by Em Petrova
She glared at him.
He withdrew his cell from his pocket and set it on the counter between them. She looked at the photo there. “Why don’t you start by telling me about these?”
The shoes she’d put thirty hours into creating, each gem hand-set with tweezers in the perfect positions to catch the light. Her client was a socialite with high-end taste and a budget to match. She’d married a man forty years her senior who showered her with gifts and gave her everything her heart desired, which happened to be the shoes Knight Ops had confiscated.
Along with her hard drive and those precious heirloom wedding bands, dammit.
She folded her arms and stared at him.
“What would you like to know? That the shoes are worth half a million dollars? Or that the woman who ordered them from me will be in tomorrow to pay the second installment for them and pick them up? Or that I won’t be there to get the money or give her the shoes?” She tapped her nails on the countertop.
“Why don’t you tell me about the gems. Particularly the blue ones.”
Her brows drew together. “What are you talking about?”
“The blue gems—did you order them from someplace or were they given to you by the client?”
“What the hell are you talking about? I ordered them.” Her mind worked over the details and her heart dropped so fast that it hurt. The client had given her a photo of the exact blue gems she wanted on the shoes and had even provided her with a website to purchase them through. Half of the deposit had gone directly to purchasing those gems, some of the most expensive Athena had ever dealt with.
Rattled, she gripped the countertop.
Dylan was staring at her. “Say what’s on your mind, Athena.”
“I don’t know anything about those gems other than they’re expensive and beautiful and they make the whole design.” She was exhausted, confused and pissed off beyond measure.
She hopped off the stool, angrier that she wasn’t wearing shoes, and shoved the stool in until it banged off the counter. “Am I allowed to go to bed? Or am I supposed to sleep locked up in some dungeon?”
“I’ll show you to your room.”
She threw up a hand to stop him from coming near her. She couldn’t trust herself not to bite him again. “I’ll find it.”
She strode from the room with as much dignity as she could in stockinged feet that couldn’t even make a sound with her stomps. She followed a short hall that led to two bedrooms and she took the largest. Let Dylan feel cramped and claustrophobic.
First thing she did was go to the windows and try to open them, but they seemed to be sealed shut.
She released a growl of frustration and stormed across the room to lock the door. Then she threw herself on the bed. She needed to find some shred of control in this huge mess, but the longer she laid there, the angrier she became.
Dylan had thrown a big question into her path, and she didn’t know how to answer it.
What if the client who requisitioned those special shoes had set her up? And what could those blue gems possibly be if not extravagant details for a spoiled trophy wife?
She only lay there for a few minutes before getting up again. She walked into the kitchen to find him cleaning up the mess. Dammit, she didn’t want to see him performing these domestic tasks like a… a human being.
She folded her arms around her middle and waited to wake up from her nightmare. But after several long seconds, she was still just standing in the middle of a strange house with no shoes on.
Dylan turned to watch her. She met his gaze head-on, anger spiking inside her all over again.
“Look,” he rubbed his hand over his short hair. “I’m sorry at the way you’ve been treated. This isn’t what we do, ripping women out of their closets and throwing them into vehicles. Now this.” He stretched his hand to indicate their surroundings.
She didn’t respond to his words. He and his team had terrorized her, and she wasn’t going to forget that very quickly.
“Will you sit so we can talk?”
“You mean interrogate me some more.”
His expression changed from the stern asshole he was to something she couldn’t wrap her head around. He looked… contrite.
He took a seat, leaving her standing. “Let me explain what’s happening the best I can without telling you classified information.” He waved at a chair, and she reluctantly took it. Once she lowered onto the wooden seat, her muscles that had been screaming with tension seemed to turn to jelly.
“We don’t operate on our own, so when you think of us barging into your boutique and tearing it apart—harshly, I might add—it is because of our orders.”
She gave a light nod though she didn’t totally get any of it. The who, what, whys of the entire ordeal were beyond her understanding.
“I can’t explain more. Just know that we are not the monsters you think we are. We were just acting on orders, doing our jobs. Whether or not you’re involved—”
“I’m not.” She set her jaw.
His gaze traveled over her face as if searching for the answers in her features. She stared right back until he gave a nod. “Okay, maybe you can tell me more about those shoes.”
Here we go again.
“I told you they’re for a client. She requisitioned them as an original creation.”
“But such a pricey item would be kept in the safe, surely.”
“They were inside a locked drawer, if you’ll recall. And in my world, that is enough. I don’t have break-ins or clients who would shoplift when they have the cash in hand.”
“Fair enough.” He sat back against the chair and all of a sudden, she saw him as a man and not the beast she had up until that point. Conversing with him in a more civilized manner was showing her things she wasn’t certain she was ready for. She was still furious about what had been done to her and her shop. And she wasn’t going to forgive so easily just because he suddenly looked human.
In black cargo pants and a black T-shirt that fitted to his muscles like a second skin, he was still intimidating. Actually, if she met him on the street, she would only look twice because of his size and the way he carried himself, with the presence of a god.
He sat there for a few minutes in silence. Finally, he looked up at her. “I’m sorry for the trouble, miss.”
She’d been taught to accept apologies with grace, and she automatically responded with a nod and a murmured, “All right.”
“No, it isn’t. The more I think on the situation, the more I realize the colonel acted on intel and you were just caught in the crossfire.”
“When are you going to believe me in saying I am not involved in what you believe I am. I’m a business owner and a designer. I have a simple life that I fill with my love for my work.” She paused, realizing this was getting her nowhere, repeating—over and over—the same mantra of innocence. Or ignorance, as the case may be. Resigned, she said, “Is there a bathroom for me to wash up besides this one off the kitchen?”
He jerked to his feet. “Of course. I’m sorry. I should have showed you where it’s at earlier. This way.”
He walked through the living room to a short hallway leading to bedrooms and a bathroom. He knew his way around the space, leading her to believe he’d been here with others before. She didn’t want to think about that, about what other women were being accused of terrible things or that there was so much danger in the city she loved.
She washed her hands and splashed water on her face. Looking in the mirror, she saw the creases of strain around her eyes and thought of how she must look to Dylan. Not that she cared, but the way he studied her so closely made her wonder if he still had suspicions.
It wouldn’t be the first time her looks had earned her questioning. In airports, she was often stopped. Wrong or right, it was something she lived with. In time, she believed the United States would stop fearing all the people who looked like they hailed from that part of the world that had been responsible for the attacks of 9-11.
&nb
sp; She leaned against the counter and fought against the constant worries hurling themselves at her brain. How to get out of this situation? She only wanted to go home and get on with her quiet, yet happy life. And what about her shop? It was a disaster, and she’d lose so much money at her most important time of year.
Realizing all she had was her wits and determination, she walked out of the bathroom and into the living room where Dylan sat. He looked up at her entrance, and something passed over his face.
Something almost vulnerable.
She didn’t understand such an expression coming from him, and she raised her chin a notch as she walked up to him. “I’d like to leave now.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Am I under arrest?” she asked for the second time.
“No, you aren’t. But you’re deep in this sh—” He broke off on the curse, as if she was too sensitive to harsh words that she only wanted to use herself. “Pardon, miss. My maman taught me better. You’re deep in the middle of this situation, and I promise to return you home as soon as it’s possible.”
In other words, she was wasting her breath.
He stood and gave her a penetrating look. “I give you my word, Athena.”
Her belly gave a small tremble at his use of her name.
“I guess I have no say and no choice in any of this.”
His eyes were almost sad as he looked into her eyes. “I’m doing what is best for you. I can only say that I will give you your life back when it’s time.”
The when it’s time hung in the air, unsaid.
The man might be trying to lure her in with kind looks and softer-spoken words, but that didn’t mean she was buying it.
Chapter Three
Dylan’s thumbs moved over the burner phone. Replying to Ben about what was going on here at the safe house took all of two sentences.
My charge is calm. She hasn’t changed her story.
He threw a look at the closed bedroom door. When he’d asked about those gems, the expression of blank shock on her face wasn’t something people easily faked unless they’d been trained extensively to cover their reactions. Dylan had seen it before, and he didn’t like that he couldn’t get a read on Athena.
Ben must be busy because he didn’t respond. So Dylan pocketed the phone and quietly walked to the bedroom door. His hearing was excellent, but he didn’t detect a sound from inside. He stood there a long minute, wondering if he should knock and ask if she needed anything.
Hell, he might ask just to hear the sharp edge of her tongue one more time. Her spunk amused him.
Deciding he should leave her be, he turned toward the living room again just as a crack of thunder shook the house. A muffled noise from within made him jerk his hand up, prepared to break in the door if necessary.
The choked sound cut off and silence reigned again, though the rumbling growl of thunder went on and on. Another streak of lightning lit the place, and in that old trick his pére had taught him for figuring out if the storm was getting closer or moving away, Dylan began counting.
One-one hundred, two-one hundred. Three—
Another loud boom hit, and he listened closely at the door, but no sound reached his ears.
The storm went on and on, raging like it only could on the Gulf. Dylan moved away from Athena’s door a few more times, only to be brought back by another thunderbolt so intense that he was sure she might need something.
He wasn’t going to contemplate why he felt the urge to stand guard this way like some protector.
His shirt clung to his spine, the sticky air not even cut by the air conditioning, and he pictured her on the bed, pantyhose balled up on the floor and her legs bare. Maybe even sleeping in her bra and panties.
His mouth dried out.
He’d been around a lot of beautiful women, but he’d been trained to be aware of every single thing in every single moment, and right now he admitted Athena stirred his blood in a way he hadn’t felt in too long. Maybe it was only because he was a horny motherfucker, but he didn’t think she was just any other woman.
Dylan had reminded Ben that a Knight always followed his gut, and right now it was screaming that Athena was the most desirable woman he’d ever set eyes on.
He sank to the floor outside her door, leaning his back to it. With one leg outstretched and the other hitched up, he slung his arm around his knee and let the noise of the storm roll over him.
As a kid he’d always loved storms. Then he’d experienced battle and quickly those placid tones of thunder had transformed to something to be feared in his mind. He’d heard of fellow Marines being thrown into PTSD episodes during storms, but luckily he was okay.
He rested his head against the door and let his mind wander back to those summer nights in his childhood bed when he’d listen to the thunder, Chaz and Roades not far off in the bunkbed. Sometimes Roades, being youngest, would get up and pad down to their parents’ room to crawl between the sheets with them and gain comfort, but Dylan would lie there and listen to the fury of nature.
When another flash of lightning lit the hallway, he thought of how Athena would look in the bluish light, those dark curls highlighted to the color of a raven’s feathers.
His cock twitched with the need to sink into her, to claim her as the world raged around them.
Port in a storm. Hell, his thoughts of keeping her safe were going off the rails.
Thunder vibrated the house again, and a thump behind the door had him leaning away from the door. It flew open and Athena tripped over him. She went down hard—or would have if he hadn’t caught her.
The air whooshed from her and then she struggled against him, only managing to tangle her legs more with his. As lightning streaked down again, Dylan made out her features. Parted lips, wide eyes, the adorable slope of her nose… and enough hair to wig two women and a child.
Her eyes grew huge as she realized he was holding her cradled against his chest and his thigh rode high against the V of her legs.
“Get off me!” Palms on his chest, she pushed away. She rolled onto her stomach and then got to all fours.
He gazed at the roundness of her ass. “Jesus,” he muttered, launching to his feet before he could grasp her hips and yank that beautiful behind back into his groin.
His cock throbbed. Damn, this woman was giving him a run for his money. He reached down for her hand. When he pulled her to a stand, she folded her arms tight over her chest.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Protecting you.”
“Guarding more like.”
God, that sassy mouth was the equivalent of flint to steel. It had been a very long time since he’d had a spirited woman. Most saw how he looked and fell into bed with him with very few words exchanged, and Athena was refreshing as hell.
The storm seemed to hit a fever pitch, and he wasn’t coping very well with the burn in his groin either. He ran his fingers through his hair, thinking up something to say, but she turned and headed to the kitchen.
She was fully clothed though her legs were bare, he knew from the scorching heat he’d felt through his cargo pants. He fixated on her backside until she bent over to retrieve a bottled water from the refrigerator.
He tore his gaze away. “Sit down.”
“Why?” She looked about to bolt back to her room and lock herself in again.
Probably not a bad idea if she knew the dirty thoughts circulating in his mind.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, and he drew away.
“When my brothers couldn’t sleep during a storm, my maman would make us hot cocoa and a special snack.”
She eyed him, that adorable crinkle between her dark brows begging for his lips. He wanted to feel the worry smooth away and then look into her eyes before claiming her mouth.
“Trust me.” He waved to the stool again, and she reluctantly took it.
Sometime while they had been sleeping, the power went out, but he had a flashlight with a
strong beam. He switched it on and set it in the center of the countertop so the halo of light struck the ceiling and lit the space better than a candle could.
He went about fixing the cocoa and a snack. Bread, peanut butter, grape jelly. He placed the sandwich on the plate and began cutting off the crusts. He didn’t glance up but felt Athena’s gaze following him. And fuck no, he wasn’t going to admit the way it tightened his insides.
When he pushed the plate across the counter to her, she stared at it.
“PB&J with the crusts cut off,” he said.
“I know what it is. I’ve never had the crusts cut off before.”
He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “It’s how my brothers and I liked it.” He mixed up some hot cocoa for each of them and placed two steaming mugs on the counter.
“I always liked PB&J as a kid.” She lifted the triangle to her lips.
“I know.”
She froze before she bit off the corner. “You know?”
He studied her face. If he told her that he could find out more in a file than she’d ever want to disclose to any other human, she’d hop off that stool, run to her room and lock the door faster than he could draw breath.
But he couldn’t lie to her either.
“I’m known as a brainiac among my team. I can find things out.”
She dropped her sandwich to her plate and glared. “How?”
“I’m good at uncovering information.”
“So you read people’s grocery lists from their trash.”
The laugh took him by surprise. It escaped his lips before he could bite it back, but damn, it felt good. He shook his head. “No, I don’t do those things. But there’s information on everybody in the world if you know where to look.”
She shoved the plate back at him as if by eating it, he’d have some advantage over her. She leaned her elbows on the counter. “Do you know my father’s name?”
“Mohamed Mohamed.”
She smacked her palms off the counter, frustration taking over her pretty features. “My car make?”
“You don’t own a car. You take public transportation.”
Angry heat glimmered in her eyes. If the light had been better, he might not have been able to keep going in the face of that anger, but he was feeling a bit reckless too.
