by Lori Foster
Enoch laughed. “All right, I’ll drop the formality.” He leaned close to Brand and said sotto voce, “Take care of her.”
“I plan to.”
Exasperated, Sahara said, “I don’t need anyone to—” The door shut before she could finish her protest. “I swear he does that on purpose.”
Brand was smiling when he turned to her, but the smile slipped. “Hey? You okay?”
She devoured him with her gaze. He looked freshly showered and shaved, and he’d changed into another pair of jeans, this time with a black Henley that fit snug to his wide, hard shoulders, his solid chest, and then fell loose around his tapered waist and flat abs.
Trying for a brisk tone, Sahara asked, “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Maybe because you’ve been through hell, had your life threatened, got mauled by a lunatic, haven’t had any sleep and possibly got false hope about your brother.”
No, it wasn’t false. She wouldn’t believe that.
Arms crossed, weight shifted to one hip, she countered, “Are you okay?”
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“Well, let’s see.” She propped her hip on her desk again and crossed her ankles in a negligent pose. “You went through nearly everything that I did, you also haven’t had any sleep and your friends are heckling you because I didn’t play the good little girl and ask the big protective fighter to check my bedroom for danger.”
Wearing a crooked smile, he approached. “That sounds like a private fantasy or something.”
“Perhaps, but I’ll reserve it for someone who’s willing to play.”
The smile firmed into a straight line. He didn’t stop until he had her shoulders clasped in his big hands and she had her head tilted back so she could stare into his dark eyes.
“I wanted to talk to you about that.”
Her pulse jumped. “About playing?”
“Somewhat.” His thumbs gently caressed her tensed muscles. “I want to stay with you.”
In case he’d forgotten, she said, “I’m staying in the suite here.”
“I know.”
And he still wanted to stay with her? When he’d left, she’d thought... But here he was, back again, and she so badly didn’t want to be alone.
Yet being with Brand and not touching him would be impossible, and despite her promise to Enoch, Brand didn’t seem like a willing participant to his suggestion.
When she didn’t say anything, Brand asked, “It’s a regular living space?”
“Yes. Scott used it sometimes for entertaining, but mostly for convenience, especially when he had the house built, and then later when he wanted it remodeled. Leese and Catalina stayed there when she was first a client and it wasn’t safe to move her. It’s on the top floor of the building, fully furnished and entirely secure.”
Nodding, he said as if he expected her agreement, “I have my overnight bag in the car.”
So he’d gone home, showered, changed and packed...to be with her? Going for honesty, she admitted, “I would enjoy the company.”
“Great.”
“But I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“You staying alone isn’t a good idea. Me staying with you is the right thing to do.”
So obligation motivated him, not interest? Damn the man for keeping her confused. She sidled away from him, her hands on her hips. “I don’t see how it can be right when you only tease me.”
He ran a frustrated hand over his head. “Sahara...” Abruptly he changed his tone to sound more reasonable. “Come on, honey, you know you didn’t really want sex after just being kidnapped.”
She lifted a supercilious brow. “I wanted it then and I want it now.”
Brand hitched his chin with doubt. “Right now?”
“Well...” She looked back at her hard massive desk, then at the small, but softer sofa against the wall. “I mean, not exactly this second. I’m not sure my office is private enough for that.”
New heat entered his eyes. “Your office would be plenty private enough, I promise.”
That put all kinds of vivid sexual images into her mind. She took in a slow breath and nodded. “All right.”
“But,” Brand said with exaggerated patience, “you haven’t had any sleep, you’ve been through a shit-ton of upset and now you’re worried about Scott again. Don’t you think it’d be better to give yourself a chance to recoup?”
No, not when she’d wanted him even before the kidnapping. “I’m always worried about Scott and I’ll stay worried until he’s back home with me. I’ve never needed much sleep, and I’m already over what happened.” The last was a huge lie, but what she needed most was the unique closeness of intimacy. Enoch knew it, so why didn’t Brand? “If you’re still tired, a little traumatized maybe, you should definitely go home and rest up.”
Brand shook his head. “You make ‘rest up’ sound very wussified.”
She gave a delicate shrug. “If the description fits...”
He stepped closer, a new edge to his demeanor. “Do you always use insults to get your way?”
Now that he pointed it out, she felt like a bully. “Usually only with you, and it still doesn’t work.” She sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“My ego isn’t that fragile, Sahara. You don’t need to apologize.”
Throwing up her hands, she snapped, “Then I guess I should just give up?” She really hated that idea, but she hated throwing herself at him and being repeatedly rejected more.
Indulgent, Brand said, “I’d rather you didn’t.”
Okay, hold up. “You’ve got more mixed signals than a virgin on prom night.”
He grinned. “What I’d like you to do is recognize that you’re a little off balance. That’s why you’re coming on even stronger than usual, and using insults. Am I right?”
She gave a very grudging “Maybe.”
“Allowing yourself some time to come to grips with everything isn’t a bad thing. I promise it doesn’t make you a wuss.”
“Are you coming to grips with it?” She waited for his denial.
He surprised her by saying, “I think so. Even though I’m sure you’ll be safe here, I know I want to stick closer to you, to see for myself that you’re okay.”
His admission gave her a small thrill. “That sounds awfully involved for someone who doesn’t want involvement.”
“Never said I didn’t want to be involved.”
“Then—”
“But there’s a small problem, honey. See, you take the whole boss gig to heart even though I don’t work for you. You need to learn to separate that once you leave the office.”
Did she do that? Yes, probably.
“You’re a boss,” he said. “But that shouldn’t define you. You’re also a sister, a friend...and a very sexy woman.”
He looked at her so intently, as if willing her to understand.
Hanging on to that sexy woman compliment, she said, “I can try to separate things.” She had promised Enoch, after all. “It’s just that I’m so good at being a boss.” And maybe not so great at the other things. “Ask anyone who works for me.”
“Maybe they say that because they do work for you. Let me remind you again: I don’t.” He slid his hand up her throat, his long fingers curling around to her nape and his thumb tilting up her chin. “I’m also good at being the boss.”
Sudden insight sent her brows up. She had no qualms challenging him. “So this is about the big macho fighter being too insecure to take orders from a woman?”
“More insults?” When she scowled, a dangerous smile curved his mouth. “I’d say it’s about you being afraid to be a woman.”
Absurd! She started to jerk away, but suddenly his other arm locked her to him. That didn’t stop her from struggling.
“Can’t bear to hear the
truth, Sahara?”
Far as challenges went, he nailed it. She stopped levering away and instead thrust her face up close to his. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
He chuckled at her bravado. Actually chuckled!
Furious over his galling amusement, Sahara could think of only two ways to wipe away his humor.
Her knee could land home in a very sobering way.
The other option would be... She kissed him.
Or more like she attacked his mouth.
When he leaned back to avoid the assault, she followed, her hands now fisted tight in his shirt, high against his collarbone. She nipped his bottom lip, sucked it into her mouth, licked over it, and then, sealing her lips to his, she explored the damp heat of his mouth. She loved the slick texture of his strong white teeth, his velvet tongue, and she especially loved the low growl he gave in reaction.
Abruptly, he stopped retreating and instead adjusted his hold.
The hand around her nape tipped her head farther back so he could take the lead. His other hand scooped down to her behind and pressed her against him, their bodies perfectly aligned for a tantalizing fit.
It was a battle of wills, each of them trying to take control...until Brand backed her up so that her thighs bumped into her desk. Proving his strength, he scooped her up one-handed and sat her on the edge.
Against her lips, he said, “Open your legs.”
Never one to give in easily, she asked, “Why?”
“I want between them.”
Oookay. That sounded enticing. He still firmly clasped her nape, making it impossible for her to look away. He saw everything she felt, probably read in her eyes everything she considered. Just to throw him off, she smiled...and slid her knees apart.
“Good.” He pushed up the slim skirt she’d changed into, then widened her legs farther by stepping between them.
The denim of his jeans felt rough against her inner thighs.
So did the free hand he traveled up the inside of her knee.
The sensation of his calloused fingertips firm on her sensitive flesh, along with the probing force of his dark brown gaze, made her eyes heavy.
As if he knew it, he whispered, “Keep them open.” To ensure he had her attention, he brushed his knuckles over the crotch of her silken panties.
Like a bolt of lightning, the touch sizzled all along her nerve endings, making her gasp and bringing a flush to her skin.
“So hot,” he whispered, still idly stroking. “I’d like to make you wet, too.”
She was getting there pretty quickly already.
When Enoch’s voice came through the intercom, she jumped.
“Mr. Delamore is here, Ms. Silver.”
Brand slowly withdrew his hand and, with attention to detail, carefully straightened her hair, when she hadn’t even realized it was mussed. “Mr. Delamore?” he asked with more than idle curiosity.
“Prospective client.” Her voice trembled as surely as her limbs. Wishing it wasn’t so, she explained, “We had an appointment.”
“Tell Enoch to give you three minutes.”
Nodding, she started to stand, but Brand shook his head. “You can reach the intercom.”
Another challenge, and this one was harder to meet because she felt like warm gelatin. She reached out a hand for the intercom button, was still a few inches away and ended up leaning back on an elbow, practically sprawled on her desk—with Brand standing between her legs, his hands holding her hips.
Trying to steady her voice, she touched the button and replied, hopefully in her usual no-nonsense tone, “Apologize for the delay, but I’ll need five more minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The deference Enoch adopted for clients usually struck her as funny, but not this time. When she started to rise, Brand leaned into her, balancing himself on his outstretched arms at either side of her shoulders.
“I told you three minutes.”
Rather than fight the inevitable, she relaxed her spine and accepted that, in this instance, Brand had won. “I’ll need two extra to recover.”
His attention was focused on her mouth. “One more kiss then, before I let you get back to work.”
“Yes.” She’d love one more kiss. Or a hundred more, even.
“First, though, tell me you’re okay with me staying the night.”
Blackmail? He knew how badly she wanted that kiss. “Will there be more teasing?”
“That’s up to you.” As soon as he said it, he took her mouth in a kiss that left her gasping. She found herself flat on her back, his body meshed with hers from the junction of her legs all the way up to her breasts.
She’d never look at her desk the same way again.
Smiling down at her, he promised, “We’ll discuss teasing, and more, tonight.”
Damn him, how did he recover so easily? Still breathing heavily, she nodded. “Okay.”
He tenderly cupped her face. “What time will you finish up?”
“Seven.”
“And you won’t be leaving the office?”
She shook her head.
“Promise me?”
If he worked for her, she’d take him to task for that. But as he forever pointed out, he wasn’t yet an employee so she only said, “I don’t lie.” Not over something so trivial, anyway.
He pressed his mouth to hers one last time, then straightened, bringing her up with him and helping her to her feet. “I’ll be back here before seven, then.”
So he was leaving again? “Where are you going now?”
His fingertips grazed her cheek. “Leese is going to show me around. If you need me, I’ll be nearby.”
She liked how often he touched her, how he touched her, how he looked at her... Then what he said sank in. Leese was showing him around? For what reason? “Are you considering—”
“We’ll talk tonight.”
With her heart punching, she watched him walk out.
She couldn’t wait for the opportunity to get some answers. But for now, knowing he’d have to pass the wealthy and snobbish Mr. Delamore amused her as she imagined the much smaller man’s reaction to Brand’s rugged, intimidating presence.
Mr. Delamore. She probably only had a minute left, so she darted into her attached bathroom and straightened her clothes, tidied her hair once more and repaired her makeup.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t a thing she could do about the aroused flush to her skin.
Not yet. But tonight she’d have Brand all to herself. They’d talk...and then she’d explain to him how it had to be.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“HELL OF A SETUP.” After going through the on-site gym with state-of-the-art equipment, not only for a workout but also to hone specific skills, Brand didn’t think he could be further impressed.
Then they reached the shooting range in the basement.
It appeared to run the length of the building with at least twenty stalls so that a group of people could practice shooting at the same time. An electric target retrieval system made it easy to trade out for new targets when practicing with different guns. Bullet berms cut down on ricochets, and rubber-padded walls cut down on noise.
Leese walked him to the selection of weapons, manned by two attendants who made sure everything went back to where it belonged. “Damn near any firearm you can imagine is available for practice shooting. You can’t take them out of here, but we come in early, sometimes stay late, to keep sharp. It gives me a chance to see how other guns feel. I prefer a 9 mm semiautomatic to a revolver, but I’m proficient with .40 and .45 caliber semiautomatics, too.”
Brand nodded. “I’ve shot just about everything there is, from a small .380 to the Dirty Harry .44 Magnum.” He grinned at Leese. “My dad—” actually his uncle “—has always collected guns. I grew up on fifty acres, and shoot
ing cans off a fence was a daily exercise.”
“Is he still collecting?”
“Yeah.” During his last visit a week ago, his mom had practically force-fed him her special chocolate cake while his dad had showed off three new “treasures.” “Mom says he has an accumulation, not a collection, because most of them aren’t worth all that much. He started with the rifle he used as a kid, then inherited a few pieces from his dad and it went on from there.”
Grinning, Leese asked, “Is he a survivalist?”
Brand laughed. “He could be. I mean, if Armageddon came, Dad’s someone you’d want in your corner. But he doesn’t have an underground shelter and he’s not hoarding canned goods or anything like that. Mostly he just likes to know that he could make it if the power grid failed.”
Leese led him to a selection of earplugs, safety goggles and target ammo. “How come we’ve never met your folks?”
Unwilling to dwell on the deeper reasons, Brand went with the surface excuses. “They live in Kentucky. I get down there every month or so, but Mom was in a car wreck a decade ago, broke several bones, hurt her back and now she has some trouble getting around.”
“Damn, that’s rough.”
Miles came down the steps just as they were ready to start up. “Took the tour, huh? What do you think?”
“It’s pretty awesome.”
“An understatement,” Miles said. “Blew me away when I first saw everything. And so far the jobs have been terrific. Plus Sahara works with me so that I don’t have to be away from Maxi too often.”
Maxi was Miles’s soon-to-be-wife, and in fact, they would probably beat Justice and Fallon to the altar. After Fallon’s very sheltered and secluded upbringing, Justice was determined to make up for all she had missed. The big lug made it his life’s mission to wine, dine and woo his fiancée. Since Fallon, who was no longer insecure, beamed with happiness, they all figured Justice—at least in this instance—knew what he was doing.
“When’s the wedding?” Brand asked.
“She’s still remodeling the kitchen, so who knows?” Miles smiled. “She wants the wedding on the farm.”
