Forged in Desire

by Brenda Jackson

  “Yes. I’m just calling to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. We’re relocating.”

  “Yes, I know.” Striker clicked off the phone, giving her a semblance of privacy, although he was privy to her side of the conversation.

  Since her uncle didn’t ask where she was going, she had a feeling that he knew not to ask. She thought that now would be a good time to bring up the subject of Liz.

  “I’m sorry about you and Liz, Uncle Frazier.”

  “Don’t be. A few days ago Goldwyn overheard a phone conversation between Liz and a private investigator. Seems she was hiring one to dig up dirt on the family. Of course Goldwyn alerted me as to what was going on.”

  Of course, Margo thought. Good old Goldwyn. He was more than just a butler. He’d been her uncle’s faithful confidant for years. That was why she’d never worried about Liz. She’d known that sooner or later Liz would mess up and her uncle would see the woman for who she truly was.

  “Just what sort of dirt did Liz think she could dig up on our family?”

  “I don’t know. She probably intended to use it as leverage if I never got around to proposing to her.”

  “She would have tried blackmailing you into marriage?”

  “I believe that was her plan.” He paused a moment and, as if he was through talking about Liz, then said, “I want you to promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

  She smiled at Striker, whose eyes were on the road. “I’m being protected by the best.” When Striker turned and gave her an intense look, she couldn’t help noticing how the lines around his eyes were tight, as if he’d realized the depth of her faith and confidence in him. When he turned his attention back to the road, she said to her uncle, “I just hope everything is wrapped up soon. I have a wedding dress to complete.”

  “I hope so too. But if it’s not as soon as you’d like, be patient and stay put until it’s safe for you to return.”

  She talked to her uncle a few minutes more before ending the call.

  “You and your uncle are close, aren’t you?” Striker asked her.

  “We’ve had our moments, trust me. But I wouldn’t trade him for the world.”

  “Did he ever visit you in New York?”

  “Once or twice. He preferred us meeting somewhere warm like Florida or the islands. Uncle Frazier isn’t overly fond of cold weather and can barely tolerate Charlottesville’s winters.”

  “So Scott never got a chance to meet him?”

  She shook her head. “No. The one time Scott could have done so, he claimed he had dinner plans with a client.”

  “He claimed? You didn’t believe him?”

  “No.” She paused a moment and then said, “I’m not stupid, Striker. I suspected another woman was involved, which was one of the reasons I broke things off with him.”

  Margo wondered how she had wasted almost a year with Scott. Putting up with his crap? She knew the answer. Because he hadn’t mattered. If he had mattered, things would have been different. She would have felt the need to be honest with him about her finances. She would have demanded more of his time. She would have ended things when she first suspected him of cheating.

  “But you never confronted him about it? The other woman?”

  “No. I didn’t see the need. I honestly didn’t want him to think I cared.”

  “But you did?”

  “I tried to. I wanted to believe he was different from Brock.”

  Striker lifted a brow. “Brock?”

  “Yes, Brock Ford, a guy I dated my senior year of high school. The guy I thought was my Mr. Right until I heard about his plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “To marry me after college to get his hands on my trust fund and secure a cushy job at my uncle’s firm.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “He bragged about it to the wrong people, thinking it wouldn’t get back to me.”

  “Is that why you never told Scott just how wealthy you were?”

  “Yes. I wanted the next guy to want me because I was me, not because I was some rich chick.” She chuckled. “I went from bad to worse. Scott didn’t see me as a rich chick but just the opposite. He saw me as one of those needy women looking for a well-to-do husband. So I guess you can say I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to men. I decided to never put them at the top of my priority list again. I don’t need a man in my life to be happy. I can be happy all by myself.”

  * * *

  STRIKER EASED BACK in his seat as he absorbed Margo’s words. I don’t need a man in my life to be happy. I can be happy all by myself.

  Why did that bother him when for years he hadn’t felt the need to have a woman in his life? He wasn’t into casual relationships. He didn’t want to let anyone down or not be there when they needed him. But whenever he spent time with Margo, the possibility of something more serious crept into his mind.

  Could it be because they’d spent so much time together? It was going on three weeks now. Typically the same protector wouldn’t be assigned to the same case from start to finish. They worked in shifts. But Margo’s case had been different, and he’d known it from the beginning. He just hadn’t realized at the time just how different it would be.

  She had started growing on him, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Granted, they’d slept together and, more likely than not, would continue to do so. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She’d made it clear just now that she was not looking for a serious relationship with any man because of Scott and that guy she’d fallen for in college. So why was he dwelling on it?

  He had to admit he enjoyed talking to her, listening to her voice...even when she was asking him questions that really weren’t her business. And he liked looking at her, even when she wasn’t aware he was. They shared meals, practically all the time. He was getting used to it. He liked it.

  Striker also knew that he and Margo enjoyed each other sexually. He especially liked it when after making love he kept his finger inside of her, giving her an extended sexual experience while watching her face as she had another orgasm.

  So where would all this lead? He knew the answer without really thinking. Nowhere. And as far as he was concerned, there was nothing wrong with that as long as they both understood. They would enjoy themselves today and not worry about tomorrow.

  She had her issues with men. Although he didn’t have issues with women per se, he doubted he could ever become attached to someone that way. Especially someone he could love. Where their well-being was solely in his hands.

  He’d screwed up once and wouldn’t let such a thing happen again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  IT WAS NEAR daybreak when Striker and Margo made it to their final destination. She walked into the cabin, rolling her luggage behind her while taking in her surroundings. “This place is beautiful, Striker. Who owns it?”

  He stood beside her. Stonewall had sent someone ahead to stock the refrigerator and pantry with food and start a fire in the fireplace. Since the location of the cabin was more than an hour’s drive from Charlottesville, while they were here Quasar would not be delivering food. They wouldn’t risk him being followed. For now they were on their own.

  “Jace Granger.”

  Margo looked up at him. “Jace Granger? Where have I heard that name before?”

  “Probably from the media. Jace is the oldest son of Sheppard Granger.”

  Recognition showed in her face. “Sheppard Granger. Isn’t he the guy who was locked up all those years ago for killing his wife and was freed last year when the real killers were apprehended?”

  “Yes. They are one and the same.”

  “It was sad how an innocent man could have been sent to prison that way.”

  “Happens all the time,” he sa
id, moving around the room and looking around.

  “And Roland knows Jace Granger?”

  “We all do.” One day he would tell her just how well he knew the Grangers and how Sheppard Granger was the closest thing to a father figure he’d had in his life in years.

  “Let’s put our stuff away and I’ll show you around,” he said.

  “You’ve been here before?”

  He smiled, recalling the memories. “Yes, I have.”

  “With another client?”

  Did he detect jealousy in her voice? Did she think he’d spent time here with another female client? “No, I was here as a guest of the Grangers.”

  He saw curiosity in her eyes and knew her nosy bones would soon surface and the questions would start. “Come on and let me get you settled. Then I intend to cook breakfast.”

  * * *

  MARGO WALKED OUT of the bedroom after unpacking. Although she and Striker hadn’t discussed sleeping arrangements, the fact that he’d placed his duffel bag in the same bedroom she would be using spoke volumes.

  She’d gotten an idea of where they were when they’d passed a sign for the Shenandoah National Park. They had driven through miles and miles of wilderness and up the Blue Ridge Mountains. She’d been surprised by the look of the cabin they’d pulled up to. It wasn’t rustic, but rather it looked more like a beautiful château in the mountains.

  Striker had given her the tour of the place once they’d settled in. It had two stories with the second floor overlooking the first. The walls were made of stained wood and the downstairs was spacious, with an open concept. The large kitchen was meant for someone who loved to cook and the dining area seated a big family. The living room was enormous, with a huge fireplace on one wall and a wide-screen television on the other. Rugs scattered throughout gave the place a lived-in feel, while the silk plants that looked almost real added foliage that wasn’t grown in this area. The greenery enhanced the inside scenery and complemented the outside. For convenience, a separate set of stairs led from the second floor down to a fully stocked wine cellar.

  What she liked most was that the entire back wall was made of glass and provided a panoramic view of Streater Lake and the Blue Ridge Mountains. The sun had just been rising as she stood at the windows. It had been a beautiful sight.

  She stopped walking and sniffed the air. Rounding the corner, she found Striker in the kitchen, standing at the stove fixing breakfast, with his back to her.

  She just stood there, taking in all his male perfection. His stance drew her gaze to the width of his shoulders and all those rippling muscles that extended down his back. Muscles his shirt only enhanced. She wondered if Striker had any clue just how much he oozed raw, animal sexuality. The thought of just how well he could back up that quality in the bedroom sent shivers through her entire body.

  “Are you going to stand there and stare at my backside or are you going to volunteer your services in the kitchen?”

  Margo chuckled. Did the man have eyes in the back of his head?

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said as if she was definitely undecided. “I like looking at your backside.”

  He turned to her. “I liked seeing your backside as well. And I also like looking at your front, preferably naked.”

  The man had a way of sending blood racing through her veins. And since they’d taken the wall down between them, they weren’t holding back in expressing their desire for each other. “You sure you want my help?”

  “Yes, I’m sure...as long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

  Guilty. She did like touching him. Every chance she got. “I can only promise to try,” she said, going to the cabinets for plates. As she set the table, she kept stealing looks at Striker. He was spooning eggs from the frying pan into a platter. The more time they spent together, the more he mattered to her. She believed he was a man with morals—something Scott had lacked. She could not see Striker preying on a woman’s trust. He wouldn’t establish unrealistic expectations between them. Even now she knew where she stood with him.

  “You seem at ease in the kitchen. Who taught you how to cook?” she asked him when he’d placed all the trays of food in the center of the table and they’d sat down to eat. She didn’t miss the pain that flashed across his face with her question. It had been quick, yet she’d seen it.

  For a moment she wasn’t sure he would answer. And then he held her gaze and said, “My mother taught me to cook.”

  “Well, she did a great job. Where does she live?”

  Another pause. “She passed away years ago, not long after I began serving my time.”

  She didn’t say anything as she thought about what he’d shared. Did that mean he had lost his brother and mother within months of each other? As if he read the question in her eyes, he tried forcing a smile on his lips as he said, “Your nosy bone need scratching again?”

  She nodded, deciding not to back down if it would mean finding out what she wanted to know about him. “Yes, it needs scratching.”

  He sipped his coffee for a minute as if giving his response much consideration. Then he said, “Mom took Wade’s death hard. Me being locked up on top of that was too much for her. She had a bad case of hypertension and needed to take her medication daily. With both her sons gone, she wasn’t taking care of her health. One of the neighbors, Ms. Foster, called the police when she realized she hadn’t seen Ma for a few days. They found her in bed. She had died in her sleep.”

  “Oh, no. How awful that must have been for you.”

  “Yes, it was hard not being able to attend her funeral. Her sister, my aunt Gussie, handled everything for me.”

  Margo felt the lump in her throat and fought back the tears in her eyes. The man sitting across from her had endured so much pain in his life. Undeserved pain. “I’m sorry, Striker. I am so sorry.” She couldn’t help the tear that fell from her eye.

  “I didn’t tell you that to get your pity, Margo,” he said in a gruff tone.

  She shook her head. “What you got from me, Striker, is not my pity but my admiration. Despite your past and what you’ve endured, despite everything you’ve gone through and what I know is probably just the tip of the iceberg, you’ve made something of yourself. You are a man to be admired. My protector.”

  As if her words had done something to him, he pushed his chair back, came around the table and pulled her into his arms. Before she could take her next breath, he leaned down and captured her mouth in his and immediately robbed her of her senses. He was being methodically slow, yet extremely thorough. It was a good thing his arms had moved to her waist to support her or she would have buckled over.

  She closed her eyes to hold on to the little strength she had left, but he wasn’t making it easy. He was taking his time to taste her and she couldn’t help tasting him back. Every stroke of his tongue was making flames of desire blaze through her. But deep down, she knew it was more than that. At that very moment there was no doubt in her mind that she was falling in love with Striker.

  That startling realization had her pulling back from the kiss with a sudden gasp. When she opened her eyes, she saw him staring down at her. How had she allowed Lamar Striker Jennings to get past her defenses? The bottom line was that he had. Yet she knew there was no future for them, and, in that moment, she was saddened. After this assignment with her was over, he would leave and not look back.

  When he released her, she dropped back down in her chair, not able to stand on wobbly legs. He returned to his chair, and she watched as he resumed eating. Making a decision to try to pick up the conversation where they’d left off, before his kiss had all but rendered her mindless, she cleared her throat and asked, “So, where are you from, Striker?”

  He smiled over at her as he bit into a piece of bacon, probably knowing what she was trying to do. “I was born and raised in Little Rock, A
rkansas. I lived there until I was sent to Glenworth Prison in Kansas.”

  “Kansas?” she asked, taking a sip of coffee. “What made you decide to relocate to Charlottesville once you were released?”

  He didn’t say anything for a short moment and then he shared, “It’s where Shep suggested I come.”

  “Shep?”

  “Yes, Sheppard Granger.”

  Surprise lit her eyes, and before she could ask him to expound further, her phone rang. She picked it up and saw it was an unknown number. She glanced across the table at Striker.

  He nodded. “Go ahead and answer it,” he said, ready to listen in.

  Margo clicked on her phone and said in a cheerful voice, “Hello.”

  “Margo Connelly?”

  She met Striker’s gaze, and when he nodded, she said to the caller, “Yes, this is Margo.”

  “You’re just the person I want to talk to.”

  She didn’t recognize the deep male voice. “May I help you?”

  “No, but I’m willing to help you. I have something you want.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Freddie. Freddie Siskin. Remember me?”

  She couldn’t stop her skin from crawling. “Yes, I remember you. Why are you calling me? Do you want to make another donation to my charity?”

  “No,” he snapped. “I don’t want to make another donation to any damn charity.”

  “Then I’m going to end this conversation.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you. I’ve got something you might want.”

  “If it’s not a donation, then what is it?”

  “A sex tape.”

  She looked over at Striker and saw the way his face had tightened. “Excuse me?”

  “I have a sex tape of you and Scott doing the nasty. He gave it to me. If you call Scott for verification, I’ll put it out on social media. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that, being an heiress and all.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She wondered how Freddie had found out she was an heiress. And from the look in Striker’s eyes, she knew he was wondering the same thing. If Freddie knew, chances were Scott knew as well.