by Jo Leigh
To make it seem even more like something out of a movie, upbeat elevator music played softly in the background, and there was a ridiculous ratio of waiters to guests. The people who had been invited to this reception wouldn’t be walking the exhibit hall during the conference. And they’d definitely not be attending any sessions. She doubted that there was one guest in that room who wasn’t worth at least a billion dollars. In Holstrom’s case, it was many billions.
More than half the men were Middle Eastern and she recognized a few bigwigs from Eastern Europe. Their plus-ones were mostly American women in classy but slightly immodest clothes, although there were two women in gorgeous abayas sitting in one of the tidy group lounges.
And there he was.
Ian Holstrom, five-foot-eleven with a suspiciously rich head of dark hair, was as trim as an athlete and dressed like a king. To say he was tailored missed the mark. His suit fit him so perfectly it outshined every other Western man in the room.
At least she’d been forewarned about him. Virtually every photo of him played up his massive ego. In the flesh, he wore his superiority like a cape.
She had to nail her entrance. But playing the part of a woman who bore no resemblance to herself would be even more challenging.
Knowing that somewhere in Boston, probably in his home, there could be a treasure trove of stolen masterpieces from around the world, gave her the courage to do whatever it took to get to him. And, of course, thinking about her father being wrongly accused...
No, that didn’t help.
Pushing aside all thoughts to focus exclusively on her prey, Kensey lingered near the door, waiting for the perfect moment to make her entrance. It took a while, but she understood patience. Finally, Holstrom was at the far end of the room, and she was directly in his sight line. She pushed her shoulders back and began her walk.
The liquid silk of her dress caressed her body with fluid grace out behind her and in between her legs. Using a model’s runway strut, she thrust out her pelvis as she took extra long steps, which wasn’t easy in five-inch heels. But it worked.
A slight hush fell, and she sensed that lots of people were watching her, but all she cared about was one pair of eyes.
There. She’d done it. He hadn’t just looked, he’d stared. Looked her up and down, from head to toe with revisits to her crotch and her breasts. They were her tools tonight, and she was glad she’d kept up with her martial arts and gymnastics.
Just as she’d hoped, Holstrom walked to her those last five footsteps, abandoning the brunette at his side. “And who might you be?” he asked. His voice was half an octave too high to be truly sexy. She’d bet that killed him.
She put out her hand. “Kensington Roberts,” she said. “My friends call me Kensey.”
Being a gentleman, or a reasonable facsimile, he took her hand in his. “Tell me, Kensey, are you here with someone?”
“No. I came here tonight to meet you. To introduce myself.”
“Oh?” he said. “And why is that?”
“Because I’ve heard a lot about you. I was here at the conference, anyway, and I thought, why not?”
He smiled. Maybe because he finally realized he was still holding her hand. He let her go, but he took his time.
Jesus, what was she doing? Her father had probably done business with this son of a bitch. Sold him stolen paintings so that Holstrom could get off knowing he was the only one who could ever look at them.
“I truly am here for the conference,” she said. “Security is part of my job.”
“Are you a bodyguard?”
She laughed softly. “Not quite. I’m a curator.” Looking around as if she’d seen nothing but him before now, she gasped, subtly. “This room is amazing. I’ve heard about your parties, and I swore I would find out if the rumors were true.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Rumors?”
“That you want only the best of the best. That you never settle, or skimp. That you are incredibly discerning, especially when it comes to art and wine.”
He smiled, but his gaze had become less enchanted and more curious. “A curator? For a museum? A private collector?”
“I just left a job, so I’m currently freelancing.” She smiled shyly as she let her gaze move down his body. His suit was even more impressive up close. “I must be holding you up,” she said, slowly lifting her gaze until she met his light eyes. “I hope to see you at the conference.”
“You aren’t leaving so soon.” With a slight frown he glanced toward the entrance. “You put a lot of effort into getting into a very private party. And you’ve cost a fool his job.”
“Oh, no. Please don’t do that,” she said. “I’m quite sure he’ll never make that mistake again.”
“No, he won’t. Not in my organization. But surely you want to stay and have some vodka and caviar.” He signaled for a waiter. “The blinis and caviar are excellent.”
“Thank you.” She took a step toward the door, pleased to see men were still eyeing her. Their envious looks would play well to Holstrom’s ego. “Everything looks wonderful, but I’m meeting someone for dinner.”
He didn’t try to persuade her further but started walking with her. “In case we don’t meet at the conference, where can I reach you? Perhaps you’ll allow me to take you for drinks or to dinner. I’m assuming you’re not from Boston?”
“No, I’m not.” She took out a card with only her name and cell number, printed yesterday for this very purpose, and gave it to him.
They’d reached the door where the guard remained at his post. Kensey touched Holstrom’s arm. “Please don’t fire him, Ian,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper close to his ear. “It’s my fault and I’d feel awful.”
A slow smile curved Holstrom’s mouth. “A beautiful woman with a soft heart,” he said. “Max is one of my best men. I suppose I can overlook his lapse in judgment.”
“Thank you.” Kensey pulled her hand back but not before Holstrom gave it a light squeeze.
She thought he might be watching her head for the elevator, but she didn’t look back. She didn’t feel comfortable until she was downstairs, waiting for the doorman to flag her cab.
Once she was on her way, her thoughts went to Logan instead of reviewing what had happened with Holstrom.
She imagined Logan instead of Ian in that amazing suit, and that made her shift on her seat, and then she imagined him without the suit.
Which she had to stop doing before she fogged up all the windows.
She decided it would be foolish not to find out more about him. Despite Sam’s assurances that he was one of the good guys, Kensey didn’t know him from Adam. And considering she would be spending the next several days with him, it would be to her advantage to spend some time with him, learn whatever she could. The apartment was large, but there was always the risk of being overheard or of him finding something that raised questions.
She needed to make sure he wasn’t a threat.
And there was no law against having a nice time while she did it.
4
LOGAN STOOD AT the entrance to the Security Conference and Exhibition and realized everyone had gotten there early to beat the crowds. Oh, well, he’d known there was no way this shindig wasn’t going to be massive.
The security business had grown beyond anyone’s expectations over the past ten years, which was good for his personal future and not so great for the world. But this conference covered everything from security for presidents and popes to outfitting classrooms and private bedrooms with the latest security measures.
He would take his time today, check out some of the new technology...although he doubted anything on display could match what he’d seen back at Sam’s apartment. Her presentation was going to make one hell of a big splash on closing day, especially with the debut of
a completely new kind of minicam. But Sam was specialized and he needed a lot more than what she could provide.
What had begun as a small security startup to ease him back into civilian life had grown into something far bigger than he’d ever imagined. Big enough to employ some of his fellow vets and give them an opportunity to do something worthwhile.
Which was why he needed that contract from Holstrom. While Logan preferred to operate independently, it would take years before he had the corporate and government contacts and the credibility that Holstrom had established. The timing was perfect. Holstrom had made his mark and a hell of a lot of money selling weapons. Last year he’d branched out to the security business, and while he was savvy and already doing well, he still had a lot to learn about navigating the intricacies of working on foreign soil.
That’s where Logan could shine. He had firsthand experience and knowledge of operating in the field. He also personally knew a lot of excellent, highly trained men well enough to identify their strengths, their weaknesses and whether they were mentally capable of being sent back into the field. His insight also enabled him to place them in positions for which they’d be best suited.
Unfortunately, being former black ops couldn’t help him land clients. As far as politicians and most every other American were concerned, soldiers like him—men and women who worked in the shadows—didn’t exist beyond Hollywood. And that nice and tidy fallacy worked very well for the secrecy coveted by a certain arm of the CIA.
He didn’t regret his patriotic service, nor had he been looking for glory. But it sure as hell would’ve been useful to list his experience on his résumé. Potential clients would be lining up to have access to someone who’d been a member of the world’s most elite team of professional soldiers. On the other hand, he’d have to explain why he’d left the CIA. And that was something he didn’t want to think about, much less discuss with anyone.
Logan hadn’t gotten past that one yet. It didn’t seem to matter that his final mission was a failure. He had his target in his sights, but the kill shot would have taken out a small child—collateral damage. He couldn’t pull the trigger. The target wasn’t even a credible threat, but that didn’t matter. Another sniper had taken the shot in Logan’s stead. The child had died. And he was done.
Luckily he didn’t think about it as often anymore, and he wasn’t about to let the past cloud his judgment now. He owed it to himself and his brothers to give the opportunity to subcontract for Holstrom his full attention. So far Logan had used only a handful of special-ops vets for domestic cases, but word had been spreading in its intricate way through the legion of tier-one special operatives that he was expanding. And now he had over a hundred interested men ready to sign. All of them eager and ready to roll. It all came down to securing enough funds. His personal savings and portfolio would only take him so far.
The first booth that caught his attention had night vision scopes sporting new technology that made them easier to use. He got carried away and made it to only two more booths before realizing it was nearly one, and he was starving. Unfortunately, they didn’t sell food in the exhibit hall, so he’d have to go to the adjoining hotel or find somewhere to eat on the street.
But he’d come back, stay to the end of the day and finish checking out the booths to see which ones he should revisit tomorrow. The day after, he’d be giving his presentation. Day Four was his meeting with Holstrom, and he hoped, a big celebration when he was awarded the contract.
For now, his hunger needed to be dealt with. Why he hadn’t stashed a couple of protein bars in his pocket was beyond him. Especially considering the variety of bars Sam had stocked in the pantry.
Thinking about the apartment made him think of Kensey. Where had she gone last night, looking so fierce and so sexy he had forbidden himself from thinking about her during conference hours?
He quickly pulled himself back to the most pressing order of business...which was what? Yeah, right. Food.
Come to think of it, he needed to try some of the new kinds of nutritional substitutes being sampled in booths at the other end of the building. And not just because right now he could eat the hindquarters of a jackass. He wanted the best for the people he hired. Sometimes overlooking something small could make or break a mission. Like food, water, warmth—
“Oh, hey.”
He knew that voice. And that body. Goddamn, why’d he have to run into her? “Do you know how many people are at this conference?” he asked, turning toward Kensey.
She looked surprised. “No. How many?”
“I have no idea,” he said. “A lot. And we run into each other?”
She started laughing. “I’m not following you, Logan. I give you my word.”
“Which is just what someone who was following me would say.”
“Tell me you’re joking.”
He let his grin take over. “Yeah, I’m kidding. Hey, have you had lunch? I’m trying to make my way out of here to grab something.”
She shook her head, making her hair swish over her shoulders. She wasn’t wearing it the way she had last night. But then she wasn’t wearing that dress, either. Damn thing had kept him up half the night. Thank God he hadn’t seen her in it when he was fifteen. He’d have OD’d from masturbating so much. Being thirty-three had its upside.
“I’ve got a thing,” she said. “But I’ll be home this evening. What about dinner?”
That was so much better. He smiled as if he’d won a medal before calming his shit down to something a grown man would wear. “Sounds great. What time? Seven? Eight?”
She seemed to be thinking it over, which gave him a chance to look down. Mistake. Man, she was hot. Her blue-gray T-shirt was just tight enough, and the neckline was wide enough for him to become really familiar with some of her enticing secondary parts. Like the ridges of her collarbones, the toned slope of her shoulder...
And her pants... On a guy he’d call them cargo pants, but on her, they became a shrine to her curvy shape. They hugged her thighs, then went straight down to her blue-gray high heels. The middle section was covered by a very wide pinkish belt that sat squarely on her right hip then pointed south.
He couldn’t wait until she turned around, because that T-shirt was tucked in. He’d have a perfect view of what had to be a damn fine behind.
“How’s your afternoon?” she asked.
“You mean, now?”
“I’m just trying to figure out dinner. Either 7:00 or 8:00 would work for me, but if you have a full afternoon we can—”
“Nope. I’m tied up until 6:30. After that I’m free and clear for the night.”
“Perfect,” she said, and so was her smile. “How about we shoot for 7:30?”
“Great. At the apartment, right?”
“Right.” She was giving him a funny look. Had he missed something? Or was he that stupidly obvious? “See you later,” she said and turned around.
Even in the terrible lighting of the convention hall, her behind looked world-class. But it wasn’t just her butt. The shirt’s neckline dropped down in the back. Low enough for him to see that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
The second Logan heard the familiar voice he shut his eyes and silently willed Kensey to leave. Now. Run.
“If it ain’t Captain McBabe!”
Slowly, Logan opened his eyes. Shit. Sergeant Allan Rucker, the self-designated “Ruckster,” was coming toward him, and the beautiful, incredible Kensey Unknown Last Name was turning around.
Perfect.
“Dude,” Allan said. “I shoulda known I’d see you here. You end up being a spy like I said? I told you. Remember? Way back.” He gripped Logan’s arms and pulled him into a hug that hurt in so many ways.
Technically, he could have gotten out of it. But he wasn’t about to
do that. Not in front of Kensey. Not in public. “Ruckster” meant well and he’d been a good soldier back in the army. “How are you, Allan?”
“A-OK, Captain. Working for ADT in residential security. You know, doing my thing right here in Boston. Shit. I haven’t seen you for, what’s it been, eight years?”
“About that.” He nodded, saddened by how much Allan had aged. His old acquaintance had a gut on him, and his breath smelled like beer. But he was here, so he was making it.
“You doing okay?”
“Fine.”
“Good.” Allan’s restless gaze swept the perimeter. “Listen, Captain, I’ve gotta spin, but you know how to find me. Hell, you could find anybody, couldn’t you?” The big guy went for a handshake, blessedly, and then that part of Logan’s past disappeared again.
He didn’t want to look to see if Kensey was still there.
“Captain McBabe?”
Damn it. “Yep,” he said. “It’s because I’m dashing and suave.”
“Huh,” Kensey said. Then she just looked at him for a while. Finally, a second before he was going to break the silence, she said, “See you later.”
He would. See her later. At least now he wouldn’t have any trouble with rogue erections. All he had to do was imagine her calling him McBabe again.
* * *
KENSEY CLOSED THE fridge door and decided right then that she’d let Logan choose whether they ate in or went out for dinner. Either way, she wasn’t going to be cooking. Now that she’d inventoried the refrigerator and seen some of the recipes Sam had left at the apartment, she understood the reason for the list of names she’d found in a drawer. With twenty-four hours’ notice, guests could hire a professional chef to come in and cook for them. She got the appeal.
Even better, once she finished the pint of amazing Toscanini’s pistachio ice cream she’d found in the freezer, she would be able to order another carton for delivery the next day. She might even tell Logan about it, instead of hiding the ice cream under a big bag of frozen blueberries.
In the past hour she’d learned a lot about the perks and gadgets that came with the apartment. The place was incredible. Although, she liked her own apartment an awful lot. Thanks to her father’s guilt money, she owned a two-bedroom co-op in Chelsea that had become her sanctuary in New York.
