks than information. And after hearing her deliver oral reports and turn in papers that most students her age couldn't pull off, she's become the forbidden fruit I want to devour like I'm the Devil himself.

I've never paid for the pleasure of a woman but if she came with a price tag, there's no doubt I would have no problem cutting a check right now to have her at my side. Thanks to the trust fund my grandfather set in place before I could walk, money is no issue. A little-known fact about me. But she's not for sale, and I can't pass the line that's between us.

I wish my dick would get the memo. Fucking wrong as it is, I want to mark and claim her in every way possible. It's almost primal. Hell, it is primal.

It is constant like the pounding of waves against a sandy beach and for the first time in my life I don't know what to do about the sweet temptation I want to feel slide down every inch of my hard, throbbing cock.

I'm like some addict hooked on the vision of her juicy lips and rosy-tipped breasts. Not touching her is the biggest test of my inner strength and self-control. Somehow I've clawed my way back from that edge no matter how much she tempts me with her provocative dances. There's not a doubt in my mind that little slice of forbidden fruit swings around that pole performing for me, and I'm starting to get antsy when she doesn't come out.

But there are rules number one being: hands off.

Rule number two is pretty much a repeat of number one in case I slip up and start listening to the bad ideas that run through my head.

I've never acted possessive in my life over a woman. Sitting here night after night has me questioning my sanity routinely.

The noise of the beat-heavy techno helps drown out the bad ideas populating my head. More than once I've considered storming the stage and running off with my treasure like I'm some human version of King Kong guarding his princess. It doesn't take a genius to know what that would bring around. Not only would news get back to the school and I lose my job, but I'd have to fight my way through a few bouncers flashing nasty scars like battle trophies. Putting my fist into someone's face isn't my version of fun anymore. Besides, scaring Amber would be counterproductive.

I watch yet another dancer glide across the stage in her platform heels but her perky tits and firecracker red lips do nothing for me as I wait for Amber.

I slide the glass of bourbon across the table untouched and take my leave. I round the corner and climb into my truck just as a late evening rain begins to pelt the back parking lot.

I knew when she stormed out of my office earlier something deeper than just her late tuition payment weighed on her mind. There were dark circles under her eyes and a haunted look in the depths.

Seeing that cut and bruise on her cheek fuels my need to check in on her.

I swing around and point my truck in the direction of her apartment. A part of me, the dark side I buried deep on my last op roars back to life going over tens of scenarios that could have happened. What my imagination comes up with has my fingers tightening around the wheel of my truck like I want to squeeze the life out of it. If some prick boyfriend has laid a hand on her, I'll kill them and happily go to prison for it. I thought I was stronger than this. In more control, but when it comes to Amber McBride I have no concept of the word apparently.

Twenty minutes later I'm back in our small town and passing Blackthorne University. Through the downpour, I spot a familiar white car under one of the parking lot lights and slam on my brakes, forcing the guy behind me to do the same. To the sound of blasting horns and screeching tires, I hook a left, hoping no cops see the illegal move.

I floor it and rip into the parking lot. Fog and water blur her pretty face, but I can still see the shock and surprise in those honey eyes when I pull up beside her and grind the brakes.

Though I can tell she's as surprised to see me here as I am her, I don't hold back the clipped anger from my voice. "What the hell are you doing here, Ms. McBride?" I growl with every intention of sending her on her way.

She slides the window down, her plump bottom lip between her teeth.

Oh, this is going to be a problem. Fuck me . I want to reach in and scoop her into my arms. Worse yet, I know where this is heading and I'm about to lead temptation through my front door because there's no way I'm leaving her in this dark parking lot or sending her back to wherever—or whoever—gave her the now darker bruise of her cheek.

She raises her voice over the rumbling thunder. "Funny, I was going to ask you the same question."

There's no humor behind the tight smile she's flashing.

Her eyes are red and puffy like she's spent the last hour crying in her car. Damn it to hell, seeing her weakened and afraid makes me do the one thing I know will be the end of me.

I break. Not all the way but enough to have my hand on the handle of her door.

I grew up in a home where gentlemen treated women like ladies and that is as ingrained in me as the need to serve and protect.

But I can't blame what I am about to do on anything other than my own driving need to touch, possess and protect the soft, angelic creature looking up at me like life has kicked her in the stomach one too many times.

Water drenches my dress shirt the second I shrug off my jacket.

"Unlock the door, Amber," I command in a gruff voice, and she rapidly obeys. With jerky movements that probably make me look like a mad man, I fling open her car door and reach in, scooping her light frame into my arms and tucking her safely against my chest. Touching more than just her hand for the first time and feeling her tiny body shiver against me has the rage of a warrior unleashing inside me.

"Hurry and put my jacket over your head, sweetheart." Not that it's going to do much good. Her flimsy blouse clings to her ample breasts, and I can see the dark tips of her nipples through the soaked material. Her jeans fair no better, and she's chilled to the touch.

She does as I order, and I quickly carry her over to my truck and slide into the driver seat with her on my lap.

"What are you doing, Dean Spencer?" she asks in a whisper, but in the quiet of the cab I hear it no problem.

With a couple of flicks of a few buttons, I give us more room and then reach for the heater, pointing the vents toward us.

I take the wet jacket from her and toss it into the passenger's seat then turn my gaze on her.

"What the fuck were you thinking coming out here and sitting in the parking lot all alone?"

Her perfectly bowed mouth falls open. Probably at my choice words. I work hard to keep my reputation clean and formal, but it takes a lot to hold back my natural calling to use foul language. I'm a Marine after all.

"This might be a small town but you're young, beautiful and a walking temptation. Why the hell are you putting yourself in that kind of danger by being out here all alone?"

My eyes are narrowed and I know I have my Marine Corps Captain face on. It's a habit that comes in handy when dealing with defiant, cocky students. To help ease her, I rub my hands up and down her arms. She relaxes into my hold and settles her weight on my lap.

A brave fa?ade snaps over her blanched expression and a little by little color slowly seeps into her cheeks. She snorts a bitter laugh. "Because I don't have a choice, professor… I mean Dean Spencer."

I hold a hand up. "Let's solve the first problem. Call me Maddox outside of school walls. And let's not pretend we don't know each other beyond that. It will save us a lot of time."

Amber is the good little girl-next-door always trying to do right by others. She's about to get a very thick, very hard dose of reality.

"And I want you to know this: you always have a choice, Amber. You should only have to worry about pleasing one person—yourself. I'm going to make sure you understand that if it takes a lifetime to do it."

Her eyes register surprise, shock… and something warmer that I can't think about right now.

I lean forward and take her chin between my fingers. Her eyes light up in a way that has my dick twitching. "Now, let me hear you say my name, Amber."

The yellow light of the parking lot lamp filters through water and glass to highlight the sharp brow she angles my way. And her frown.

Damn if my heart doesn't tighten in my chest. This woman has too much of my emotions tied up.

"Maddox," she repeats in a stronger voice with a slight sexy rasp around the edges. I didn't know what to expect hearing my name on her lips, but the shot of blood to my dick isn't a surprise.

She reaches up and tucks a lock of wet hair behind her ear. My pulse races when the scent of her shampoo, or whatever it is she's wearing, mingles with the hot air from the vents to hit my senses. Water has soaked through the fine linen of her shirt and I can see the tips of her nipples like little cherries poking out to tempt the beast in me.

Lines are getting blurred, and it's getting harder to keep my distance. Sitting here with her will have repercussions I've yet to discover, but one is glaringly obvious.

Having her this close to me is a very bad idea.