by Leah Braemel
“Men,” Rosie muttered under her breath.
“It’s not all ego, Rosie. Sam’s got his reasons for not wanting bodyguards. He’s going to fight having CPOs to his last breath. And I sure as hell don’t want it to get that far. Which means you’ll need to stick to him like glue.”
Chapter Five
The limo pulled into the underground parking lot and past his Jag. A sigh escaped Sam as they cruised past his Harley. The crisp October day would have been perfect to drive his Road King. Instead he was cooped up like a damned dog in the back of the limo that finally stopped near the elevator where Rosie was waiting.
Damn it, why had Chad insisted on Rosie Ramos as his lead CPO? If he’d wanted a woman to accompany him to any upcoming parties or meet ’n greets-the reason Chad had given him-why not McKee or Anderson? Neither of those women got his cock twitching like Rosie did.
The fantasy he’d had of getting her alone in his apartment hadn’t included her wearing a gun and acting in as his personal bodyguard. All right, maybe one had. But, damn it, if a bullet was going to be aimed in his direction, there was no way in hell he wanted the little spitfire throwing herself in its path. He’d rather have her throw herself in his bed. Go down on her knees and unzip his fly… Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
“All clear, Mr. Watson,” Rosie said quietly.
“Of course it is.” Sam ducked his head and clambered out of the limo, then stomped to the elevator. Goddamn it, she’d even acquired a key to the elevator, locking the door open so no one else could use it. He ignored that it was standard operating procedure and lashed out, “You think other people might not need the goddamned elevator?”
“Better than having the door open and somebody shoot you from inside. Besides there are other elevators still available.”
Her voice was so damned reasonable. Placating. Like he was some baby to be soothed out of a tantrum.
Which is exactly how he was behaving but goddamn it, his people were supposed to be protecting others. Not him.
She turned the key and let the door close, pressing the button for the penthouse. The elevator began to rise, a quiet chime announcing each floor they passed. And with each ding, Sam became more and more aware of the delicate smell of apricot shampoo and woman filling the confined area. He closed his eyes, trying not to deliberately inhale great lungfuls of that amazing scent.
As long as she was around him, he’d not sleep. Instead he’d be staring at the ceiling imagining what it would feel like to cup her breasts in his hands, to unzip her pants and nudge aside that blue thong. Imagine going down on her and tasting her honey. When she’d been in the gym doing those stretches, he’d obsessed about some of the positions she could get into while he fucked her. Then in his office while Chad had been briefing her, he’d pictured her stretched out over his desk, her legs hitched over his shoulders. And now she’d be in the next apartment, so damned available.
Damn it!
“Mr. Watson, do you have a problem with me guarding you?”
“Nope.” He couldn’t help that his answer sounded like a growl. He had one helluva a problem and at the moment it was punching against his zipper. He shifted his briefcase so she wouldn’t see his hard-on.
“I mean, do you have a problem with a woman guarding you?”
Shit! She thought he didn’t want her because she was a woman? Why not add sexual discrimination to the mix today? He exhaled and opened his eyes. “No, Ms. Ramos, I do not have a problem a female operative leading my team.”
“Then do you have a problem with me personally?”
Was it a problem that he was imagining pinning her up against the wall and ramming into her until she screamed her release? How the hell did he explain that to her without getting slapped with a sexual harassment suit in addition to the discrimination one?
“If I didn’t have complete confidence in your abilities, you wouldn’t work for Hauberk, and Chad wouldn’t have personally chosen you as team leader.”
That must have been the answer she was looking for. She nodded, and her shoulders imperceptibly relaxed. “Thank you.”
“I’m pis-ticked off at whoever is sending those damned photographs, and I fu-frickin’ don’t like having to accept that I had to ask my own people to protect me. Leaves me damned twitchy. So don’t take my grouchiness personally, Ms. Ramos. It’s not directed at you.”
No, what was pointing directly at her was his goddamned dick.
The elevator bounced once before the doors slid open, and Sam waited for her to precede him.
Aw, crap. Now he had to watch that bitable ass of hers walk along the hallway and that did nothing to help him control his raging hard-on.
She’s your employee. She’s a crack shot with that Glock 11 she carries. He almost groaned as the image of her bending over on the firing range, wiggling that ass at him, had his cock so hard it hurt.
She can stomp on your nuts and have you singing soprano without breaking a sweat.
Didn’t work. All his dick thought of was wrestling on the ground with her body pressing against him, over him, under him. Around him.
What was in that coffee of Sandy’s today that left him so fucking horny? Spanish fuckin’ fly?
As they approached the door to his apartment, the door to 1202 opened and Kris nodded. “Evening, Mr. Watson.”
Sam couldn’t help but notice his newest and youngest operative standing at attention, a worried frown marring that baby-smooth face of his. Aw hell. He’d stomped on that poor boy’s ego pretty good earlier. Hadn’t he been a bucket of sunshine today?
He stopped, and blew out a breath. “Look, Kris, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have yelled at you this morning. I’ve been…”-a festering pile of self-centered dogshit?-“under a lot of pressure lately.”
Yeah, right, and if you buy that one, I’ve got some land in the Okefenokee for you.
“It’s all right, Mr. Watson. I don’t think I’d be feeling too happy if someone threatening me had access to my apartment and personal information either.”
He might have bought Kris’s smile if it hadn’t been for the Mr. Watson. Unlike some of his employees, Kris had never had a problem referring to him as Sam. Or even “buddy” on occasion in the gym. Mr. Watson meant he still had some fencing to mend.
“Chad told me you and Walters got those cameras in place.”
“Sir, yes, sir. It was no problem at all, sir.”
First Mr. Watson and now sir. And not just sir, but the military sir, yes sir. Well, he supposed it was natural for Kris to fall back on his naval training.
“I didn’t expect you’d have a problem with it, son.”
Son? Son? Kris is twenty-five, you idiot, not eight the way you’ve just made him feel. He’s not young enough to be your son.
Okay, technically he probably could have been a father at fourteen thanks to Becky Sue’s idea of a birthday present that year. Thank the good Lord above, she’d stolen a condom from her brother Billy’s bedside table before sneaking out. Not that he’d needed another condom for a coupla years after that, but if she’d not had the forethought that night, he could have been a daddy by his fifteenth birthday. But he sure as hell wasn’t old enough to call Kris son.
“Mr. Watson?” Rosie said, touching his arm. “Are you okay?”
An electric shock jumped from her fingers and crawled under his skin in a tingle that caused his breath to hitch. He’d noticed that she was a toucher, seen her patting people’s arms or hands to calm them or support them, but she’d never touched him before. His cock hijacked his thinking processes and started him imagining her tiny hands closing about Sam Junior, milking…
Shit on a stick! She’s your employee, not a member of the Rouge.
“Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled as he forced his mind back onto the scene in the hall. “Look, Kris, I didn’t mean to imply you’re not a good CPO. Chad wouldn’t have assigned you to the team if he didn’t have confidence in you.”
&nb
sp; Color crept up Kris’s neck. “Thank you, sir.”
“Sam.”
“Sam,” Kris repeated, his smile breaking out.
Feeling that at least one corner of the world was back on its axis, Sam headed toward the end of the hall and his sanctuary.
Rosie stopped him as he pulled his keys from his jacket pocket. “Let me get that for you.”
His teeth threatening to splinter when his jaw locked down, Sam stepped back and let her unlock the door with her own key. She drew her gun and entered his apartment. Chad had reported they’d monitored the cleaning service doing their thing that afternoon, so they knew the apartment was clear. Though he couldn’t fault her vigilance, it was what she’d signed on for when Hauberk hired her, but damned if it didn’t shrivel his balls that she was willing to take a bullet meant for him.
*
The office had emptied as he leaned back in his chair, running one hand through his hair. Sam had finally yielded to pressure and accepted the detail.
His sense of accomplishment dimmed as he thought of the obstacles still in their path. When the truth came out, would he find himself out of another job? Too late to worry about it; the wheels were already rolling down the hill.
Releasing a long slow exhale, he pulled out his Berry and scrolled through the menu. When he reached the text messaging option, he entered his co-conspirators’ addresses, typed “Operation Payback Begun” and hit send.
Chapter Six
Rosie checked the apartment and called the all clear before they let Sam enter. They’d been monitoring the hallway since they’d arrived that afternoon and knew exactly who was home and who wasn’t but she wasn’t going to take any chances. They’d coordinated with the Hauberk Security guards manning the front desk and had descriptions of all the regular tenants. Plus, while Kris and Andy were installing the extra hallway cameras, they’d discovered a high-pitched yapping down at 1206started anytime someone opened a door, loud enough that they would have heard it even if someone hadn’t been monitoring the cameras. The sensors on the terrace doors showed no breech, so they would-should-know if someone had scaled the wall or climbed in from another apartment. But even so, it was her job to make sure the perimeter hadn’t been breeched and no one was laying in wait inside the apartment. She’d be damned if she’d slack off when her boss was watching.
Once she’d given the all-clear, Sam walked into the living room and shrugged off his jacket. He tossed it over the back of one of the leather couches. She tried to inhale a lungful of air filled with his scent without him noticing. God, just being in the same room had her wanting to rip her clothes off and jump him.
When he realized she’d shut the door with her still inside, he frowned. “You don’t have to stay with me. I don’t need a babysitter, Ms. Ramos.”
“Until we discover who’s making the threats, I want someone with you twenty-four/seven. Besides, Chad gave me orders to stick to you like glue.”
A flash of his eyes told her he wished he could countermand his second’s order, but his clamped jaw told her he’d swallowed his objection. God keep her from men who thought they were bulletproof.
He headed toward the kitchen she’d scoped out earlier. She couldn’t help but be impressed by the granite counters, the cherry wood cabinets and the gleaming stainless steel appliances.
“You want a beer?” He opened the fridge and stared. “What the…? You didn’t have to shop for me.”
“Aside from a six-pack of Heineken, the fridge only contained a hunk of moldy cheddar and a half dozen boxes of take-out Chinese that were about to sprout legs and walk out on their own. I figured if we wanted to eat, I’d better order some groceries.” Not to mention she’d thrown anything out that had been opened in case the prowler had tampered with them. The right poison could kill him as efficiently as any bullet.
He poked through the Sub Zero. “Chicken, cold cuts…hey, you bought pecan pie. How’d you know that was my favorite?”
She shrugged, wondering at the warm and fuzzy feeling creeping through her. “Lucky guess.”
“Thank you.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. The fleeting touch zapped the warm and fuzzies to scorching flames.
There was a look on his face she couldn’t quite fathom. A hungriness-not for the food she’d put in his refrigerator, but for her. It left her both excited and unnerved.
“F-for someone who has a kitchen as big as most people’s apartments, and appliances my mother could only dream of, you sure don’t look like you make use of it.” Ay bendito, he’d actually made her stutter.
“It’s sort of wasted on me. Unless I have someone to cook for that is. I make a mean Chicken Creole for two.” He removed a Heineken and cracked it open. “So how come you’re the one babysittin’ me tonight, and not Walters or Campbell?”
He lifted the beer and sipped then lowered the bottle and stared at her, frowning. “Tell me you didn’t agree to play a game of poker to determine who got stuck with me.”
“Hardly-Andy cheats.”
Sam chuckled. “He sure does-I lost almost two thousand to him before I twigged to his game. That boy’s slicker than owl sh-droppings.”
“I was lucky. When I first joined Hauberk up in New York, Rick Sparks taught me how to spot someone cheating. So I caught Andy dealing from the bottom on the second hand we played. I’ve never trusted him with a deck of cards since.”
“Yeah, Rick’s pretty slick too.” He placed the beer bottle on the counter, turned it in precise quarter turns. “But you never did tell me how you ended up with the short straw tonight?”
“We figured it might raise some eyebrows if people found him sharing the apartment with you. Easier to explain a woman coming and going in your apartment than a man.”
At least that’s what she thought Andy had said, but he’d managed to twist and turn the conversation around in such a convoluted path, she wasn’t entirely sure what his point had been. She’d given in because she knew Kris was still concerned about his joke about her checking the mail and wouldn’t want to face Sam just yet. From the way her panties were starting to soak she already knew that she’d made a mistake in agreeing to stay in the same apartment with him. She’d go to sleep smelling the cologne that subtly permeated the sheets knowing the only thing separating her from him in that custom made bed of his was two thin sheets of drywall and a couple of metal two by fours. That and her willpower. Which was threatening to take up sleepwalking.
She realized he was talking and forced herself to focus. “-day and age, I don’t think many people blink at two guys sharing an apartment.” He lifted the beer then paused and frowned. “You sure you don’t want a beer?”
Rosie leaned her hip against the counter and decided to deliberately put some space between them, mentally if not physically. “You know, earlier today Kris wondered if maybe you were trying out some new form of employee evaluation. Is he right? Because frankly, if this is all your idea of a test, I find your methods insulting.”
“What makes you think it might be?”
“Drinking is against the rules for an operative protecting their principal. Yet you deliberately offered me a beer-twice.”
“It’s not a test. I was trying to be hospitable-it’s how my momma raised me. My daddy taught me to look after myself-which is why having you-anyone-babysit me while they’re waiting around for someone to try to take a potshot at me sticks in my craw.”
“That’s precisely what Hauberk hired me to do. It’s understood that we’re agreeing to protect our principals by whatever means necessary.”
“Yeah, well…if it comes down to taking a bullet for me, don’t.”
“I’m supposed to let them shoot Hauberk’s owner and president?” She crossed her arms and waited for him to answer.
He lifted the bottle to his lips and hesitated, his gaze dropping down to her cleavage and the three buttons she’d left undone.
Her nipples hardened into tight buds that pushed against the thin fabr
ic of her T-shirt. Yup, agreeing to stay with a man who could make her so horny just with a look was a major logistical error.
He muttered something under his breath that sounded rather like “death of him” but she couldn’t be sure. Her theory about him having a death wish started niggling again. Had he done something he was ashamed of? Did he feel he deserved a bullet for whatever he’d done?
“How will you protect me if you’re dead?” he demanded. “I’m not the president with over two hundred agents who can jump in if one falls. If someone shoots me, you’ll follow standard Hauberk procedure-keep yourself safe, and get me the hell out of Dodge. You can get me medical care once you’re clear of any danger.” He finished his beer and stashed the empty bottle in a bin under the sink then stalked out to the living room.
Once he’d flipped on the large flat screen to a football game, she knew it was time to change tactics. She wandered around the apartment, waiting for a commercial break before picking up a picture of a woman with similar golden skin and high cheekbones. She already knew who it was, she’d been through his file, but wanted to keep him relaxed. Hoping to project a casual manner, she asked, “She’s pretty, who is she?”
“That’s my little sister, Sarah.” His defensiveness dropped, pride filling his voice. “She graduated medical school last year and is doin’ her residency in Atlanta.”
“And this lady?” She picked up the picture of a Hawaiian woman in traditional Hawaiian garb with dark hair and high cheekbones, and Sam’s beautiful smile.
“That’s my momma.” His entire face softened as he looked at the picture. “After Pop died, she moved back to Hawaii.” His brow creased. “If she calls, don’t tell her that you’re here to protect me, all right?”
