by Mia Dymond
“You think?”
“The driver forced me to the shoulder, anyway.”
“When?”
“Fifteen minutes ago, on the way here.”
“Where?”
She drew in a deep breath while the water inside her bottle shook.
“Relax.” He took the bottle, set it on the desk, and then squatted in front of her. “Take another deep breath and release it slowly.”
With her gaze locked on his, she followed directions while a sense of calm pushed her panic to the side.
“Again,” he insisted.
After a series of deep breaths, her hands finally stopped shaking. He stood and then sat in the chair opposite her.
“From the beginning.”
She nodded. “I stopped by Mrs. McGuire’s house this morning for a ten o’clock appointment. She has a very extensive clothing collection and hired me to help her purge and reorganize.” She took a breath. “You should see the size of her closet, it’s the size of a banquet hall. Just inside there’s actually a seating area with two reclining chairs and a mini-refrigerator. Who in her right mind needs appliances in her closet? I spent most of the morning discussing that with her and she still claims it’s a need. So, I’ll just have to work around that, I guess.”
“Grace, sweetheart.” His gentle endearment stopped her ramble. “The accident, remember?”
“Oh, right. When I left the McGuire’s house, I noticed that a black sedan followed me.”
“Where did it come from?”
“I have no idea. I was still trying to wrap my brain around appliances in a closet and I just happened to notice when I glanced in my rearview mirror to check traffic.”
“Anything special about the tail?”
“The tail?”
He smirked. “The car that followed you.”
“No, just an average black, four-door car.”
“Did you notice the make or model?”
She shook her head again, frustrated that she hadn’t been more observant.
“Any idea why someone would target you?”
“No, and I can’t figure out why he attempted to get me to pull over either.”
“The suspect is male?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know he wanted you to pull over?”
“He flashed the headlights and gestured with a hand at the shoulder of the highway.”
“Did you get a good look at the driver?”
“Not really but I do know that he wore a hat and dark sunglasses. When I didn’t pull over, he came at me and forced me onto the shoulder anyway. I was distracted by the need to keep from crashing and when I came to a stop, he was gone.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, just rattled.”
“Do you want me take a look at your car?”
“Thank you, Mr. Gray, but there’s no damage.”
He stood from his chair and approached her, took her hand in his, and urged her to stand. “Grace,” he scolded softly while he pulled her against him, “we’re way past formalities. My name is Harvard.”
She released a long, soft sigh and rested her cheek against his chest. “Harvard,” she murmured.
Tucked into the safety of his arms, Grace leaned against the hard planes of his chest and willed herself to relax. Beneath her right eardrum, his heart beat strong and fast, the rhythmic tempo luring her further into the sense of security.
She took yet another deep breath and closed her eyes. God, he smelled good. The soft, musky scent seeped through her senses and tickled her libido into oblivion while all sorts of fantasies began to visualize behind her eyelids. Harvard with his shirt unbuttoned while the flaps hung loosely at his sides to expose his smooth, tanned pectorals; Harvard with his jeans riding low on his lean hips, opened at the top button just enough to reveal the sexy v-cut of his obliques; Harvard without his shirt completely and that stairway of abdominals demanding her touch. She grinned against the cotton of shirt, tempted to pop the buttons and press her lips against everything underneath. Fantasies for sure – she’d never seen him without clothing. But geez, she really wanted to.
At that thought, her fingers tightened against his chest. Oh yeah, this man was solid.
A husky chuckle rumbled beneath her ear. “I’d love to read your mind right about now.”
Determined not to embarrass herself, she mentally shook her wayward thoughts until they took their place at the back of her brain, and then lifted her head and stepped back from him.
“I was only thinking how much I appreciate your compassion.”
“My compassion?”
She nodded, knowing full well she hadn’t fooled him with that lame excuse.
A sexy smirk split his lips and her own lips tingled. “Believe me, compassion doesn’t describe what I feel right now, Grace.”
She swallowed hard as he planted his hands on her hips and eased her back against him, pressing her further against his body, this time so close that her body caught fire and her blood began to simmer. Because of the height difference between them, her head fit perfectly in the carved groove between his pectorals and her stomach was perfectly aligned with the part of his anatomy she really wanted to know one-on-one – the same part that currently stood erect and tall between them.
Definitely not compassion.
“I want to kiss you.” His admission vibrated his chest underneath her ear. “If that’s not what you want, tell me now.”
She closed her eyes and released a slow breath in an attempt to keep from screaming her consent. In her current state of arousal, turning him down was not an option – and not something she even remotely considered.
She opened her eyes. “I want you to kiss me.”
She lifted her head at the same time he lowered his and she prepared for spontaneous combustion as their lips touched.
Flesh molded to flesh as he took control, tenderly moving his mouth to give each of her lips equal attention. Nerves screamed beneath his touch, lost in the absolute ecstasy, begging and pleading for more.
A whimper slipped from her mouth in a desperate attempt to voice the pleasurable pain. His fingers tightened at her hips as his lips hardened and his tongue separated her lips to slide inside her mouth. Tongues tangled as desire continued to build between them and her heart pounded out of control.
She moved her hands from his chest and down his torso, equally aroused when her fingers roamed over the rigid abdominals there. Suspicion confirmed; Harvard’s body was solid as a rock.
Harvard sucked in a quick breath as Grace’s fingers caused havoc on his body. Beneath his shirt, nerve endings screamed as his muscles craved her light, curious touch. Even though her fingers had not yet met skin, he knew exactly what would happen when they did. He’d been somewhat in control when her fingertips made their way across the surface of his chest and then downward to his stomach but now they ventured into dangerous territory. She now grasped the waistband of his jeans while both of her index fingers traced the cut of his obliques and any second now his cock would demand a piece of the action.
Damn, her hands worked pure magic and his whole body blazed under her spell. Mere inches remained from the distance between her fingers and the button of his pants; once the beast was free, no one was safe.
His body cursed him as his brain issued the command to stop the assault. He moved both hands to hers and braided their fingers while he gently ended the kiss and then pulled her back against his chest.
“You tempt me like the devil, Grace.” He released a slow breath in an effort to calm his overstimulated body.
Her soft, breathless giggle did little to aid his cause. “I’ve never been so tempted in my life.”
A contented silence fell between them as he continued to hold her and come to grips with the reality of what had just happened. That kiss had knocked him for a loop, the sheer force of their connection unmistakable. Sure, the heat they generated nearly scalded them, but there was more than lust be
hind the act. He wanted to kiss her to show her he cared, to reassure her that he could chase the panic and stress from her mind, and that he had every intention of protecting her from anything or anyone who dared to threaten her again.
“We should probably get to work,” she said as she stepped out of his arms.
“Are you sure? We can pick this up another day.”
“I’m sure.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “It will be a nice distraction.”
“Okay, what’s first?”
“Tell me about your office.”
He raised an eyebrow, confused by her statement. What the hell did she mean? An office was an office.
“What exactly do you want to know?”
“Do you share it with anyone?”
“No.”
“What do you do in here?”
He paused to analyze her question. Until today, he spent his time in the room on the computer or on the phone. Now, he had found another use for the space. Something told him that probably wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “I work.”
“Yes, but is that all?”
“What else would I do?”
She pointed at the sofa. “Sleep?”
“Sometimes,” he mumbled.
“And is it comfortable?”
“Would you like to find out?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re quite an expert at answering a question with a question.”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Well, I’m attempting to get a feel for your reasoning behind this …” She paused and gestured at the piles around the room. “System,” she said finally.
He bit back a grin. As annoying as her questions were, she was just so damn beautiful when she was tactful.
He allowed the grin to split his lips. “Mess.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a mess, Grace.”
“Not necessarily,” she insisted. “We just need to move the stacks from the floor.”
“The couch is available.”
“Really? Or did you move them from there to the floor?”
He had to give her credit, her insight was incredible. Still, he issued another tease. “What do you think?”
“Do you really want me to tell you?”
“Of course.”
“Are you absolutely sure? Because I can be brutally honest at times.”
He nodded, aroused by the fire in her deep, green eyes. At the moment, she reminded him of a Siamese cat, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse.
“You asked for it.” She took a deep breath and then released it. “These piles, as you call them, are totally insignificant.”
“Come again?”
“They’re useless,” she continued. “In fact, every piece of paper and file folder belongs in the trash can. These stacks are for everyone else’s benefit.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Care to explain?”
“Absolutely. You have a master’s degree in computer science from Harvard University. You may be a mad scientist, but I’m willing to bet your brain has an amazing filing cabinet. In fact, I’ll venture to say that your memory is darn near photographic. You don’t need these piles, Harvard, you keep them around to reassure your team that you’re working on something.”
He stood in stunned silence, impressed by both her honesty and her knowledge. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, she saw right through him. Obviously, he was way off base about her role as an organizer.
“How did you know about my education?”
She didn’t back down. “Diesel mentioned it when he called to hire me. When you told me to call you Harvard, I put two and two together.”
“Why is it so easy to call Diesel by his code name?”
“What?”
“I’ve endured Mr. Gray several times but you’ve always addressed him as Diesel.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “He introduced himself as Captain Diesel Clark. I don’t even know his given name.”
“Cason.”
“You’d like me to use his name from now on?”
“Hell, no.” He snickered. “That’s not even funny, Grace. He’d kick my ass from here to Kingdom Come.”
“Okay, so why is that important?”
“Just curious,” he mumbled.
More like jealous, but she didn’t need to know that. Not yet.
Thankfully, she redirected the conversation. “So, what should we do with all of this?”
He motioned with one hand at the clutter. “You’re right when you say I don’t need any of this but the others do.” He grinned. “I know these cases like the back of my hand but they need the notes.”
He waited for her to blast him with a profession that she’d been right all along or at least an I-told-you-so smirk, but neither came. Instead, she simply nodded and unfolded her arms.
“Is there a central filing area?”
“Down the hall, first door after the conference room.”
She squatted to load a stack of papers into her arms and then stood. “After you.”
“You’re such a lightweight.” He loaded his arms with two of the piles and then gestured to the doorway. “Ladies first. I can give directions from behind.”
She rolled her eyes and then walked toward the door. “Smooth, Harvard,” she said over one shoulder.
He chuckled as he followed, not at all intimidated that she knew exactly why he chose his position. He’d have to be blind not to notice that she had an amazing body, put together better than most jigsaw puzzles. At least twelve inches separated their heights, a fact that aroused him even more; there was just something about a short, shapely woman that brought out his protective instinct and made his libido roar. And in this particular case, she was extremely intelligent. Miss Grace Portland was definitely the total package, one he wanted to rip open and explore.
***
Master Chief Tyson Ice Arnett braced one hip against the edge of the sofa in Diesel’s office and grinned. “Seriously? You hired someone to organize the minefield in Harvard’s office?”
The c.o. nodded. “Damn straight I did. I had no choice, the mess in there nearly took me out.”
“Where did you find someone willing?”
“Friend of a friend. Apparently, she knows her stuff. In fact, she’s with him now.”
His eyes widened. “The green-eyed beauty is the organizer? I figured she was the flavor of the month.”
“Unlike you, Harvard and I don’t sample the menu all that often,” Diesel pointed out.
“What can I say?” He shrugged. “I have a unique appreciation for women.”
Diesel sat forward, his gaze trained on the monitor on the top of his desk. “Are you expecting one of those women?”
“Huh?” He frowned. “You know I don’t bring anyone here.”
“There’s a car approaching the gate.”
He rounded the desk to stand behind Diesel and observe the action. A red, two-door convertible with the top peeled back stopped at the security gate.
“Zoom in, Captain.”
When the frame expanded, he had a clear view of the visitor. In the driver’s seat, a blonde woman with large, round, leopard-spotted sunglasses covering her eyes sat behind the steering wheel. With one hand, she reached and pressed the intercom button.
Diesel gave a low whistle. “Do you recognize her?”
“No.” Ice pressed the intercom button beside the monitor. “Good afternoon, Ma’am. Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” she answered. “I’m looking for Grace Portland.”
Ice released the pressure on the button and glanced at Diesel. “The miracle worker on bomb patrol?”
The captain nodded.
Ice leaned forward and pressed the button again. “May I have your name, Ma’am?”
“Only if you stop calling me ma’am,” she mumbled. “My name is Bailey King.”
“Miss or Missus?”
“Just Bailey.”
�
��Okay, Bailey, please remove your glasses.” He released the button yet again.
Diesel raised an eyebrow. “I can get a visual behind the lenses, Ice.”
He smirked. “I know.”
She removed the tinted lenses and his jaw fell open. A deep, beautiful blue glaze peered into the camera and held him in a lustful trance while a set of plump, pink lips moved her mouth.
Ice shook himself free of her hold. “What did she just say?”
“She asked if that satisfied your curiosity.”
“No.” He pressed the button again. “Please step out of the car.”
“Good grief,” she spat as she stepped from her convertible and stood. “Is Grace here or not?”
His gaze raked the length of her barely five feet tall body, curvy and enticing, while he appreciated every single body part he encountered. Perfectly rounded breasts with a tease of cleavage, slim hips, and shapely, bare legs.
“I’ve got her ID,” Diesel drawled. “Quit giving her a hard time.”
He chuckled, pressed the button to open the gate, and then spoke into the intercom again.
“Through the gate, take a left. The office is the first building on the compound.”
She mumbled something he couldn’t understand under her breath, re-entered the vehicle, returned the glasses to her face, and then drove toward them.
He turned to Diesel. “Who is she?”
“Bailey Ann King, travel agent and owner of Royal Travel. Only child, natural blonde, blue eyes, five feet one inches tall, one hundred six pounds. Probably a 32B in my best guess.”
He grinned. “Natural blonde?”
“In every photo I’ve found.”
“Do you want to interview her?”
“Be my guest. You can catch me up later.”
He left Diesel behind the computer, headed down the hallway, and approached the front door as the buzzer sounded. He flipped a nearby switch and opened the door.
“Hello, Miss King.”
Bailey stepped inside the office of Watchdogs, Inc., wondering if she’d just entered forbidden territory. Not only was she now in the middle of nowhere, the place was literally on lockdown. In fact, a small part of her even entertained the thought that she might be taken prisoner. What kind of job had Grace taken?
