YULETIDE PROTECTOR

by Julie Miller

  “No.” He shouldn’t want this, either.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, stroking her fingers along his jaw, as if she could feel the tension there.

  He nodded toward the door. “Kincaid looked like he was breaking into the building. You’re sure you trust him?”

  “Yes. I’ve known him for a couple of years. His supervisor has worked for Jackson’s company since I was a teenager. They provide security for Mother and Jackson’s house, or when visiting dignitaries fly into town to do business with Jackson. I’m sure they’ll be at the Ball on Saturday.” Her fingers stopped their sensuous petting and she dropped her hands back to the middle of his chest. “I meant, why are you here in the first place? Or should I say the last place? Have you been watching over me, all night?”

  He couldn’t answer that. It would mean admitting more than he should. Still, his hands weren’t getting the message from his brain, and they came up to settle over hers. “Why wouldn’t your stepfather tell you he was assigning men to keep an eye on you?”

  “Maybe he didn’t want to infringe on my quest for independence. More likely, he didn’t want to alarm my mother. She isn’t dealing well with the risk I’m taking.”

  “She can’t deal with it? You’re the one who was assaulted.”

  “She doesn’t understand my need to...fight back.” Bailey pulled away and shoved her fingers through her hair, leaving a rumpled mess in their wake. “I think she wants it to all just go away so that she doesn’t have to worry about me anymore. So she doesn’t have to worry about anything but her parties and giving Jackson a beautiful home. Try to find some sympathy for her, Spencer. She’s not a strong person.”

  “She leaked the threats you received to the press.”

  “I saw the news last night. Mother called to say Vanessa Owen had spoken to her.” She shivered visibly before hugging her arms around herself again. “Vanessa told my mother it would be good PR for the Christmas Ball to mention my name.”

  That stupid ball. Such a public event. Although The Cleaner liked to work in the shadows, and catch her victims when they were vulnerable and alone, he still didn’t like the idea of such a bright spotlight being focused on Bailey. Even if Zeiss Security proved to be a topnotch protection service, there’d be too many people to watch, too many opportunities to lose track of the D.A.’s star witness, too many ways she could get hurt.

  “Are your parents going to make sure someone’s with you around the clock?”

  “I suppose.”

  “They better. Because I can’t be here for you.”

  Her cheeks blanched to an unnatural shade of pale at his sharp tone. “But you were here all night...” Then she smiled, misunderstanding the meaning of his words. “That’s okay. Do you work today? Will you have a chance to sleep?”

  The emotions bubbled up, and his voice grew harsh as he tried to control them. “I’m talking long-term, Bailey. I want you to be safe. That’s my top priority right now. I’ll solve the damn case. But I can’t be your bodyguard.”

  “I didn’t ask—”

  “If that bruiser loses track of you, or locks himself out again, and you’re in trouble, remember the lesson I gave you. Nose, throat, gut and groin.” Spencer caught her hands and pulled them to his face, neck and stomach. They lingered at his waist, then slid beneath his coat and jacket to his flanks. Her brave touch humbled him, branded him. “You’re not like your mother. You’re strong. You can take care of yourself.”

  “I understand. I’m responsible for my own safety. I’ll talk to Jackson again. I’ll make sure the security team introduces themselves to me so there are no more misunderstandings.” Her eyes grew bright with tears she tried to blink away. “Thank you, anyway, for...being there for me when I needed you. I won’t bother you again.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” His fingers locked on to her wrists, keeping her hands from pulling away. “If you need a cop, of course, I’ll be here for you. You can always call. I just can’t—”

  “It’s okay.” She shushed him as one of the tears spilled over onto her cheek. “I know I’m an inconvenience. You have important work to do. I’m not the type of woman you need. You have a life of your own. Whatever the reason is, I can sense you don’t want things to get personal between us. Even though...”

  She didn’t have to finish the sentence. It had been like this between them from day one. They were meant to be. But they couldn’t be. The timing had never been right. He’d been grieving Ellen. She’d been engaged. Completing the task force’s work was his sole mission. She needed a patience and sensitivity to recover from the rape he couldn’t provide. And the situation now was as far from right as it could get.

  Another tear left a shiny trail across her cheek and Spencer moved his thumb there to wipe it away from her cool skin. “I’m sorry.” He tunneled his fingers into the damp silk of her hair and framed her head in his hands, tilting her face up to his as he drifted closer. “Work and relationships don’t mix well for me. I’ve lost so much and you need more than I can give. You’re something special, and I’m tempted, but...”

  Her tears shimmered against the shadows of pain in her eyes, and a tight knot twisted deep in his gut at knowing he was any part of the hurt she felt. Spencer pressed a kiss to her forehead and lingered there, committing to memory the softness of her skin, the sunny warm scent of her hair, the sheer perfection of her brave spirit and gentle, compassionate soul.

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  And when she should have nodded her head, when he should have pulled away, Bailey stretched up to kiss the corner of his mouth and whispered, “Thank you. For everything.”

  Ah, hell. She had a beautiful woman’s mouth—as soft and sleek and sexy as the rest of her. Spencer felt the strain in his muscles, all the way down to his toes, as he fought the urge to move his lips over hers. He hovered. She waited. He wanted. Her breathy sigh was a tickle of warmth against his skin.

  Spencer lost the battle and closed his mouth over hers. His fingertips tightened against her scalp. Hers dug into the sides of his waist. The tips of her breasts beaded against his chest as she leaned into the kiss, sending shards of longing south of his belt buckle and deeper inside. He stroked his tongue over the supple seam of her lips and they parted for him. With a stuttering hum of surrender she slid her tongue against his, tasting him as he plundered her mouth.

  He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose, to the corner of each eye where he sipped away the salty residue of her tears. When her arms slid around his waist and her sweet curves molded to his harder frame, he claimed her mouth again. He crowded his hips and thighs into hers, wanting to feel every exquisite inch of her against his body.

  He was hungry for this woman, starving. She was holding on with both fists, giving everything he asked for, demanding he hold nothing back.

  The kiss should have released the tension inside him, but it only coiled tighter and tighter.

  Maybe that was the lesson to be learned from giving in to this kiss. What his heart and body wanted didn’t matter.

  Bailey Austin mattered.

  And he couldn’t do this and be the man she needed him to be.

  It took all the strength he possessed to tear his mouth from hers and ease the tangle of his fingers in her hair. She leaned back against the wall, pulling her arms from his waist and resting them against the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Her deep breaths matched his own and the stunned look in her eyes matched what he was feeling inside.

  “I haven’t...,” she began. Then her fingers curled around his tie as if she was reluctant to pull away entirely.

  Spencer rested his forehead against hers and looked down to meet her upturned gaze. “You haven’t what?”

  “I haven’t kissed a man since...before...” The rape. Ah, hell. He’d come on like a crazy man, practicall
y driving her against the wall. He could have hurt her, scared her, reminded her— She tugged on his tie, as if reading his mind and reprimanding him for his regrets. “I haven’t thought about anyone that way until you. I’ve never been so ready for a man to kiss me.”

  There were words to say—thank-you’s and you deserve better and I’ve been waiting for that kiss, too.

  But Spencer said none of those things. He thought of Ellen Vartran and just how much he could lose. He imagined Bailey dying in his arms, making promises she could never hope to keep.

  He stroked her swollen lips with the pad of his thumb.

  Walk away. Now.

  Or he never would.

  He took a step back, and retreated a lot farther inside. “You’ll be fine. My people are going to track down the watch and whoever took those photos of you. I’ll verify each of the men your stepfather has watching you. We’ll get The Cleaner. You’ll be just fine. I promise.”

  Bailey’s eyes widened, then shuttered. She’d given him the finest compliment a man could ask for and he’d answered as if he were making a report to the chief. She pulled her hands from his tie, breaking their last contact. “I’ll see you at the courthouse on Monday.”

  “Goodbye, B. Lock the door behind you.”

  She nodded and reached behind her to turn the door knob and slip back inside. “Goodbye.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Stop that.” She swatted Brian’s hand away when he reached down to rub the raw skin beneath the ankle bracelet that allowed KCPD to keep track of his movements.

  “Here.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, the woman dabbed a cotton ball soaked with hydrogen peroxide against the wounds where he’d scratched it. His breath hissed as she pushed aside his pajama pant leg to cleanse the self-inflicted wounds. “Poor thing,” she sympathized, glancing at the clock on the bedside table as she reached for the ointment. Her colleague had better call soon. The police weren’t the only ones with the ability to monitor their prey. She smiled as she straightened and opened the tube. “It must sting.”

  His hands fisted in the covers as he fought to control his illness. “I want it off. Now.”

  “You can’t do that, darling.” She rubbed the soothing gel beneath the ring on his leg. “We have to show the judge how well you’re cooperating with his mandate. You must be patient if we’re going to win this case.”

  “At least if I go to prison I won’t have to wear this damn thing anymore.”

  There he’d be living with mice and bugs and most likely a cell mate, with a stainless-steel toilet right there near the cot where he’d sleep. Brian couldn’t survive a situation like that with his obsessive-compulsive disorder.

  But she wasn’t worried. “You aren’t going to prison.” He belonged in this hotel’s penthouse suite with her, even if there was a black-and-white police car parked on the street below them. “Soon, everything will be taken care of.”

  His deep blue eyes demanded she see reason. “If Bailey Austin testifies—”

  “She won’t.” She had always been the voice of reason in this relationship. He was the brilliant designer, the innovative business tycoon with a vision for restoring this city to its architectural splendor. Let him be the castle-builder whom so many people admired. She was the clever workhorse who did the unpleasant jobs, who smoothed over the rough patches of an illustrious career, who loved him despite his mood swings and obsessions. She wiped her fingers on a towel before gently touching his lips. “I promised I’d take care of you. And I always will.”

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand from his mouth. “I am not some babe to be taken care of.”

  He swiped the towel from her hand and wiped his lips.

  No. He was certainly a man. A great man in her eyes. Their relationship had to remain secret, but for years—longer than anyone might suspect—it had remained strong. They shared a stormy history of love and hate and lots of taking. They both had benefitted from this affair. But no one had ever needed her the way this man did. And for that need, for him, she would do anything.

  The telephone rang and she got up, tying her robe securely around her waist. “There’s the call I’m waiting for.” She pointed a warning finger at him as he swung his feet to the floor. “Try not to scratch.” When she reached the desk in the adjoining office, she picked up the phone. “Yes?”

  “That red-haired cop—Montgomery—he was at her place again.”

  “I see.” She kept her voice pleasant, and her smile in place so as not to alarm Brian. She’d just gotten him settled down. He’d surveyed his newest warehouse renovation project, and signed all the office papers and checks for the day. It was her time now. The time when he’d show just how much he still loved her, and why all her hard work on his behalf was worth it. “And now?”

  “He drove off. He didn’t look happy. Neither did she.”

  Good. Distance between Bailey Austin and the crusading detective would work to her advantage. The woman crossed her arms beneath her breasts and turned away. “Where is Bailey now?”

  “Still in her apartment. You don’t need me to keep doing this, do you? Spying on her?” Her colleague was wavering, questioning her instructions. “I mean, the trial starts in three days. If you haven’t scared her off yet, then you’re not going to. Maybe she’s got more backbone than you think, and your plan won’t work.”

  Her plans always worked. “Not only will you keep eyes on her and report anything you find out, you will take the next step. This afternoon, I think.”

  “I don’t know. This doesn’t feel right.”

  Now this just wouldn’t do. Her colleagues could be easily replaced—but timing was crucial, and this one was in the perfect position to carry out her orders. Recruiting someone new would take time Brian didn’t have. “Would you rather I leak the name of the strip club where you worked to the tabloids? Let’s see, that particular establishment had connections to organized crime, didn’t it? Wouldn’t that make a juicy story on the evening news?” She paused to let the seriousness of the threat set in. “I have several reporters’ numbers on speed dial.”

  “That would cost me my job and my license.”

  “And?” The long pause at the other end of the line meant cooperation was now guaranteed. Oh, how it paid to know other people’s secrets.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  * * *

  THE WIND WHIPPED across the hilltop at Mt. Washington Cemetery, stinging his cheeks and ruffling his hair, but Spencer didn’t feel it.

  The yellow rose he’d laid on the ground in front of the red marble marker had blown across the snow and caught in one of the foot prints he’d made when he’d dug down to uncover Ellen Vartran’s grave. Twenty-seven years. Not nearly a long enough life. Only one year older than Bailey Austin.

  He couldn’t bury someone else at so young an age.

  He couldn’t lose another... Spencer couldn’t bring himself to even think the word love. It just wasn’t a part of his vocabulary anymore.

  So why did he kiss Bailey?

  Because he hadn’t been thinking. He’d only been feeling.

  That was a mistake he could never repeat. Or else he’d end up here on another dreary day with another flower.

  Alive was the only outcome he wanted for Bailey Austin. The best way to ensure that was to keep a clear head, track down and erase The Cleaner and finish Brian Elliott’s trial.

  Love wasn’t anywhere in that picture.

  Okay, so maybe he was feeling the wintry chill a little. Inside, where a wool coat and knitted scarf didn’t do him any good.

  “Why’d you do it, El?” Spencer shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, still wondering how that last night at the safe house had gone so wrong. Why hadn’t he seen her looking for a way out of testifying against the men her brother
had worked for? A better cop would have seen the darting looks, would have noticed his phone sitting on top of his clothes instead of inside the pocket of his jeans where he’d dropped them on the way into the shower with her. She hadn’t trusted him enough to keep her safe, and she’d been right. He’d been focused on her, on them—he hadn’t been paying close enough attention. “Why’d you make that phone call?”

  His answer was the sound of an engine shifting into 4-wheel drive. Spencer turned his face into the north wind to see Nick Fensom’s Jeep slowly climbing the hairpin turns and pulling to a stop on the road behind his Suburban. Nick had Annie with him, and the two were arguing about something until Nick leaned across the seat and kissed her. With a smile and a shake of her head, she nudged him toward the door and gave Spencer a small wave.

  Spencer nodded in return as Nick left the motor running and climbed out. He tightened the gray scarf around his neck and clapped his gloved hands together against the cold. “Thought I’d find you here. Annie’s worried you’ll get frostbite. She says I need to talk you into coming over to the new house tonight for some takeout and friendly company.”

  “You just want to put me to work painting the new kitchen.” This teasing give and take had always been easy with Nick. Sometimes, they were the only conversations he had all day that had nothing to do with work.

  “Isn’t that part of the best man’s responsibilities? Helping his buddy remodel the old house the bride and groom are going to be moving into?”

  Spencer glanced down at his partner’s wise-ass expression. “That’s what your brothers and sisters and contractor father are far. All I have to do is show up with the ring. And make sure you show up at the wedding.”