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  COVERED BY A KISS

  A Cover Six Security Novella

  Lisa B. Kamps

  COVERED BY A KISS

  Copyright © 2019 by Elizabeth Belbot Kamps

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover Six Security™ is a fictional security company, its name and logo created for the sole use of the author and covered under protection of trademark.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names, living or dead. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any individual, place, business, or event is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Dark Water Covers

  https://www.facebook.com/darkwatercovers/

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Other titles by this author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE PROTECTOR: MAC sneak peek

  GAME MISCONDUCT preview

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Other titles by this author

  Other titles by this author:

  COVER SIX SECURITY

  Covered By A Kiss, A CSS Novella, Book 0

  The Protector: MAC, Book 1

  The Guardian: DARYL, Book 2

  The Defender: RYDER, Book 3

  THE BALTIMORE BANNERS

  Crossing the Line, Book 1

  Game Over, Book 2

  Blue Ribbon Summer, Book 3

  Body Check, Book 4

  Break Away, Book 5

  Playmaker, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

  Delay of Game, Book 6

  Shoot Out, Book 7

  The Baltimore Banners: 1st Period Trilogy

  Books 1-3 Boxed set

  The Baltimore Banners: 2nd Period Trilogy

  Books 4-6 Boxed set

  On Thin Ice, Book 8

  Coach's Challenge, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

  One-Timer, Book 9

  Face Off, Book 10

  First Shot At Love, A Baltimore Banners Short Story

  Game Misconduct, Book 11

  Fighting To Score, Book 12

  Matching Penalties, Book 13

  THE YORK BOMBERS

  Playing The Game, Book 1

  Playing To Win, Book 2

  Playing For Keeps, Book 3

  Playing It Up, Book 4

  Playing It Safe, Book 5

  The York Bombers Boxed Set 1

  Books 1-3

  Playing For Love, Book 6

  Playing His Part, Book 7

  THE CHESAPEAKE BLADES

  Winning Hard, Book 1

  Loving Hard, Book 2

  Playing Hard, Book 3

  FIREHOUSE FOURTEEN

  Once Burned, Book 1

  Playing With Fire, Book 2

  Breaking Protocol, Book 3

  Into the Flames, Book 4

  Second Alarm, Book 5

  Feel The Burn, Book 6

  Coming Soon

  STAND-ALONE TITLES

  Emeralds and Gold: A Treasury of Irish Short Stories (anthology)

  Finding Dr. Right

  Time To Heal

  Dangerous Passion

  Dangerous Heat

  Illicit Affair

  Coming Soon

  Be sure to sign up for Lisa's monthly newsletter, Kamps' Korner, for exciting news, sneak peeks, exclusive content, and fun, games, and giveaways! You don’t want to miss it!

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  Chapter One

  Nothing was the way she remembered it. Not even close.

  Tabitha "TR" Meyers stood just inside the main entranceway, her gaze sweeping around the interior. The heavy door closed behind her, startling her, and she took another step inside.

  The door was new. And so was the entranceway. Or maybe she should call it what it was: a small lobby. Complete with dark grey carpet, stiff chairs upholstered in a lighter grey, and even a large receptionist desk along the back wall. A tiny little Christmas tree, lonely and pathetic, was placed at the corner of the desk.

  The tree appeared even smaller next to the huge guy leaning against the desk—and he didn't look like any receptionist she had ever seen before. Tall, with broad shoulders nearly ripping the seams from the body-hugging black t-shirt he wore. Arms the size of her thighs and covered in dark ink folded across a wide chest. He had dark hair, clipped short on the sides, a little longer on top. Equally dark eyes watched her, their depths void of all emotion. Not cold, not exactly...but a chill still teased her spine.

  Maybe it wasn't the eyes that caused the chill. Maybe it was the sight of the large weapon casually tucked into a worn leather shoulder holster that made her take an involuntary step back.

  No, it wasn't that, either—although the man and the weapon were both intimidating, by themselves and coupled together as they were. The chill had nothing to do with the man. Or the weapon. Or even the with the way everything around her had changed since the last time she'd been here.

  The icy shivers skating along her spine were a direct result of the reason why she was here. Not for the first time, she questioned the wisdom of coming here. Questioned her sanity. Wondered if she had any idea at all about what she was getting herself into simply by walking through that front door.

  None of that mattered. Not now, not when her mind was made up. She was on a mission. Maybe it was a foolish one, but she couldn't back away now.

  The man stared at her for another long minute, his dark gaze penetrating. Sizing her up. Determining if she presented any danger. TR almost laughed at that. Dangerous? Her? Only if she had a pen in her hand—

  And only if she could verify that cryptic email she had received two weeks ago.

  The guy finally straightened to his full height and dropped his arms to his sides. His gaze still didn't waver, even if one eyebrow lifted just the smallest bit when he addressed her.

  "Is there something you need?"

  TR blinked in surprise. She had expected a gravelly voice, rough and maybe even a bit harsh. She certainly hadn't expected the deceptively smooth warmth that caressed her. She had no idea who the man was—he hadn't been here the last time she'd been here, almost a year ago. None of this had been here. The place had been little more than an old warehouse, large and empty and filled with nothing more than possibilities and a few locked storage lockers.

  Panic nipped at her. Had anything else changed? Maybe the man she'd come to see wasn't even here. Maybe he'd moved on. Maybe something had happened to him—

  TR swallowed back that last thought, swallowed back the panic and doubt. She would have heard, would have known somehow—

  The guy was still staring at her, those dark eyes piercing through her unaccustomed spurt of panic. TR cleared her throat and pasted a large smile on her face, hoping it hid the whirlwind of emotion battering her insides.

  "Is Gordon here?"

  The man's chiseled face transf
ormed from a mask of indifference to a confused frown. He shook his head, the slight motion filling TR with disappointment. "There's nobody here by that name."

  TR's smile faltered. No. That wasn't right. He had to be here. TR forced the smile back into place and asked again. "Gordon MacGregor? Mac? He doesn't work here?"

  "Oh. Mac." The frown lifted from the man's face as some of the wariness left his stiff body. "Yeah, he's here. You need him?"

  Need. Such a strong word. Did she need Mac? She had once prided herself on never needing anyone—but not now. Not for this. Yes, she needed Mac.

  But that wasn't what the man meant, not in that way.

  TR gave herself a mental shake and forced another smile. "Yes. Please."

  A brief flash of surprise crossed the man's face, then quickly disappeared with a low grunt. He moved behind the desk and grabbed the phone, started punching at numbers with the blunt tip of one long finger. He held the receiver to his ear, frowning as he kept stabbing buttons.

  TR bit back a real smile when the man cursed and slammed the receiver down. He shot a dark glance in her direction then moved away from the desk toward a door several feet away.

  "Standby." The command came out as a growl tossed over his shoulder. He moved to the side, hiding the keypad from her view as he punched in a long string of numbers. TR had just enough time to wonder why they needed the extra security when the man pushed the heavy door open and stuck his head inside—and bellowed.

  "Yo. Mac. Company."

  TR winced at the loud shout then jumped in guilt when she realized the man had noticed. He slammed the door shut then stood off to the side, his arms once more crossed in front of his wide chest.

  A minute later, the door swung open again. The breath froze in her lungs as another man stepped out. Just as large. Just as intimidating. Maybe even more so because of the scowl twisting his scarred face.

  One heartbeat went by, then another and another, ticking away the seconds as her pulse sped up. It had been nearly a year since she'd last seen him, and he hadn't changed a bit.

  No, that wasn't true. He seemed larger than she remembered. Broader. A little harder. His hair was a bit longer and that wide jaw was covered in dark scruff, like he hadn't bothered to shave for a few days. The scruff wasn't even, the dark stubble broken by the scars covering the lower half of his face.

  TR dropped her gaze, taking a much-needed few seconds to recover from the powerful impact of seeing him again. Damn him. He shouldn't have this effect on her, shouldn't be able to make her pulse race and her breath hitch in her chest. Not after what he'd said, not after he'd made it perfectly clear there could be nothing between them.

  Not after he'd made it perfectly clear he wanted to be nothing more than friends.

  Had he seen her yet? Noticed her standing there in the middle of the room? TR risked a glance upward then bit back a sigh. No, he hadn't seen her. He was too busy scowling at the other man.

  "What the fuck, Boomer? You can't use the fucking intercom?"

  Maybe this was a bad idea. No, it was a bad idea, TR had known that from the beginning. But she was desperate, had thought that maybe—

  "The damn thing doesn't work. Zeus needs to get off his ass and hire someone because this secretary shit fucking sucks."

  "Yeah. You go right ahead and tell him that."

  TR took a small step backward, then another. Maybe she could sneak out, just go back to her office and rethink things. There had to be another way. Other options she wasn't seeing. Her hand closed around the door handle, the cold metal somehow reassuring. She started to turn it, mere steps away from escaping and making what she now knew was a mistake—

  "TR. Freeze."

  The command surprised her so thoroughly that she did exactly that—froze in place, one foot hovering several inches off the ground, the knob paused halfway in its turn. A pair of dark eyes impaled her, holding her prisoner with the intensity of their gaze.

  How long did she stay that way, frozen mid-step, her heart slamming against her chest as guilt raced through her? She felt like a small child caught in the middle of doing something wrong, knowing that punishment was about to be meted out.

  It was a ridiculous feeling, one that ignited a small flash of temper. The temper fizzed out faster than it appeared, replaced by something even worse as Mac held her gaze.

  Attraction. Need. Desire.

  And damn him. How could he make those unwanted feelings appear with nothing more than his intense gaze? It wasn't even a warm gaze. There was no appreciation in the depths of his eyes, no desire or regret or even welcome. Just steely impartiality as he stared at her.

  Watching her.

  Sizing her up.

  That brief flash of temper resurfaced, just long enough for her to regain an ounce of composure. She lowered her foot to the floor and released her death grip on the doorknob, wishing she could pull her gaze away from Mac.

  She couldn't, no more than she could make herself walk back out the door.

  Mac shifted, just the tiniest bit, his solid weight moving from one booted foot to the other. He didn't turn his head, didn't look away, just issued a quiet command in that rough voice of his.

  "Boomer. Get lost."

  "But—"

  "Now."

  There was no mistaking the finality of the command. The other man—was his name really Boomer?—simply turned and disappeared down the hallway to the right. There was no sound of retreating footsteps, no low-pitched muttering. Just an eerie silence that would have made a shiver of apprehension skitter along her spine—

  If a shiver of another kind hadn't already appeared, prickling her skin with awareness.

  TR finally blinked, forced her gaze away from Mac's and stared at the floor. Air filled her lungs and she absently wondered if she had been holding her breath the entire time. Yes, she had—much like she was doing now as Mac's long legs ate up the distance between them. He stopped less than a foot away, his solid bulk both comforting and intimidating. TR tilted her head back, her gaze focused on the uneven stubble covering his chiseled jaw. She couldn't meet his gaze, not again. If she did, she'd end up doing something foolish—and she was tired of making a fool of herself in front of this man.

  "TR."

  That was it, just her name in his low, rough voice. But there was something else there, too, a hint of warmth that surprised her enough to look up and meet his gaze.

  It was the worst thing she could do. She felt her resolve slipping under the weight of those dark eyes, felt herself drowning in their depths. She was going to do something foolish, she knew it.

  No. No, she wouldn't. She couldn't.

  But he was still watching her, holding her prisoner with nothing more than a look. "What are you doing here, TR?"

  She started to shake her head, tried to bite down on the words, but it was too late. They fell from her lips with no thought to why she had come here in the first place, with no care for what she needed to do.

  And with no finesse whatsoever.

  "I need a date."

  Chapter Two

  I need a date.

  The words surprised him almost as much as seeing TR standing in the lobby. He didn't know what the hell she was doing here, and he sure as hell hadn't expected to see her when he walked through the door.

  But she was here, and he had seen her—had been aware of her on a level he didn't understand even before he'd closed the door behind him. He hadn't looked over at her, had busied himself by giving Boomer shit because if he looked at her, he might do something totally out of character for him, like walk over and pull her into a hug.

  And fuck, he still wanted to do that. Maybe more now than a few minutes ago because he was closer to her now, so close he could feel the heat of her body across the short distance separating him, so close he could smell the sweet fruitiness of her shampoo. Not perfume—TR didn't wear it. But she still carried a scent that was uniquely her and—

  Fuck. What the hell was he doing? Was he ac
tually leaning forward, ready to sniff her? He needed his fucking head examined.

  No. What he needed was a stiff drink, a shower, and about twelve hours of sleep—not necessarily in that order. They'd just returned from an op that should have been a cakewalk, only it had turned into huge clusterfuck. How the hell did you rescue someone who didn't want to be rescued? Who had disappeared on purpose with her lowlife pond scum of a boyfriend simply because Daddy didn't approve?

  Fuck it. That was Daryl's problem now, not his. His only problem was going home to wash off the funk that had accumulated after five days of bullshit.

  No, belay that. His first problem was getting rid of TR. Then he could go home and take care of everything else.

  Only he didn't want to get rid of TR and that was an even bigger problem. He'd walked away from her almost a year ago. Walked? Hell, he practically ran away from her, right after telling her they could only be friends.

  And wasn't that a fucking kick in the ass? It was probably one of the biggest lies that had ever crossed his lips—and one of the hardest fucking things he'd ever had to do. Friends? Christ. Not even close.

  But no way in fucking hell could he let anything happen between them. She deserved more—one hell of a lot more. He had nothing to offer her, nothing except a scarred body that had stood on the edges of hell more times than he cared to count.

  TR deserved more—only she didn't see it that way. She didn't see him that way. She didn't see him for what he really was: a scarred, battle-worn soldier who was too rough around the edges for civilian life. Or maybe she did see him for what he was and simply didn't care.

  And that made her dangerous.

  The irony wasn't lost on him. Of all the fucking shit he'd seen, all the fucking shit he'd done, it was the woman standing in front of him that scared him the most.

  Not that he'd ever admit that out loud. Hell, no. He didn't have to, either—at least, not to Daryl Anderson and Jonathan Riegler, his partners at Cover Six Security. They both knew exactly what TR did to him—and they both made it a point of letting him know what they thought of his evade-and-escape tactic almost a year ago.