“I hear you had an unpleasant altercation at the gun range. I’m sure I don’t have to share how awkward it was to learn about such an event from a colleague, but I also thought it wise to see how you were faring.”
He what? Gia sat ramrod-straight and snatched her pen off the desk, squeezing it for all she was worth. “Are you asking because you’re concerned for my well-being, or because my time on social media made for unwelcome conversation on the golf course?”
“You’re my daughter,” he ground out, the rugged emotion of his voice a complete shock. “Just because I don’t approve of the life you’ve set for yourself doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
She waited, genuine surprise clogging her throat. When he didn’t elaborate, she stood and forced a calm response while she paced the suddenly too small space. “It’s fine.” Okay, maybe that had been a little too sharp. “It was an accidental discharge. A weapon malfunction.” One intentionally created, but she wasn’t adding that tidbit into the mix. “No injuries, and a man I work with had the video down within hours, so any damage to my business should be limited.”
Turning, she paused, a hunch that wouldn’t quite materialize tickling at the back of her mind.
Reginald grunted, though it was a bit tough to tell if it was one that indicated he didn’t believe her, or wasn’t quite sure how to dig himself out of his show of concern without losing his edge. “I’m glad to hear it.”
He was?
Gia spun and frowned out the window, scanning the late afternoon view like some environmental clue might help her figure out what was going on. “I appreciate the concern, but since when do you keep an eye out on my career or my competitions?”
Distant laughter sounded through the phone line just before the background noise shifted to deep silence. Her father’s voice dropped, almost as if he were sharing some covert secret he was loath to utter. “Since I gave your name to a friend of mine. He’s in charge of a political fund-raiser next month and the man he hired to oversee security hasn’t followed through on the level of service promised. I told him he should consider you as a replacement and told him about the work you’ve done since leaving Atlanta.”
“You vouched for me?”
A sound suspiciously close to a choking gurgle answered before her father did. “I mentioned you specialized in personal security, and he suggested I share his contact information in return. You’ll have to submit your proposal like everyone else. Whether or not you obtain the assignment will be up to you.”
Gia stopped by the window and focused hard on the park in the distance. Weird. She’d thought for sure she’d find ice covering the grass and surrounding streets, because hell was definitely freezing over. “Of course. I’m just...well, I’m shocked.” Not to mention suspicious. Her dad had never even recommended her for a babysitting job in college. There had to be something else behind the gesture. Though, for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine what.
“Don’t read too much into it. I’m still against what you do. It’s not fitting for a woman. You’d be happier and safer following your mother’s example and building a family. It just seemed a good way for your mother to be able to see you in person.”
There it was. Granted, it hadn’t been quite the underhanded scheme she’d expected, but an underlying reason nonetheless.
“Now, seeing as it’s Sunday and people are waiting on me,” he said without giving her time to respond, “I need to go, but I’ll email Peter’s contact information to you tonight.”
“Right. I’ll keep an eye out for it.”
“Excellent. If that’s all—”
“Dad?”
A pause.
The words she wanted to speak sat odd and foreign on her tongue. “Thank you.”
That garbled sound rumbled up his throat again before he said, “For God’s sake, call your mother.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt a genuine smile while talking with her dad, but somehow, he drew one out of her. Even her voice was softer. Calmer. Less guarded. “I’ll do that.”
The background noise cut to nothing.
She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen, halfway tempted to check her recent calls and make sure it had really been her father who’d called. This was huge. If the Peter he’d mentioned was Peter Trannell—an extremely well-connected lobbyist throughout Georgia and surrounding states—landing the fund-raiser would be a superb addition to her resume. But even more than that, it was momentous on a personal level. A chance to show her parents that she was not only good at what she did, but she excelled in it, obstacles or no.
The ever-ready planner in her head kicked into gear, drawing on what she knew of resources in her hometown and assimilating the tasks she’d need to tackle in preparing a proposal. She rubbed her hands together and rounded her desk, a pleasant buzz skimming beneath her skin.
On her laptop, the list of possible sources she’d gathered beamed back at her.
The buzz dimmed and she dropped into her chair. That was a definite problem. Or two really. If her father knew about the clip, that meant Peter would, too. She’d have to have a damned good explanation before he’d dismiss it. And, if Beckett was right and she did have someone targeting her, she’d do good to find them and deal with it well before the fund-raiser. A misfire and short-lived YouTube clip was one thing where her professional reputation was concerned. Letting someone’s personal grudge wreck a political fund-raiser would end her career.
She palmed her phone, her thumb scrolling through her contacts almost on autopilot.
Beckett’s name and number shone up at her, the soft white backdrop like a pulsing beacon.
You’ve helped me. You’ve helped my brothers and their women. You let go on this and let us return the favor, you’ll find another kind of freedom.
The same flutter she’d felt when he’d uttered those words took wing in her belly once more. She traced the edge of her phone. As if the action might somehow coax a divine answer.
But she already knew it. Had caught multiple glimpses of it in the time she’d known Beckett and his brothers. Had experienced it for herself Friday night in Beckett’s touch and in the way he’d seen to her needs. In his honesty about his need for touch and his fears where relationships were concerned.
No, it wasn’t answers she needed, but courage.
She rubbed her hand along her thigh, the yoga pants she’d lounged in all day nowhere near as comforting as Beckett’s warm skin. Lifting her hand, she sucked in a deep breath and braced.
Before she could push the button, the screen display switched and Beckett’s name flashed big and beautiful against the black backdrop.
Letting it ring at least once more probably would’ve been the smoother move, but at this point she didn’t care. Just wanted to dive in before another wave of self-doubt could crowd in and take over. She punched the answer button. “I thought you were giving me time to think on things.”
“I said I’d give you time. I didn’t say I’d stop my campaign.”
She grinned and dropped back in her desk chair, anchoring one bare foot up on the edge of her desk. Typical Beckett. When he wanted something, it would take a battering ram to his head before he stopped chasing it. Even then he’d likely find a way to keep crawling.
“You should know, I don’t like flowers.”
“Good thing I just bought you a replacement Glock instead.”
Her toes curled and she had to bite her lip to keep from squealing like a teenage girl. “If we fight, I’ll be more inclined to throw a punch than I will to reason things out.”
“Already established that’s been working for me since I was a kid.” He paused, but she could practically picture the wicked grin on his face at his next words. “Plus, after we’re done throwing punches, you’ll be worked up and ready for quick and dirty make-up sex.”
> Mouth suddenly dry and fighting a rapid-fire pulse that left her light-headed, she hooked her heels on the edge of her chair and hugged her knees. “I don’t cook,” she nearly whispered.
The heat in his low response moved through her in a velvet stroke. “Know that, gorgeous, but I can. And when I’m too tired from fucking you silly and don’t want to get out of bed, I’ve got lots of money to call out for provisions.”
She could do this. Just a few words and the gravity that was Beckett Tate would take over. And oh, how sweet just the idea of it felt. “Do you like pizza?”
“Depends. Am I eating it before or after I reward you for telling me what I want to hear?”
Her arms shook and her palms were so sweaty it was a wonder she could keep ahold of the phone. “Before. I’m hungry.”
“Then, odds are good I’d eat the cardboard box if you ask me to.” One beat. “What time you want me there?”
The clock at the bottom of her screen showed nearly five o’clock. She could drag it out. Take one last stab at refusing what burned between them. But why? She’d known she’d wanted him from the second she’d laid eyes on him. “Is six too soon?”
Movement sounded through the phone. She hadn’t thought his voice could drop any lower, but the near growl that answered her proved her wrong. “Better brace, gorgeous. I’m grabbin’ a pie and headin’ over. You’ve got one hour to batten down the hatches.”
Chapter Twelve
She was scared to death. No one else would have noticed it, but Beckett had made studying Gia an art in the years he’d known her. While she hid her nerves supremely well, the signs were still there. A slight flush on her cheeks and collarbone. The hit-and-run way her eyes met his. Her sharp, yet still graceful movements. How he’d made it through half a pizza without hauling her across the couch cushion she’d intentionally left between them and kissing her until she couldn’t do anything but moan was a goddamn miracle.
He snagged her discarded crust off her plate, using it as an excuse to work himself closer, and tried to stay on topic. “I don’t get it. Your dad did you a solid with the lead. What’s the problem?”
She shrugged. “My dad hates what I do for a living. The last thing he’d do is support it in the form of a lead.”
“You think he’s up to something?”
“He says it’s just to get me back to Atlanta for a visit.” Gia semi-stood, leaned and slid her plate onto the coffee table, giving him a prime view of her ass in those tight-as-fuck black pants she wore a lot when she worked out. Not that she’d worked out. Her hair was loose, her tasteful makeup in place and the Fort Knox–style sports bra she always wore for exercise MIA, replaced with a light blue cotton tank and a matching bra that peeked out every now and then to taunt him.
She slid back to the couch and tucked one leg underneath the other. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m overly suspicious and that’s all there is to it.”
“Even if he is up to something, what’s the downside?”
“If all goes well? Nothing.”
There it was. The niggling agitation he’d picked up on the minute she’d mentioned her dad’s call. “You’re worried about what happened at the range.”
She studied him for a beat, considering. “This is a big deal for me. A chance to show my dad I’m really good at what I do. Not to mention, having a connection with Peter Trannell. One of his events on my resume would be a huge score. You and I both know it’s a risk to even submit my proposal not knowing who’s behind what happened.”
“When’s the gig?”
“About a month out.”
He popped the last bite of crust into his mouth to fight his grin and stacked his plate on top of hers. If he ever met her dad, he’d have to be sure to shake his hand and buy him some top-dollar Scotch for the opening he’d created. “We’ll figure it out before then. And if we don’t, we’ll take precautions.”
“We?” A little curiosity. A whole lot of a woman ready to tussle.
Not about to wade into the waters lapping at his feet without being in touching distance, he shifted closer and faced her head-on. “Already covered this, G. My brothers love you. My sisters love you. My mothers love you.”
“I’ve barely met your mothers.”
Yeah, that was gonna change and soon. Thanks to Knox, he’d heard from Sylvie and Ninette all of twenty minutes after he’d driven Gia home yesterday and kissed her stupid outside her front door. “It doesn’t take them long to get a bead on people. And even if they hadn’t met you, they’d have your back for what you did with Nat and Darya. Family’s family. Period.”
God, that look. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d marked uncertainty on Gia’s face and still have fingers left over, but in that second, she was raw. Totally on uncharted ground. “Your version of family and mine are two vastly different things.”
Oh, he’d figured out that much. Not once when she’d shared about growing up had there been much warmth. No funny stories to tell outside of those where she’d outmaneuvered her parents to get into trouble, and no reminiscent memories that made her seem to miss Atlanta in the slightest. But something told him, now wasn’t the time to clue her into just how close she was to learning the difference firsthand. He’d tackle that later. Preferably after he’d worked her body and she was utterly sated and pliant beneath him. “Already told you, my brothers are digging into this. So, how about we talk logistics and figure out how to make this thing happen.”
For a second, he thought she’d argue, the spark behind her eyes saying she’d cottoned on to the fact that he was dodging something. Instead, she nodded and dug into the details her dad had sent her. How the previous security lead had overpromised and under-delivered right out of the chute. The date of the event and the people needing protection. Most important, the fact that the governor trying to retain his office had done significant damage to drug traffic in his state and had credible safety concerns with a drug cartel who’d lost their foothold since he took office.
She frowned and wrinkled her nose like she’d caught a whiff of something from a men’s locker room. “Much as I hate to admit it, I’m not sure I can pull together the crew I need to pull this off on such short notice. Not without risking losing credibility like the first guy did.”
“You need what? Five to ten on-site bodies and a handful running back-end surveillance?”
“Maybe. I won’t know for sure until I get specifics from Peter.”
“I’ve got that many easy. Me and however many other bodies you need. Problem solved.” Three minimalistic sentences that rolled off his tongue without so much as a breath of hesitation. But it was a huge offer and Gia knew it. Hell, everyone who worked in or around Texas knew it. Beckett and Knox hoarded their staff the way his little-old-lady neighbor growing up stockpiled restaurant Sweet’n Low packets. With the comfortable salaries and benefit packages they offered almost no one jumped ship.
Breaking eye contact, she stared down at her lap and swept nonexistent crumbs off one thigh. Her voice was quieter. More cautious. “Beckett, if I get this, I’d cover the primary.”
“Yep.”
A pause and a tight squeeze of one hand on her thigh. Then she lifted her head and met his eyes. “So, if I’m covering the primary, I’m calling the shots.”
So that was the issue. Though after the shit she’d been through with Judd, he couldn’t blame her for being careful. “Yep.”
She dipped her chin and glared up at him with that disbelieving look reserved only for women dealing with thickheaded men. “I’ve never seen you not lead a crew. Do you even know how to take a back seat? On anything?”
Well, now. Wasn’t that just the segue he needed. And a topic they’d do well to get well out into the open from the get-go. He covered her hand with his and stroked his thumb along the inside of her wrist. “You and me—if we’re diving into what I want—
then we’re gonna have to figure some things out as we go, but I can tell you two things are carved in stone already.”
One of her eyebrows cocked almost as fast as the hammer on a revolver. “Carved in stone?”
“Absolute.”
On the surface, she seemed utterly calm, but her pulse beneath his thumb raced a little faster. She pursed her lips in a half smirk. “This I gotta hear.”
God, he loved her spunk. Loved the ten-foot-tall sass that came out of such a petite package and the razor-sharp wit that backed it up. He slid his fingers up and manacled her wrist, the grip just tight enough to make sure he had her attention. “I don’t play games at work. If you’re on the primary and calling the shots, I’ll have your back. That goes without question. Always.”
This time it was both eyebrows that hopped high. “You mean that?”
“Absolutely.”
She studied him, gaze roving his face as if looking for some hidden evidence to discount what he’d said. “And the other?”
His own pulse kicked into high gear, the anticipation he’d barely kept in check since she’d said the word pizza shoving all but right here and right now into the very deep background. Keeping his grip on her wrist, he stood, pulled her to her feet and wrapped her up tight, one arm banded low on her waist. He held her face steady at one side and got nose to nose. He should have gentled his voice, but what came out was all him. The unvarnished raw man under his barely civilized veneer. “When we fuck you absolutely will not have the lead. Ever.”
Her gasp was slight, but sexy as hell. So potent she may as well have slid one of the hands pressed to his chest straight down to his dick and fisted it tight. Her eyelids got heavy and her lips parted just enough to make him want to trace the lower one with his tongue, but true to form, she didn’t give in. Steel mingled with her husky voice. “Just because I let go last night doesn’t mean that’s all I want.”
He risked the knee to the nuts she was in prime position to deliver and let his lips curve in a triumphant grin. “Sweetheart, that’s exactly what you want and I’m willing to prove it.”
Stand & Deliver Page 13
