Hidden Heat: Hauberk Protection, Book 4

by Leah Braemel

  “Hey, did your roommate get a chance to download those photos we worked on off my flashdrive? I need it back.”

  “Yeah, I think so.” With a sigh, Jazz unfurled herself from the couch and searched through the papers on the desk.

  Mitch joined her, poking through the desk drawer. When he picked up Sandy’s notepad and thumbed through it, Jazz snatched it from him. “Yeah, that’s not something you need to see.”

  He shrugged. “Just looked like a bunch of addresses.”

  “Yeah, and it’s not mine.” She shoved it back into the drawer and shut it firmly with her hip. “Look, I don’t know where your thumbdrive is right now. I’ll check with Sandy in the morning and get it back to you when I see you again.”

  “I guess.” he palmed her breasts and tweaked her nipples. “Since we’re both awake, how about we try out those nipple clamps you said you’d bought?”

  Chapter Seven

  By the time Troy freed himself from the meeting and headed out to his car the sun was already over the horizon. As he pulled out of the parking lot he hesitated, wondering whether to turn left and head to Sandy’s place or right and head home. If he went back to Sandy’s, it was likely she’d be late because there was no way in hell he’d be able to keep his hands off her. Of course that meant not seeing her with sleep-heavy eyes and tousled hair. That was almost worth making her late. Except that would get her in trouble with Sam.

  He turned right.

  The track on his iPod changed from a Corelli sonata to a requiem by Mozart. Where normally it would have calmed him, this morning he found it depressing. He stabbed the radio button and set the system to scan until Jay-Z thumped from the speakers with an obscene amount of bass.

  How had Sandy managed to fool so many people, even him, into thinking she was a shy virgin? Well, not a virgin, that might be a bit of a stretch. But she sure as hell had everyone convinced she was demure. Reserved. Modest.

  Beneath that façade, he’d discovered a molten sensuality that had set him back on his heels.

  She was an enigma. A conundrum. Innocence and artlessness hiding a quicksilvered, sexually charged pixie. A pixie, he snorted at the image. If anything, she would be right at home wearing a dominatrix outfit, complete with leather flogger and thigh-high boots with stiletto heels.

  Scott was turning on the coffeemaker when Troy returned to his apartment. His roommate smirked when he snagged a mug and stood waiting impatiently for the machine to finish brewing. “I take it your date went well?”

  “She’s…surprising.”

  Scott’s smirk widened. “I figured she would be. Some of those farm girls are a lot more adventurous than city girls, you know?”

  He didn’t. But he was planning on having fun finding out. The coffee brewed, he filled a cup and took a sip. “You could have knocked me over with a frickin’ feather. Anyway, according to her she wants excitement, in the bedroom and out.”

  “Told ya.” Scott shoved him out of the way and grabbed his own mug from the cabinet. “If you bring her here, give me a heads-up and I’ll stay out of your way.”

  Here. Where her walls had been painted in soft pastels and were adorned with pictures of her family, his were unadorned stretches of builders’ beige even though he’d owned it for three years now. Strange how he’d never noticed it before. Then again, considering he spent more nights in hotel rooms in other countries than here in D.C., it hadn’t mattered.

  A whistle from Scott brought his attention back to find his friend looking at him with a bemused expression. “I was saying if she is looking for excitement you could always reserve one of the guest-house suites up at the Rouge. See if that lights her fire.”

  “That’s a thought.” Is that what it would take to keep her happy? Playing D/s games. What would she do if he brought out a flogger and tried to use it on her? Although given how she’d enjoyed him spanking her, perhaps she would enjoy it. Despite his exhaustion, his body jonesed at the idea of turning her pretty ass red with the tails of a flogger. Of having her completely obedient to him. His.

  Scott waved a hand in front of his face. “I asked how far in advance do you have to book the place?”

  “Depends. This time of year, probably a couple weeks. I might be able to pull a few strings to get an earlier date, but considering I’m not a paying member, I doubt I’ll be put high on the list.”

  “A couple weeks is good. It’ll give you a chance to find out if things will work between you two.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Troy considered his friend as Scott poured himself a cup of coffee. “So how’s your newest assignment going?”

  Satisfied their friendship had survived, albeit a little bruised, he excused himself and went into his bedroom. Once he’d stripped and was lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling, worrying both about Chad’s decision to put Scott back in the field, and his own decision to get into a relationship with Sandy. He hoped both decisions were right and wouldn’t end up with either of them hurt.

  Sandy grinned as she peered through the peephole of her apartment door and saw Troy standing on the other side. Instead of looking back at her he was staring down the corridor, one hand inside his coat on his holster. Was he even aware he did that every single time he’d come over? She turned the deadbolt and opened the door. Two weeks of dating and he’d never once been late. And he’d never failed to complain about the security in her building even after he’d had the alarm people install an alarm system on her doors and windows.

  “If you’re expecting someone to attack you, I can pretty much guarantee it won’t happen here. It’s a quiet building with very little drama.”

  “Drama can happen anywhere, sunshine.” Once he was inside and the door closed and locked to his satisfaction, he settled his hands on her hips and drew her against him. “Never hurts to be prepared.”

  “My brave Boy Scout,” she murmured as he claimed her lips. “Always prepared.”

  Her complaint when he broke off the kiss evaporated as he trailed his lips down the curve of her neck. Her skin broke out in goose bumps, the exact opposite of the heat sizzling beneath.

  “You buy extra condoms? Because you’re gonna need them tonight.” She grasped the bottom hem of her T-shirt and prepared to pull it over her head.

  To her surprise, he stopped her. “How about we go out for dinner first?”

  She tilted her head, considering suggesting take-out. But from what she’d overheard at the office, he ate out a lot. There was something different about him tonight, a seriousness in the way he looked at her. Come to think of it, he’d been looking at her like that for a couple days now. Why? Was he regretting dating her?

  Shit. If he was about to dump her, she’d rather not be dumped in front of an audience. “How about we eat in tonight?” She forced a smile and bounced her breasts in her palms. “Besides, we’ve eaten out three nights this week. If I eat any more restaurant food, I’ll blimp out and I’ll be able to smother you with my cleavage. My mom sent me some tomato sauce she’d bottled last summer—I could make spaghetti.”

  He barked a laugh. “Spaghetti with homemade sauce sounds great. As for your cleavage…” He covered her hands with his and squeezed, his eyes filling with heat. “I’d manage to fight my way out. And enjoy it while I do.”

  Going up on tiptoes, she recaptured his lips with hers, tasting the coffee he’d probably been sucking back all afternoon during yet another meeting about the latest hack attack. Maybe that’s why he was serious. Maybe there was something at work bugging him. “Why don’t you sit down while I get dinner?”

  He shucked off his jacket and tossed it on the arm of the couch. Xander immediately jumped up on the couch and stretched out on the jacket.

  She grimaced. “I hope you don’t mind cat hair. He sheds. A lot.”

  “Doesn’t bother me.” Instead of sacking out on the couch as she’d expected, he scratched the cat behind its ears, then followed her into the kitchen. “Why don’t I help you?”

  “
I don’t know. Are you one of those guys who uses up every pot and pan in the kitchen and then leaves the mess for someone else to clean up?”

  “Mmm, don’t rightly know. I rarely cook.”

  She rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out two jars of her mother’s tomato sauce, along with the spices she’d need. “Grab one of the onions from that basket, and dice it, will you?”

  For a guy who rarely cooked, he sliced the onion with a speed and accuracy rivaling a Cordon Bleu chef.

  “Well, for a guy who doesn’t cook, you know your way around the kitchen. Who taught you? Your mom?”

  Sadness flashed over his face but he turned away as he dumped the diced onions in the pot. “No. Boarding school kid, remember?”

  Shoot. Way to remind him he was an orphan, Sandy.

  By the time he turned back, he’d regained control of his expression. “I have a knack with knives. It’s come in handy in my line of work.”

  His line of work. Right. While Sam and Chad had often warned her about asking too many questions about any of the manager’s pasts, it didn’t stop her from wondering what they had done before they’d joined Hauberk. Troy was no different. In fact, from the lack of details in his file, he was even more mysterious. “I’m glad. Otherwise you might not be with me tonight.”

  He darted a glance in her direction before focusing too hard on the red pepper on the chopping board. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “I know you worked with the Diplomatic Security Service. And of course I’ve read the reports of some of the missions you’ve been on with Hauberk.” Like the one where they’d rescued the remaining hostages. Dry reports filed long after the blood had dried. “I figure you probably had to defend yourself by any means possible.”

  “I’ve done what I’ve had to.”

  She’d heard enough talk in the lunchroom, along with sitting in on enough meetings in Sam’s office, to know that what really went down—the adrenaline, the fear—did not translate onto paper or pixels. “How did you end up in Diplomatic Security?”

  “The State Department recruited me at college. I’m pretty sure Senator Brannally put a word in for me and since I didn’t have anywhere else to go—which may have been why they found me a good candidate—I said yes.”

  “So why did you leave?”

  “It was time.”

  She moved closer, until their hips bumped. “You don’t owe me an answer if you don’t want to tell me, but I would like to know more about you.”

  He took a deep breath and carefully set the knife down before turning to her. “The work was good at first, exciting. I got to guard some bigwigs, go places I’d only read about. But then—” he drew a deep breath, “—it got to a point where I started questioning some of my orders, and the decisions the higher-ups were making. I started wondering who the good guys were and if they were any different than the bad guys.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sensing his discomfort with the topic, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her nose in his chest. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “There are some things I’m not going to talk to you about, missions and such. But considering our…situation…I think you have the right to ask me the occasional question.”

  She pulled back against his arms and looked at him. “Situation.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “You’re the one who insisted that we’re not into anything serious, that you don’t want a long-term relationship, so I’m not sure what we qualify as at the moment. Would you prefer affair?”

  She frowned. For some strange reason, hearing her own words used against her annoyed her. “We’re lovers, so I guess affair works well enough.”

  “So do you have any more questions for me, sunshine? Bearing in mind I have the right to ask you questions too.”

  “Hey, I’m Miss Apple-Pie-and-Ice-Cream, remember? I’m an open book.”

  “Are you?” His thumb swiped across her cheek. “I don’t see the regular Miss Apple-Pie-and-Ice-Cream having a threesome.”

  “Maybe I’m a banana split, the ice cream nestled between two bananas.” She clapped a hand to her mouth and giggled. Her laughter died when she noticed he wasn’t smiling. “Come on, it’s funny. Haven’t you ever fantasized about having one? I thought it was something all guys fantasized about.”

  “I’ve had one.” From the way he ground out the confession, he hadn’t enjoyed it.

  “What happened? Was the girl your girlfriend and she decided she liked the other guy better?” Or other girl better, depending upon the threesome.

  “It was part of an op I was on.” He pulled away and walked to the window, stared out as the wind lashed it with a combination of sleet and snow, their first winter storm. “I prefer to choose my partners. And what we do. But that one? I had no choice or else I would have blown my cover. And the other man—he was a bastard who got off on hurting his girlfriend in front of an audience. From everything I could tell, she got off on it too, and she sure as hell seemed willing, but I came away from it feeling like I’d been part of a rape.”

  “Have you ever talked to anyone about it?” Somehow she didn’t see him sitting on a psychiatrist’s couch listening to any touchy-feely advice.

  “Once the assignment ended, but…” He faced her, his expression both bleak and fierce. “Tell me the guys you were with didn’t hurt you that night.”

  “They didn’t,” she whispered. “Oh, Troy.”

  “Don’t get all maudlin on me, sunshine. It was a long time ago and I’m over it.”

  Despite his assurances, she wasn’t so sure. The conversation between them during dinner stayed on the lighter side; Troy’s compliments of her mother’s homemade sauce, her telling him about some of Xander’s exploits. By the time they piled their dishes in the sink and retreated to the couch, the cinnamon from the apple crumble she’d baked for dessert still hung heavy in the air, giving the apartment a particularly cozy, welcoming feel to it.

  Over the past two weeks they’d been together, she’d discovered they had similar viewing tastes. Legal dramas over comedies. Having Troy’s warm body cuddled up beside her on the couch, his hands toying with the side of her breast made it perfect.

  He straightened, removing his hand from her breast when a key jangled in the lock and the door opened. Crap, sometimes Jazz had the worst timing.

  “Hey, Jazz.”

  “Hey, Sandy. Troy. You remember Mitch, don’t you?”

  Troy stood and shook Mitch’s hand, giving him a once-over that had Sandy wondering. Didn’t he ever turn off that bodyguard switch?

  Mitch flopped into the chair nearest Troy, grabbed Jazz and tugged her onto his lap, openly fondling her breasts. “So I hear you’re a bigwig over at Hauberk. You guard anyone famous?”

  Troy’s jaw tightened as he settled back onto the couch beside Sandy. “Our clients’ identities are kept private.”

  “Okay, yeah, sure. So you guys have to be trained in car chases and how to shoot and everything, right? Because the dudes you protect might have stalkers and stuff, right? Real bad guys, I hear.”

  “Yup.” Troy stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle.

  Sandy might have bought his attempt to project relaxation if it hadn’t been for him fiddling with his watch. She curled her legs underneath her while trying to figure out what it was about the conversation that was annoying him. Was it the conversation itself or the way Mitch was pawing Jazz right in front of them?

  He removed his hand from Jazz. “Hey, baby, why don’t you go grab me a beer, huh?”

  Rolling her eyes, Jazz climbed off his lap. When she returned with the longneck, she handed it to him only to have Mitch frown. “Hey, you shoulda offered my man Troy one too. You want one, Troy? Jazz, go get him a beer, will ya?”

  Troy shook his head, his jaw tight. “If I wanted a beer, I’d get one myself.”

  “Cool.” Mitch took a long pull on the beer.

  San
dy exchanged a “what a douche” look with Jazz, who shrugged.

  Mitch pulled Jazz back onto his lap and stretched out his legs, considering Troy. “So if someone comes to you saying they’re in danger, how do you know whether to give them bodyguards or to stash them away somewhere secret?”

  “It depends upon what the threat is against them.” Troy’s voice turned chilly, his words clipped. So it wasn’t the way Mitch had been handling Jazz that was bugging Troy, Sandy realized, but something obviously was getting his back up.

  “So what do you do with these poor saps? Put them in a hotel room? Have this big secret bunker you keep people in? What?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.” Though he kept his voice low, his words snapped out.

  “Aw, come on, just between you and me. What type of places do you use for your safe houses? Do you actually have houses scattered in the ’burbs? Or what?”

  Troy ran a finger around his collar, loosening it. “I told you, I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Though his tone remained light, Mitch’s fingers tightened around the bottle until his nail beds were white. “Is it one of those macho bullshit ‘if you told me, you’d have to kill me’ things, big man?”

  “Yeah, actually, it is.” The thigh muscles resting against Sandy’s tightened as if he were preparing to launch himself to his feet.

  To Sandy’s relief, Jazz stood up and held out her hand. “Come on, Mitch. Let’s go to my room. I’m sure Troy doesn’t want to spend his time off talking shop.”

  Mitch’s scowl deepened. “Aw, come on, Jazz baby. I want to get to know your friends.”

  “Actually,” Sandy jumped in, “you did sort of interrupt us. I’m sure you won’t mind giving us some alone time.”

  Like I gave you the other day when I walked in on the two of you fucking right here on the couch, she wanted to say but didn’t.