He turned to face her and frowned. “What are you talking about?” She was leaning against the wall, eyes wide and shining with excitement.
“That door. Look at the jamb.” She approached the door and pointed to tiny silver wires he hadn’t noticed lacing the hinges. “If it opens, I think it will set off an alarm.”
Well son of a bitch. Damned if she wasn’t right. Every time he turned around she was doing something else to surprise him. Pyew pyewing in the mirror like some kind of secret agent, finding a rigged door when he hadn’t seen it himself…it was like working with a damn jack-in-the-box.
“So what do we do?” she murmured.
He cleared his throat and made for his wire cutters again, deftly snipping the tiny cords before pushing open the office door. When they stepped in, no alarm sounded. No dogs were unleashed. In fact, the only thing of note at all was the slip of paper on the floor in front of the door, with his name written in red ink on the front.
“What’s that?” she asked, craning her head around to see.
He took the note in hand and read over the message scrawled on the back.
McClintock,
If you’re reading this, that means we clearly aren’t doing something right. The contract for both my home and the rest of the development is yours. Contact my assistant and we’ll set up a time to sign the paperwork.
Barry
He nodded, his mind glazed over by realization that if Sarabeth hadn’t been there, he might not have gotten his new, million-dollar client.
Although if he was being really honest with himself, if her fine ass hadn’t been so distracting, he wouldn’t have missed the rigged door in the first place. Still, he had to give the doc credit. It was a solid catch.
He shoved the note in his pocket and turned to face her, but she stared at him, hand outstretched. “I want to see.” He shook his head. “Job’s over, we can go now.” He moved forward, backing her toward the door again, but she dug in her heels.
“I did the work right along with you, and I want to see what it says.”
And he wanted to get the hell out of there before he did something really stupid, like tell her how proud he was of her, or tried to kiss her on those full—although currently pursed—lips.
He attempted to go around her, but she wasn’t having it and dove forward to make for the note in his pocket. He caught her wrist, and in that moment their eyes locked. Her breath hitched, her pupils dilated, but she didn’t look away. Sure signs of fear…or something else. The blood buzzed in his ears while he waited for the clue that told him which it was. An instant later, her body was angling toward him, the tip of her tongue flicking out to moisten her lips…
Fuck.
He dropped her hand like it was a live grenade, but before he could step away, she was on her tiptoes, mouth slanted over his, catching his bottom lip between her teeth before kissing him for everything she was worth.
He shouldn’t have. In fact, every working brain cell left in his head blared a warning not to, but he didn’t listen to a single one. Instead, he closed his hands over her trim hips, pinning her close, and kissed her back. Already imagining pressing her against the wall and taking her from behind. Already picturing what that lithe body would look like naked. She strained closer, crushing her breasts to his chest, and he pushed back. Her fingers were locked tight onto his shoulders, her nails digging into the muscle there, and he groaned, imagining that same sweet sting on his back as he plunged into her over and over. He dragged his mouth away to tell her as much, but she pushed away, stepping from his grasp with a shuddering sigh.
“I-I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.” She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head slowly, big green eyes still dazed. “I guess—heat of the moment, right?” Forcing a smile to her trembling lips, which were still red from his mouth, she backed out of the room to the soundtrack of their labored breathing.
He watched her go, needing a moment to collect himself and to get a handle on this new development. Because as exciting as the prospect of a new client had been, his mind wasn’t focused on the work or the money anymore. It was on the way her soft pink lips had felt as they’d crashed into him. The feel of her warm breath. The way she kept surprising him at every turn. The way this woman—the wrongest woman on the planet for a guy like him—made him feel more alive than he had since he could remember.
And the way he was surely going to fuck this all up somehow.
Chapter Eight
The entire ride home, she hadn’t spared him a word or glance. Instead she’d apparently decided trying to disappear would be the better move. Her arms were crossed over her chest, jutting shoulders hitched practically to her chin as she shrank deeper and deeper into the seat of the car.
By the time they were halfway home, she had him feeling like some kind of monster and finally, he blew out a sigh, gripping the wheel tighter.
“Look. It’s not that big of a deal. We kissed.” He shrugged, trying to keep his tone light. “It was pretty intense back there, what with the alarm clock going off…” He forced a chuckle, trying to goad her out of her mood, but she sniffed without responding.
“Like you said, it happens sometimes. Heat of the moment. Adrenaline pumping. We can forget all about it.” He glanced toward her, and she straightened slightly. Her hair had fallen away from her face and she was chewing her bottom lip, brows knitted together. She met his gaze for the first time since they’d left the mansion.
“Yeah?” Her cheeks were already a deep pink, but they were growing redder by the second. “You think so?”
“Yeah.” He nodded, biting back the urge to growl and take it back. Fuck no, he didn’t want to forget about it. He wanted to remember it over and over, and add new, more naked memories to that one. He shifted in his seat, the crotch of his pants growing tight again. She wanted to forget it? He’d find a way to do that. So long as she was safe, he was doing his job.
Still, Sarabeth didn’t seem at all eased by his reassurances. In fact, almost as soon as they crossed the threshold of his house, she darted to her room, mumbling some flimsy excuse about needing a nap and something else he couldn’t quite make out. Hell, if she’d moved any faster, a cartoon puff of dust might’ve kicked up behind her like she was the damned Road Runner.
Deciding it was better to let her recover, he left a note letting her know he’d be in his office for the rest of the day, along with instructions on how to use the television remote in the living room, then he locked himself in downstairs. After making a few calls—one to Owen, and one to an old army buddy in munitions to try to get a lead on the type of device left in Sarabeth’s car—he worked on some reports and soon found himself blissfully knee-deep in work. By the time his friend called back to let him know they’d hit a dead end on the bomb’s possible origin, the sun was setting. He set down the receiver with a sigh and rubbed at his weary eyes. With the way things were going, it looked like Sarabeth might be around for a while.
All the more reason to stay away from her, he reminded himself.
But it was no use. Every time he thought of her, the memory of his lips against hers, of the way her body had molded around him, came rushing back in. How the hell had this happened? It could have been so easy if she’d been the trust fund doctor with a stick up her ass he’d been expecting. What he’d gotten instead—between her innate toughness, quick wit, and amazing figure—was nothing short of straight-up libido sabotage. He’d never met another woman like her. And one thing was for damn sure, even if she wasn’t completely off-limits as his client, a street rat from Edinburgh was never going to be good enough for a white-collar hotel princess. Plain and simple.
His stomach growled loudly, and he glanced at the clock. Five o’clock and he hadn’t eaten lunch. He wondered if Sarabeth had made use of the kitchen for herself and realized it wasn’t likely. She was far too polite to rummage around someone else’s refrigerator in search of food. Guilt pricked him, and he picked up the phone. He
placed a quick call to Tate Boyd and asked him to come watch the house for an hour so he could get the doc some more clothes and grab a pizza for them before they settled in for the evening.
By the time he got back, a bag of clothes and an impulse buy of books for her under one arm, and a pizza balanced in the other, it was after seven.
“Sarabeth, I’ve got dinner!” he shouted up the stairs, but no patter of light footsteps answered him. Instead, a soft call came to him from the far end of the main floor hall.
“In here!”
He stalked into the living room where she sat on his wide leather couch clothed in yoga pants and a Nirvana T-shirt, a half-empty goblet of red wine resting on the glass end table beside her. The large, touch-screen remote was resting in her lap, but the TV screen was blank.
“This thing is impossible,” she muttered, carefully setting the remote beside her wineglass as he planted the pizza boxes on the coffee table in front of her.
“So you decided you’d sit in here in front of a blank screen and drink alone?” He gave her half a smirk as he settled into an armchair adjacent to the couch. “That’s healthy.”
Hell, who was he kidding? He wished he’d thought of it earlier. Maybe that would’ve stopped the thoughts of the two of them rolling around naked from taking up most of his headspace. He eyed her more carefully, taking in her mussed hair and slightly unfocused eyes. She clearly wasn’t on her first drink. Had she been trying to erase the memory of their kiss too?
“I’m a doctor,” she said, holding up both hands in front of her. “I don’t need you to tell me that my habits are destructive.” She slurred the last word and it came out sounding like “disducktrive.”
Apparently, her afternoon had been more eventful than he’d imagined.
“Right, then.” He reached for the remote. “How’s about we watch a little TV while you switch to water, and we get some food in our stomachs?”
She shrugged, and he clicked on the TV with the pad of his pointer finger. A blond woman with a lion’s mane of perfectly coiffed hair was sitting behind her news desk, talking about a shooting that had taken place a few counties over. Clearing her throat, she closed the segment right as a familiar picture popped up next to her head.
Sarabeth’s photo, the way she’d looked before—her face thin, and her hair still long and blond. Weird, he barely remembered she had looked like that.
The object of his attentions—who had been mid-sip—plunked her wineglass on the table and settled into the cushions of the couch with a groan.
“In related news,” the news anchor continued in her throaty timbre, “police have determined that Dr. Sarabeth Lucking, who police had suspected was either kidnapped or dead earlier this week after her car exploded in her driveway, is now officially listed as a missing person. After close investigation, a forensic team has announced, in keeping with their initial findings, that no human remains were found at the scene of the crime. Citizens are advised that, should they catch sight of Ms. Lucking, they are to report her presence to officials. The Lucking family remains hopeful for Sara’s return.”
Shit. He’d hoped for another few days before whoever had made an attempt on her life realized they definitely hadn’t succeeded. Now he’d have to be on high alert, and that meant sticking even closer. No point in telling that to the doc yet. She looked like she was having some sort of emotional crisis as it was.
He clicked off the TV and turned to her. She had recovered her glass and was swirling the ruby liquid inside.
“It’s Sarabeth,” she mumbled.
That was the takeaway from that particular newscast? She must really be bombed. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Now my grandparents can go about their lives again instead of having to pretend they’re in mourning. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.” She tilted her head back and gulped down the rest of the alcohol in one go. “It’s good news, really.”
No need to point out all the negatives yet, then. “You hungry? I got pepperoni and plain.” He slid the boxes to sit side by side on the table and opened each lid, letting the spicy tomato sauce scent fill the room. Making his way into the kitchen, he glanced at the wine bottle on the island. It had been unopened before they’d left this morning. It was now more than halfway gone, and something told him the doc was probably a bit of a lightweight.
“Damn, you put a hurting on this.”
She managed a weak smile, but he could see the pain in her eyes. Maybe she didn’t realize all the ramifications of the news report yet, but she knew one thing for sure. Nobody at home was missing her right now. Nobody at home was truly worried for her safety. In a sense, he was the only one she had in the middle of this mess.
He retrieved a beer for himself instead before carrying the wine bottle into the living room and topping off her glass. After their news, maybe the water could wait a while longer. What was a little buzz going to hurt?
“Pepperoni? Wow, I can’t remember the last time I had this.” She reached for a slice and bit down, the gooey cheese forming tiny strings between her lips and the pizza. She ran her tongue over her top lip, breaking off the remnants and leaving a thin, glistening sheen on her mouth.
“Really?” He reached for his own slice, trying not to concentrate on the way she made eating look like the good kind of porn. “More the veggie-lover-hold-the-cheese type?”
She offered him a wan smile. “No. I mean, I guess so now, but not when I was young. I loved it, but my grandparents weren’t big on pizza.”
Or joy, from what he could tell. But he kept his mouth shut and his annoyance to himself and let her continue.
“The only time I ever had it as a kid was when my mom would sneak me out to this pizza place in town.” The smile that had seemed so tender slipped from her face, her lips thinning instead into a line. “Anyway, I kind of got out of the habit of eating it.”
“Sorry.” He paused for a moment, watching her as she chewed thoughtfully, staring blankly at nothing in the corner of the room. “Did she…has she passed on?”
Slowly, Sarabeth turned to face him, her expression chilly. “No, not that I know of.”
It sounded like the end of their discussion, and he intended to leave her with her secrets, but she continued.
“You know, my grandparents told me she had, at first. They even went out all dressed in black and said I couldn’t go to the funeral because I was too young. Really, it was the most effort they ever put into sparing my feelings, as terrible as it sounds. They hadn’t counted on her middle-of-the-night phone calls trying to figure out how to get more money, though.” She took a swig of her wine. “So, no, she’s not dead. But she may as well be.”
He expected there to be bitterness in her tone, but there was none. She was matter-of-fact about her abandonment, and another thread of respect for her weaved into the strange attraction he felt. Again, he found himself wanting to comfort her as he had that morning, but he pulled back, not sure how to start.
Her confession had him thinking over his own childhood, memories of his mother’s late-night clients swirling through his head. Imagines of the mornings he’d spend tending to her wounds, and the morning her wounds couldn’t be tended to and he realized he wouldn’t have to look after her anymore. One less person to protect, which was both a horror and a blessing at the ripe old age of twelve.
He pulled on his beer, allowing the chilled liquid to awaken him from the realization that he and Sarabeth were far more alike than he would have thought.
“Looks like you’re going to have to teach me some self-defense sooner rather than later. Now whoever is after me knows I’m alive…I’m going to need to know what to do.”
He should’ve known she was far too quick, even tipsy, to have missed the correlation. He sighed and nodded.
She gulped down the last of her drink and smiled, hoisting the glass aloft. “Not that tonight would be ideal timing.”
“Actually, I’m rethinking and maybe we should hang he
re for a while. I’ll work from home for a few days. It’s too dangerous out there. While I was out, I got you some books to pass the time, so you can have the run of the whole upstairs and I’ll stay out of your hair. Just until this whole thing is settled.”
She cocked an eyebrow and studied him before answering, her bleary eyes going sharp again. She had a good bullshit meter too, this one. “This is because I kissed you.” It was not a question.
“No, that’s forgotten. It’s…not a good environment for you.” Or him. Having her close was a necessity. Having her within touching distance while he worked and that work making her heart pound and her eyes go all glassy in a way that made him wish he could bury himself inside her and keep that look on her face all day and night was not.
“Aren’t you supposed to take care of that? Keep me safe?” she asked, leaning closer to eyeball him hard.
“I am. And you’d be safest here.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Bull. Shit.”
He tried to hide his surprise, but it wasn’t easy. It was like she’d become an entirely different woman. What was next? Pole dancing? He immediately regretted the mental image as he struggled to return to reality.
“Maybe you should go to bed.” He rolled to standing and held his hand out to her, but she pushed it away, wrinkling her nose in frustration.
“Maybe you should go to bed.” She tried for a scowl, but she ended up looking far more like an outraged kitten. Even though he knew she had claws, he couldn’t help finding her adorable.
“All right, then. We’ll go to bed together. Come on.” He held out his hand and she bent further back against the cushions.
“Are you asking me to go to bed with you?” She blinked up at him consideringly, then closed one eye, probably to bring him into focus.
He glanced at the wine bottle beside her. Nearly empty. She looped her leg around his calf, brushing her toes up and down his ankle. “I do think you’re cute.”
He snorted outwardly, but inside he was willing himself to remember that she was drunk. She didn’t know what she was saying. The Sarabeth he was getting to know would never have told him anything she had tonight, let alone flirt with him. That reminder didn’t change the fact that this new Sarabeth was sexy as hell, though.
Guardian For Hire: A For Hire Novel Page 9
