Free Bodyguard Daddy by LISA CHILDS

been too young at the time they had killed to do hard time. They’d also claimed they had only killed in self-defense.
    Frank snorted. He doubted that. Milek Kozminski had taunted him in the parking lot. Then he’d shot him. He pressed his hand to the bandage on his shoulder. Blood was already seeping through the white gauze, and the flesh beneath it throbbed painfully.
    “Don’t touch it,” the doctor advised. He straightened up from mopping Frank’s blood off the marble tiles of the opulent bathroom.
    They weren’t in a hospital. Or even a clinic. The doctor had let him into his house—into his damn mansion—and patched him up in one of the bathrooms. Dr. Gunz wouldn’t have had that mansion if Frank hadn’t helped him out—hadn’t taken care of a couple of witnesses in a potential career-ending lawsuit. So he owed Frank—like so many other people did.
    That was why the doctor had taken care of Frank—because Frank had taken care of him. Now Frank had to take care of Milek Kozminski. He had made it a rule to only kill if he was getting paid for the hit. It was never personal for him. He never killed out of anger or passion.
    Until now...
    He wanted Milek Kozminski dead and not just so he could get to the little redheaded assistant district attorney. He wanted him dead because Kozminski had shot him. Despite his dangerous job, Frank had never been shot before. The only real danger he had faced was getting caught. But no one had ever come close—until Milek Kozminski in the hotel parking lot.
    “You’re lucky,” the doctor said. “A few more inches and that bullet would have struck your heart. You’re lucky to be alive.”
    Frank was lucky.
    But Milek Kozminski wasn’t. Frank wouldn’t miss the next time he shot at the younger man. He would make sure he put a bullet right through Kozminski’s heart.
    * * *
    A twinge of pain struck Milek’s chest as he remembered how he’d spent the past year, thinking he would never see Amber again. That he would never be able to hold her. To kiss her...
    And now she was here—in his arms, in his bed. Emotions overwhelmed him: relief, joy and passion. And love...
    He had never stopped loving her. Even when he’d believed she was dead. His hands shook as he held her head, his fingers tangled in her hair. He moved his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss—parting her soft lips. He slid his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her sweetness.
    She reached out, pressing a hand against his chest. But she wasn’t pushing him away. She was caressing him, tracing his muscles through the thin material of his T-shirt. He wanted to take it off—wanted to take off her clothes, too.
    He wanted nothing between them. No clothes. No secrets. No resentment or guilt.
    The only thing he could realistically manage was to remove the clothes. He’d hurt her too much to expect anything more. He hadn’t even expected her kiss. She’d meant it only as a thank-you, though.
    Nothing more.
    He knew that, but he couldn’t summon his better judgment. It was gone. And he was barely hanging on to his control. He couldn’t pull back. He had missed her too much and for far too long.
    When he reached for her sweater and started lifting it up, she didn’t stop him. Instead, she raised her arms so he could pull it up and over her head. Damn. She was beautiful—more beautiful than he’d even remembered. And he’d thought of her so often—like this. In his bed, her skin flushed with desire. Her breasts threatened to spill over the cups of her bra. They were fuller than he remembered. He reached behind her and released the clasp, setting them free. Then he touched them. With just his fingertips first, sliding them over the silkiness of her skin the way he sometimes slid them through paint on the canvas when he couldn’t get just the effect he wanted with a brush.
    But no matter how hard he’d worked on his art, he’d never created anything as beautiful as she was. Her nipples swelled and