by Denise Lynn
But instead of filling it again, Braeden plucked the goblet from her fingers, set it on the table, then pushed the table aside.
“What’s going on?”
She had known this was coming. Just like the clothes on the floor, it was another quirk. He wasn’t going to stop until he had an explanation for everything he’d seen in her mind. It was all she could do not to huff in resignation as she leaned back in the chair. “You already know why I’m here.”
“I know some men attacked you.” He ticked off the items on his fingers. “That your town house was blown up and that you thought it was my Phantom parked in front.”
With three fingers raised in the air, he said, “Those three things don’t explain why you’re here or why you’re packing a gun.” He lowered his hand. “As I already told you, my Phantom was just delivered this morning. I haven’t even driven it yet.”
Something in the tone of his voice made her believe him. Perhaps he didn’t want her dead. If he did, he could have pushed her over the balcony. Except that would have been a little obvious.
However, someone had forced her into the position of coming to him. The why was fairly obvious—they wanted the whole book translated and Braeden had the book. Still, the question was who. Was it this Nathan?
Or was it Braeden? Would he have gone to such lengths for the translation? No. It would have made more sense for him to seek reconciliation with her, even if only temporarily, to get what he wanted.
“Quit thinking and tell me what’s going on.”
A telltale flush heated her cheeks. After all this time it was still so easy for him that he needed no special powers to decipher her expressions or body language. At times she nearly hated him for that skill.
“I already told you all I know. Someone wants the manuscript translated.”
“You just discovered that yesterday morning. You had no clue that they meant you harm, so why were you carrying a gun?”
“To protect myself.”
He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back. “From?”
Alexia stared at him. With his arms pitched at that angle and his chest expanded, he looked like a dragon with its wings spread. Worse, he looked like some primitive warrior. A powerful man, strong and sure of himself. Someone who could protect her from any danger. She cleared her throat. If she weren’t careful, she’d be throwing herself at that muscular expanse.
When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Who is Jack?”
Damn. How had he made that connection? She nearly gagged on her curse.
“Nobody.”
“A boyfriend?”
“A boyfriend? You make it sound like I have a dozen on a string.”
“Is he?”
“God, no.” She wanted to disabuse him of that notion right away. They had enough between them without the added complication of an imagined lover. “No. He was just someone I worked with. We had coffee a couple of times, but that was it.”
“How is he connected with the gun?”
She should have known Braeden wouldn’t give up. She rose, unwilling to look at him, thinking it easier to pace the floor instead. “He wanted to be more than a fellow employee. I explained to him that I was married, but he didn’t seem to hear, or want to hear me.”
“I’m surprised you remembered.”
This was something else she should have expected—his pointed jabs. Trying her best to ignore them, she continued, “One of the employees held their wedding reception at the museum. We went together—”
“On a date.”
Again she paid no attention to his tone, responding, instead, to his comment. “All of us were there. Jack and I only drove together because my car was in the shop.”
“Not a wise move on your part.”
No kidding. She’d figured that out far too late, though. “Yes, well, he proceeded to get drunk, so I took a cab home.”
“Something you should have taken to get there.”
Ready to scream, she glared at him. “I made a mistake in judgment. That’s all.”
Braeden lowered his arms. “The gun?”
Alexia took a deep breath. “Jack was busted for drunk driving on his way home.”
“And?”
She stopped in front of him. Something wasn’t quite right. While his comments made it sound as if this was all news to him, his expressions, his tone of voice seemed more bored than anything else.
She narrowed her eyes and tapped one foot. “You already know the and, don’t you?”
“You mean the part where he was busted for drug possession?”
Alexia flinched. “So you’ve tracked more than just my spending habits. Did you pay someone to watch me?”
“No, but from now on it’s a given that you’ll have someone shadowing your every move. The arrest was in the paper.”
“I doubt if Jack getting busted made the newspaper down here. What’d you do—run a search on my name every day?”
“Ah, Alexia, your life wasn’t that interesting. Once a week was enough to keep tabs on you.”
Fervid tremors coursed hotly through her. Alexia curled her fingers into fists, closed her eyes and tried her best to count to ten.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself nose to collar bone with Braeden. He’d risen soundlessly and now loomed over her.
“You can’t hide anything from me.” He cupped her chin and tipped her head back. “Do you understand that? It doesn’t require magic to know where you go or what you do. If you don’t just tell me what I need to know, I will find it out myself. And I won’t have to delve inside your head to do so.”
“You pay people to watch me?”
“When I need to, yes.”
She didn’t understand why he would go that far. “I left you. There was no reason for you to concern yourself with me.”
“You still use my name. You are still my wife.”
“And you were worried that I would embarrass you or disgrace your name somehow?”
He leaned closer. “Don’t be a fool.”
Alexia groaned. Every logical thought in her mind screamed, Push him away, don’t keep letting him do this to you! But her heart urged her to lean against him, to let his lips and hands remind her again of the magic they’d once shared.
She uncurled her fingers and placed her hands against his chest. “Don’t. Braeden, please, don’t.”
His mouth hovered a breath above hers. “You want this as much as I do.” His lips were warm as he brushed hers with a kiss. “Can you deny that?”
Alexia did her best to ignore what his touch did to her. She knew that the sudden difficulty with breathing could be calmed. The urge to thread her fingers through his hair and draw his mouth back to hers would be quieted. The heat flaring to life in her blood would cool.
Yet while she could eventually steady the erratic pounding of her heart, she would never be able to rid herself of the desperate longing his caress produced.
“No, damn you, I can’t deny it.”
He released her. “The gun?”
Alexia nearly groaned at the loss of his touch. She closed her eyes tightly while a shiver raced the length of her body. Finally she looked at him asking, “Gun?”
“The Beretta.”
How could he stand there and act as if he wasn’t bothered in the least by what had just happened? She sat down and forced herself to fake a calm she didn’t feel.
There was no point lying about it. As he’d warned her, if she didn’t just tell him, he’d find out himself. “While Jack was in jail, he called a couple of times threatening to get even with me for testifying against him, so I learned how to use a gun just in case. The gun-club instructor said the Beretta was pretty accurate and it was small enough to fit my grip. I figured it’d be easy for me to handle.”
“Small isn’t necessarily easy to handle.”
“I figured it’d be easier to handle than, say—a tank.”
Braeden crossed to the glass doors. “Jack is out of ja
il?”
“Yes, he called yesterday morning before I left for work, promising to show up at the museum.” She’d started the day out thinking her only worry would be Jack, so she’d slipped the gun into her jacket pocket.
“Did he?”
“Thankfully, no.”
Without turning around, Braeden asked, “Did you kill the man you shot?”
Kill him? Just the thought made Alexia feel ill. “No, I couldn’t do that. I just winged his arm.”
“So he’s still out there.”
It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer. But he was right. The men were still out there.
“Would you recognize him?”
“No. They all wore face masks.”
Braeden muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse before turning away from the view.
He pointed toward a hallway to his right—the opposite direction of his bedroom. “There’s another bedroom with a master bath that way.”
Completely businesslike, he nodded toward what looked like a wet bar. She could see the kitchen beyond it from where she sat. “There’s a dining room and laundry room at the rear of the kitchen.”
“The den is there.” He pointed at the French doors at the front left of the living room.
She’d come to him for help, for protection, not to play house. “There aren’t any other rooms available?”
“Of course there are. There are 220, to be exact.”
“Then—”
He stepped in front of her. “No. You’ll stay here.”
“In your suite?”
“Yes.”
The idea terrified her, turned the blood in her veins cold. “Why?”
Without any trace of emotion, he said, “Because I don’t trust you.”
“Am I your—prisoner, then?”
“No. This time when you decide to run away, instead of coming to me, I will be there to stop you.”
He’s gotten too good at second-guessing her. “I didn’t run away. I just left.”
Braeden turned and walked to the entry door. With his hand on the knob, he asked, “Who do you think your lies hurt more? Me? Or you?”
Before she could respond, the door slammed closed behind him.
Chapter 6
“My lies?”
Braeden heard Alexia’s furious shout through the closed door.
The door handle jiggled and he stopped, turned around and waited for her to barge into the hallway. A shouting match in the middle of the family’s private floor would be the final straw to this already wasted day.
When the handle didn’t turn, meaning she was too irate even to notice that she had to push the button to turn it, he took a step in the opposite direction—toward the elevators.
With any luck he could get out of the hallway before she figured out how to open the door. He wasn’t escaping. He had a business to run, a resort to open. Cam wanted his input on the candidates for the chief-of-security position. He’d already put his brother off twice today.
Behind him, Alexia pounded on the door, shouting, “Damn you, Drake, get back here!”
At the same moment, Sean sauntered around the corner at the other end of the hallway. He’d obviously heard Alexia, because he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall with an arrogant smirk on his lips and an amused gleam in his eye.
Ten or so years ago, Braeden would have wiped both the smirk and the gleam from Sean’s face. If Sean wasn’t careful, he still might.
Braeden turned back to his suite and thumped the door, giving Alexia warning that he was coming in. Again, instead of retrieving his key card, he just waved the door open.
It slammed against the inside wall hard enough to leave a dent in the drywall. And slammed again when he stepped into the suite and waved the door closed behind him.
Alexia wasted no time. She rushed at him, stuck out her hand and poked her index finger against his chest.
“Don’t you dare slam a door in my face again!”
He grabbed her arms and pushed her away. “You don’t want to do this.”
“I don’t?” Alexia’s voice raised half an octave. Her breathing was heavy and hard. “How dare you tell me what I do or don’t want to do!”
“Alexia, don’t.”
His softly spoken warning would have made a sane person think twice. It was apparent Alexia currently had no illusions of being sane. “Or what?” She stood toe to toe with him, glaring up at him. “What will you do, Braeden?”
She really didn’t want an answer to that. Her eyes shimmered like sapphires against the flush of her face. Her chest heaved, and her lips parted with the force of her breathing.
What he wanted to do was kiss her until her breathing turned ragged with lust.
Braeden paused at the turn his thoughts had taken. Following that road would gain him nothing but trouble. And he had enough of that right now.
She poked him again. “Answer me.”
Oh, he had every intention of answering her—in his own time and in his own way. It was obvious she was going out of her way to make him angrier than he already was.
What sort of game was this? What benefit did she think to gain from making him totally lose his temper?
“Are you listening to me?” She raised her hand toward his arm.
Braeden stepped out of her reach. Since she wasn’t going to let it go, he pulled out his cell phone and buzzed Cam. “We’re going to have to put this off until morning.”
Cam laughed before saying, “I’m shocked.”
Braeden didn’t bother to reply. He turned the phone off, tossed it onto the bar, then took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie while heading toward the bedroom.
“Don’t you walk away from me.”
He stopped, but didn’t turn. “Since you’re so damn anxious to have a fight, I’m going to get out of these clothes first.”
“Oh, we have nothing to fight about. I’ll just leave.”
At that he did turn around. But instead of going to Alexia, he made a show of snapping his fingers at the door. She started this. And this time she wasn’t walking away. “Go ahead, try.”
She did, but after tugging at the door, yelled at him, “Why, you—”
Before slamming the bedroom door, he shouted back, “Hold that thought.”
Alexia stormed to the bar. She jerked open the small fridge beneath the counter. The selection included regular beer or light beer. She kicked the door closed.
What she wanted was a double shot of scotch. Anything that would help lessen the pure fury pounding in her head and chest.
But the scotch would only make her sick, and that wouldn’t do much to improve her mood.
Why was she so livid? She poured a glass of water and stared at Braeden’s bedroom door. Her rage only grew the longer it took him to reappear.
Three years ago she’d have backed down. But she was done backing down. This moment had been a long time coming. Years, to be precise.
She was tired of being called a liar. Whether he did so outright or in so many words, the accusation was there. And it stung more than she could say.
The sound of running water from his shower dragged a frustrated scream from her throat. If he thought taking his sweet time was going to calm her down, he was wrong.
It only fueled her desire for a good, old-fashioned argument. The kind they’d never had. She snorted and raised the glass of water toward his room in a mock salute before leaning her elbows on the countertop. This time neither one of them was walking away.
By the time she swallowed the last of the water, his door opened. Alexia set down her empty glass and turned to meet him head-on.
In his usual brusque manner, he stalked toward her wearing nothing but a pair of baggy sweatpants.
Expecting him to stop in front of her, Alexia planted her feet and lifted her chin.
But he didn’t stop, he walked right up against her and kept pushing her backward until she was pinned by the hard wall be
hind her and the solid wall of muscle in front.
“Get away from me.” She lifted her hands to push him away. But he easily grabbed her wrists and dragged them above her head.
“You were saying?”
She tried pulling her wrists free, but he held them pinned against the wall with one hand. “Let me go.”
Braeden shook his head. “No.”
At his cold, emotionless tone, icy dread seeped into her anger. The need to get away helped feed the now growing fear. She struggled against him, but he only pressed his chest harder against her.
Her heart pounding desperately, Alexia bent her leg, but before she could plant her knee in his groin, he kicked her legs apart and stood between them.
That attempt for freedom thwarted, she did her best to throw herself against his chest.
But when that move only drew a sigh from Braeden, she glared up at him and sucked in a heavy breath at the darkening of his narrowed gaze.
“Let me go. Please, let me go.” To her horror, her voice quavered and she bit her lower lip to keep from saying anything else. She wasn’t going to cry in front of him. It didn’t matter that the tears were those of rage. She wasn’t about to give him that kind of satisfaction.
Braeden relaxed his hold slightly. “Finished?”
Nearly exhausted, she nodded. He released her wrists, but before she could move away, he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder and headed back to the bedroom.
“What the hell are you doing?” She kicked her legs, but he only wrapped an arm around them. “Braeden, put me down.”
He did, but not until he’d closed the bedroom door behind them and dropped her onto the mattress. She scrambled to the far side of the bed. But he grasped her ankle and pulled her back, ordering, “Stay there.”
“I’m not your lapdog.”
“No, you’re my lying, back-stabbing wife.”
Alexia flinched. “I am not.”
“Not what? My wife? Or not a lying back-stabber?”
She slid to the far side of the bed. “Neither.” He was going to make this as hard as he could.
“I told you to stay put.” He reached out to grasp her arm.
