by Cindy Dees
Lightning all but shot from her blazing blue eyes. “What do you want me to say, Tom? That it’ll kill me to leave you? That I’m going to regret driving you away from me for the rest of my life? That it makes me sick to my stomach to think about what we might have had if I hadn’t had to accuse you of killing Ando to see how you reacted?”
He stared. She’d accused him to see how he—what the hell? She’d played him? He wasn’t some random civilian she could manipulate and use like that. He was a soldier, dammit. His honor had no business being brought into question. How dare she?
Belatedly, the other stuff she’d said registered. Kill her to leave him…regret driving him away…what they might have had…
How was he supposed to react to that? At some level, was that what he’d wanted her to say? Was he glad to hear her admit she had feelings for him? Or did it just piss him off that she would admit to manipulating him in one breath and claim to like him in the next? He was so jumbled up inside he didn’t know what to feel.
“Well, you can forget hearing any of that out of me, Tom Rowe. I’m not going to say any of it to you. You want the truth? Here’s a little truth for you. You’re arrogant. And spoiled. And you treat women like dirt. And you think because you’re so good-looking and so smart and so rich that you’re better than everyone else. Well, you’re not. You’re no better than anyone else.”
He snorted. Nothing she was telling him was news to him. But the fact that she was glaring up at him and spitting out the damning words like she was passing some sort of judgment on him did it. He cracked.
He took another step forward and swept her into his arms, crushing her against him and kissing her with all the pent-up anger in his gut. Her fists pounded on his chest until they grasped at the lapels of his suit coat, dragging him closer.
Their bodies vibrated against one another, out of sync, jangling his nerves until all he could think about was throwing her down, tearing off her clothes and making love to her until she shut up and admitted she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
She sucked at his lower lip, biting it, drawing it into her mouth and laving it with her tongue at the very same time her hands shoved at his chest and she struggled against the power of his arms. Which was it? Did she want him or hate him?
Maybe it was both.
He knew the feeling.
Finally unleashed, his passion was shocking. Every civilized rule of behavior flew right out of his head. He tore the top of her shirt open, exposing her creamy shoulder. He bit his way down her neck, burying his hand in her hair to pull her head back and expose more of her entirely edible flesh to him.
She made a sound of distress like he was hurting her, but frankly, he didn’t much care. She was a soldier. A Special Forces operator. If she wanted to play with fire, then she could damn well put up with getting a little bit burned. But he did ease up the pressure of his teeth slightly.
That earned him another sound, though, and this time a raw groan of pleasure and need ripped from her throat. Better. He released her hair, his hand sliding down the sexy inward curve of her back to her buttocks. Through the scratchy wool of her skirt he gripped her pert, firm behind and dragged her up against him. She arched eagerly, not needing the encouragement to plaster herself tighter to him. And then she had him by the tie, dragging his mouth to hers. Her hands plunged into his hair and she hung on like she was never going to let him go. The thought galvanized him.
He wanted this woman like a fire craved oxygen. He fed on her. Inhaled her. Burned alive wherever she touched him. And that was pretty much everywhere.
Her right leg came up to wrap around his waist, and her skirt slid up her thighs until—holy Mother of God, the vixen was wearing thigh-high stockings and garters.
With deft fingers he flicked the fasteners loose, relishing the juicy little popping sound of each one giving way. He swept his hand around behind her and encountered bare, silky flesh.
And a thong?
Who’d have guessed that beneath her gray suit the commando was such a wanton hussy? Fire and ice, she was. All cool and calm and poised on the outside, and a born-again hellion wearing naughty lingerie on the inside. Lord, this was a woman he’d enjoy plundering. So many layers to strip away. No telling how many more surprises she had in store for him. And he’d find and reveal every last one of them before he was done with her. Oh, yes. This woman was going to make for a most enjoyable conference.
He reached for the zipper of her skirt. The damned thing was snug enough he wouldn’t get it off her any other way. Her white silk blouse slithered free of the skirt, spilling out all over his hands, as warm and sensuous as the woman beneath.
He encountered a push-up bra so sheer it barely felt like she had one on. Of course. What else? Her flesh molded beneath his fingers, firm and throbbing at his touch.
His belt buckle rattled and his shirt melted away from his chest. And then her mouth was on his belly and rational thought deserted him. His hips rocked forward, seeking her heat, his erection so hard it was painful. Now. He would have her now.
The phone rang once loudly and they both started violently. Paige straightened abruptly and broke free of his arms. She leaped in front of him, placing her body between him and the door protectively. The sight was comical. A five-foot-five, half-naked mama bear, her hackles up and claws at the ready to protect her six-foot-two cub made of solid muscle, towering behind her.
He laughed. “You better hope they shoot at my knees and not my head, pip-squeak, because that’s about all of me you can cover. And chill out. That was just the phone.”
She spun and glared at him. He had to hand it to her. What she lacked for in size, she made up for in speed. “Height isn’t the only requirement for a good bodyguard, you know.”
He snorted as he walked across the room toward the phone on the desk, his unbuttoned shirt flapping. “Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt. Maybe I should just be your bodyguard until your friends get here.” He picked up the phone before she could reply. “Hello. Oh, hi, Gretchen.”
“The President sends his regrets that he is too busy to speak with you today. However he sent a brief message.”
“And that is?”
“You’re welcome.”
Tom scowled at the phone and slammed it down without bothering to say any more. He hadn’t been calling to thank him, dammit! He spun away from the desk and caught sight of Paige, her hair disheveled, her lips red and swollen from their violent kiss, staring at him hopefully.
“Sorry, babe. The President can’t talk to me today. Looks like we’re stuck together until I can convince him to take my call.”
“How long’s that going to take?” she asked in dismay.
He grimaced. “At least a day.”
She sank down onto the edge of the couch. “Great,” she mumbled. “Just great.”
He knew the feeling. Oh, how he knew the feeling. How was he ever going to explain having a beautiful, hot journalist tagging around with him everywhere he went? Nobody on the planet would buy the idea of him allowing a reporter to cover his entire day. He put up a fuss when one of them took his picture, let alone actually talked to him. There was no help for it. He was going to have to convince everyone at the conference that he was sleeping with Paige Ellis.
He eyed her speculatively. He could do a whole lot worse. She was definitely enough of a sexpot to pass for the sort of casual arm fluff he was known to wear from time to time. But for some reason, casting her in that light didn’t sit right with him. No help for it, though.
“We’ve got to get you cleaned up,” he announced.
“Why’s that?” She eyed him in deep suspicion. Smart girl. Looked like she was getting to know him a little, after all.
“Because if you’re going to be my girlfriend, you will have to look the part.”
Chapter 9
His girlfriend? Oh, she didn’t think so. “You wish,” she spluttered.
He grinned, pure shark. “Then you tell me how you plan to e
xplain tagging around with me, plastered to my side, everywhere I go for the next few days.”
She stared, thinking hard. There had to be some other explanation. “How about I’ve convinced you to let me film your life? I can snag a cameraman from the network to follow us around.”
“Already thought of that. Thing is, I have a bit of a reputation when it comes to reporters.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m the reporter who changed all that.”
“Which brings us back to my conclusion that you’re going to have to pose as my girlfriend.”
She felt like growling. Or maybe stomping her foot. Talk about reputations—hers was going to be shredded after this little episode. She darn well hoped the Medusas appreciated what she was about to sacrifice for them. It had taken her years to establish credibility as a tough, fair, aggressive reporter who didn’t use her looks to get a story. Worse than that, though, was the annoying fact that he was right.
She huffed. “Fine. If anyone asks, I’m the girlfriend.”
A grin lit up Tom’s face. “Oh, when I’m done with you, they’ll ask, all right.”
Alarm blossomed in her stomach. Exactly what did he mean by that? “Look, Tom. I know we haven’t exactly gotten off on the right foot. But I have a career, here. And I need it to come out of this week intact if I’m going to be of any use to my…other…employers. Could you go just a little easy on me?”
“Honey, I’m a lot of things, but easy on my women is not one of them.”
She scowled, ignoring the flutter of interest in her gut at what it would be like to be his girlfriend for real and to experience the full broadside of his attention.
He interrupted her speculations abruptly. “I need to leave for a formal dinner meeting in less than an hour. Can you be spectacular by then?”
Less than an hour? Formal? Spectacular? Holy cow. Where was she going to get a decent dress in that amount of time? Last night’s ruined blue number was the only truly formal dress she’d brought with her on this assignment.
She must have hesitated too long because Tom groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who takes four hours to get ready to go out.”
Her gaze narrowed. “I can take four hours, but I certainly don’t need four hours. My problem tonight is proper clothing.”
“Ah. Buy yourself something in the boutique downstairs and charge it to my room. Knock yourself out. But be ready to go in forty-five minutes.”
She narrowed her gaze and gave him a few orders of her own. “Don’t leave the suite while I’m gone. And don’t let anyone in until I get back. Got it?”
He grinned unrepentantly. “Honey, I was pulling personal security assignments before you knew what a bodyguard was. I know the drill.”
“Knowing it and following it are two different matters. Promise you won’t do anything stupid until I get back.”
His grin widened. “Roger. Hold the stupidity until you return. Got it.”
Thankfully, she was a decisive shopper and narrowed down her choices to two dresses in about five minutes. And then she simply bought the most expensive one. An off-the-rack Valentino, it was red and smashing, a sleeveless sheath slashing downward asymmetrically to a flared skirt that frothed around her legs, revealing glimpses of tanned limbs through its many-layered silk folds. Best of all, it would conceal a thigh holster without leaving any telltale bumps. And from now on, she was traveling armed at all times—not only because of would-be killers, but also because she wanted to be prepared to shoot the man she was supposed to protect. The pièce de résistance of her outfit was a pair of red evening gloves that extended above her elbows, and the wide Cartier bracelet, encrusted with diamonds, that went over the right glove. Its price tag approached a year’s salary for her. Gleefully, she charged that to Tom’s room, as well.
Outfit in hand, she raced down to the temporary news bureau to use the makeup kit there. She didn’t have time to do anything elaborate with her hair, so she merely pulled it back into a sleek ponytail and ran a flat iron through it. The austere style went nicely with the lines of the dress, and the garment’s brilliant color brought out the red highlights in her hair. She slipped her feet into barely there stiletto sandals with five minutes to spare, her Glock service pistol neatly tucked against her thigh along with a few other critical gadgets no girl commando should leave home without. Her gear had been smuggled in via a diplomatic pouch, which meant she had little by way of explosives and limited ammunition. Still, it was better than not being armed at all.
She knocked on Tom’s door exactly forty-five minutes after she had left to get ready. She was tempted to wait a minute just to get his goat but decided that being on time would ultimately annoy him more.
The door swung open. Gretchen answered it, and Paige’s eyebrows sailed up. So much for Tom following her instructions not to let anyone in.
His assistant smiled warmly. “You look marvelous, Miss Ellis. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks.”
Pacing wasn’t really an option in these shoes, so she practiced kicking them off a few times in case she needed to get rid of them fast. She was just bending over to slip the strap back over her heel when the bedroom door opened. She straightened. And stared. There was no help for it. Tome Rowe in a tuxedo was one of those sights in life a woman just had to stare at.
His gaze raked down over her hot and fast, then back up slowly to her face. “The lady knows how to dress,” he murmured approvingly.
“Thank you,” she mumbled back, startled by the compliment.
He gestured toward the door. “Shall we? The hotel rang a few minutes ago to let me know my limo’s waiting.”
She nodded, and managed to beat him to the hallway door by about a foot. “I hate to break it to you, big guy, but I get to go first.”
His jaw tightened, but he made no comment as she stepped into the hall and looked it up and down. Deserted. She shot him the military hand signal for all clear and he joined her. They walked the short distance to the elevator, and he moved to one side without her having to tell him. If a gunman were inside when its doors opened, Tom’s position kept the shooter from having an immediate line of fire on him.
A bell rang and the doors slid open. Empty. Paige stepped inside and nodded at Tom. He stood beside her in silence, and they rode down to the lobby, each staring straight ahead, lost in their own thoughts.
As for her, two conversations were running in her head simultaneously. The first one was a quick review of security procedures, mapping the route through the hotel lobby in her head and considering possible hiding locations for an attacker as she moved Tom through the space.
The other conversation ran something along the lines of, “Breathe… Act like you do this sort of thing every day…. You always wear designer gowns and jewelry worth more than your house…. He is such a hunk…. Please, God, let him not figure out that I think so…. If only my teammates were here to do this security thing with me, then I wouldn’t be so jumpy…. Well, okay, I’d be this jumpy, just for different reasons…. Lord, he’s gorgeous in that tux….”
The combination of the two conversations kept her blessedly distracted enough not to register anyone staring at her as she and Tom strolled through the lobby. Her gaze roved back and forth in a steady sweep for threats.
“Keep looking around like that and you’ll get a reputation for being a jealous woman,” Tom murmured.
“So be it if I keep you alive,” she muttered back.
He stared for a moment and then broke into a grin. “Having you for a girlfriend is going to be interesting.”
“Enjoy the fantasy while it lasts,” she mumbled.
“I might say the same for you,” he retorted.
Regret knifed through her. Another time, another place, who knew what might have happened between them? It was a rotten shame, really.
They made it to the limo without any threats popping up, and she was relieved to slide into the spacious vehicle after him and clo
se the bulletproof door. She needed a few minutes to rest. Just that short walk through the lobby had been intensely stressful. She was trained to work in teams of no less than four and more often teams of a dozen when it came to personal security. Doing solo duty was tantamount to having to think and act like several people all at once.
The limo ride was short, a few blocks down the beach to another resort fully as swanky as theirs, where a European delegation was hosting a meal for the key movers and shakers at the summit. Tom went over the guest list with her quickly in the car, and she couldn’t help but be impressed. If a bomb went off at this evening’s soiree and killed everyone there, the global economy wouldn’t recover for years.
When they arrived, if anyone raised their eyebrows at Tom’s dinner date for the evening, they did it behind Paige’s back. Still, there was a tangible undercurrent of other guests savoring the juicy gossip item they had suddenly become. Tom was right. By tomorrow morning, everyone on the island would be asking questions about the two of them. Dammit.
Of course it didn’t help that his hand kept straying to the small of her back, his fingers stroking down her arm, and God help her, his hand coming to rest lightly on the back of her neck. That one about had her leaping out of her skin with nervousness. The intimacy of it staggered her. She suspected her face was as scarlet as her dress by the time his hand finally drifted down her spine, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.
The pair of suited security men stationed just outside the French doors leading to the beach were the only people present who didn’t act startled to see her with Tom. But they certainly were startled when she sidled up to them and asked for status reports on the security procedures at this hotel.
According to the guards, the place was locked down as tightly as the conference hotel, and this venue in specific had been thoroughly swept just an hour before the party. If the Medusas were here, they’d have conducted their own security sweep. But no such luck. For now, she’d have to rely on strangers to cover her and Tom’s backs.
