Don't Walk Away

by Elle Kennedy

  “Once this hangover wears off, I’m going to have such a good, hard laugh. I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who ‘wasn’t having any of it’ with Dean the Sex Machine.”

  Emma’s shoulders stiffened. “A sex machine, huh?”

  “Oh yeah, although I’m probably the only woman over twenty-one in this town who hasn’t slept with him. I’m not exactly sure why, because I’ve heard over and over again the man is a wizard between the sheets, but ours is not a sexual connection.” Suz laid a hand over her heart. “We’re soul mates.”

  Emma’s body went impossibly stiffer. She wasn’t surprised to hear Dean was a player, not after his boast about knowing how to go all night. No, it was Suz’s comment about soul mates that sent an unwelcome and involuntary thread of anger snapping ice-cold along her spine.

  You’re my soul mate, Em.

  The husky, emotion-ridden words he’d whispered to her all those years ago echoed in her head, making her heart clench. She’d believed him. She really, really had, and knowing Dean Colter loved her, that he believed they were fated to be together, was the only reason she’d chosen to stay in a town that had nothing to offer her.

  Her father had wanted to send her to boarding school, to a place where academics thrived and scholarships were in abundance, but Emma had insisted Taraville Public High School was good enough for her. Because she’d wanted to be with Dean.

  And when the biggest opportunity of her life had presented itself after graduation, she’d passed that up, too.

  For Dean.

  But they hadn’t been soul mates, because soul mates didn’t abandon each other. Emma choked on the bitterness that rose in her throat, wondering how many other girls Dean had delivered the line to. Her old classmates? Every woman in San Francisco?

  Was his we’re soul mates speech part of his seduction technique?

  Something of her internal turmoil must have shown on her face, because Suz looked worried. “Wait—are you sure you’re not interested in him? Because I was joking about the soul mates thing. Dean and I are good friends. And if you are interested in him, I can nearly one hundred percent guarantee he’s interested in meeting you, and not because he chases everything in a skirt. I don’t suggest you plan for white picket fences and one-point-five kids with the man, but I will vouch for him completely. He’ll treat you like a princess, and you’ll have the time of your life.”

  “Sexual god in the sack, I take it?” Emma was proud of how in control her voice sounded.

  “Like every single one of the Parthenon that used to come to earth to dally with the humans is still around, wrapped up in that lovely, muscular, talented hunk of manhood.” Before she could ask anything else, Suz rose to her feet, moving unsteadily toward the kitchen. “I’m making a double shot in the dark. You want tea, right?”

  “Please.” Emma followed her.

  “Seriously, though, Dean’s a sweetie…” Suz went on, “…and a nasty fucker. He’s so damn dirty he makes me proud. I don’t think you could make the man blink with any request, but no matter what he’s doing, it’s all about worshiping women. In bed and out.”

  Emma’s imagination provided a full-color video track to accompany Suz’s words as she shared some kink-fest love-shack adventure Dean had related. And the time he’d been stopped for speeding by the police, and no one in the car had any clothes on. Or the times he’d been one of two men offering paradise to some lucky woman…

  All the while, her brain offered commentary to go along with the images, mostly Huhs? and WTFs? because the Dean that Suz was describing was not the one Emma remembered from her youth. Her Dean had been gentle and kind, and so patient it had floored her.

  Then again, he hadn’t exactly been a prince in the end, so maybe he’d been playing her all along.

  At the counter, Suz poured two shots of espresso into a cup of regular coffee, added three spoonfuls of sugar and a dash of cream. Then she raised her mug in Emma’s direction. “To the men who know how to make our motors hum. Uncomplicated. Strictly for pleasure, the way sex is supposed to be.”

  Emma clinked her mug against Suz’s and forced a smile she hoped reached her eyes. But she wasn’t smiling inside. She was simply…confused. And angry. And far more bitter than she ought to be feeling, considering how much time had passed since Dean had left Texas—and her—in his dust.

  People said time heals all wounds, but Emma was smart enough to know the truth. You never got over your first love.

  Or your first broken heart.

  Gillian

  Gillian managed to restrain her laughter until she pulled Colby together and sent him out the door. After Dean’s little trick with the alarm, the poor man’s head had to be splitting apart, and she felt sorry for him, but it was still amusing. Colby had turned ultra-needy the instant she’d turned off the sirens, needing help calling a cab, needing aspirin—

  Men. They could have an arm chopped off and be bleeding to death and insist they were fine, but a cold or a wee bit too much to drink turned them into babies.

  It looked as if she was the only one who had it together this morning. She whistled as she poked around the office, a rising sense of satisfaction making her grin.

  She was thrilled with her position at DreamMakers. It was an enormous change from her previous job, but she’d been working with the guys for long enough she was beginning to relax and enjoy her coworkers. Even joke with them a little, and not have it come back to bite her in the butt.

  Gillian rechecked scheduling to see if anything else had been added, but this Saturday there was a very light load. Only the one job, and due to the nature of the setup, she didn’t even have a partner, at least not one onsite. She grabbed a headset and the rest of her supplies, checked her watch, then slipped out the back door, chuckling as she manned the security system.

  Dean could be mean—she liked that about him.

  Once she was in the car and headed to her destination she engaged the hands-free phone.

  “Hey, Gillian. Ready to roll?” Parker greeted her. “You’re cutting it close, aren’t you?”

  “I was being nice and giving you time to sleep in. Besides, we’re talking about a large gathering of women, boss. Women wearing swimsuits—that takes more prep than you think. No one is going to be there the moment the pool opens.”

  “I’ll take your word on the timing, although I do know it’s a lady’s prerogative to be late.”

  She smiled. “I really don’t know what you plan to do if I get in trouble. You’d never make it into the building today, not with the security in place and the ladies-only invitation.”

  “Which is why you’re our point man, so to speak.” Parker’s deep voice grew firmer. “But trust me on this—if you need me, just shout and I’ll be there faster than you can say ‘crashing a bachelorette party’. I don’t leave my team behind.”

  “It’s your ass that will end up in jail, but I appreciate the reassurance.” Earlier she’d glanced through the paperwork again to reacquaint herself with their target, and she’d been shocked to realize the level of clientele DreamMakers was associating with. “I can’t believe I’m stalking royalty.”

  “Minor royalty,” Parker corrected. “But I don’t know why it’s that surprising. Clueless guys are clueless guys, no matter how many dollar signs go after their name.”

  “Or how much landmass. Actually, I’m impressed the man is even bothering to try to figure out his fiancée. I thought most of those types with prearranged marriages didn’t care.”

  Parker hummed his agreement. “He’s one of the good ones. Anyway, this is a rare chance to get close to her since she’s usually got security around twenty-four-seven—do your best, but don’t take chances.”

  “What? And have our perfect record destroyed? I’ll get the deets we need,” she promised as she pulled into the parking lot of the massive recreation center. “I’m heading in now. As soon as I get my sunglasses in place I’ll have mic abilities again. Until then, over and out.” />
  “Roger that.”

  Gillian grabbed her beach bag from the trunk, tucked her keys in their hiding place—never go anywhere without an escape plan—and made her way to the front entrance of the massive indoor waterpark. She flashed a smile at the security guards who were manning the doorway as she waved her invitation to what she’d been mentally calling the Princess Pool Party. “Which way to the pool?” she asked cheerfully.

  A burly rent-a-cop stepped in her path. “I need to see some photo I.D.”

  He didn’t budge until she reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. “If you wanted to get my name and phone number, all you had to do was ask,” she teased, her ditzy, non-threatening role-play slipping easily into place.

  During her army days, she’d spent too much time in the field acting as the decoy, or using her wiles to access vantage points where she could line up her rifle on her target. No one ever suspected the simpering bubblehead. Getting people to trust her always made the job go smoother—and while she didn’t have the blonde hair, she could do the stereotypical blonde persona no problem.

  Mr. Security was a hard nut to crack. His lips barely moved as he shoved back her driver’s license. “You’re clear to go in.”

  Gillian resisted the urge to snap off a salute, instead making sure she walked away with lots of swing to her hips. His reflection showed up clearly in the doors as she approached, and sure enough, he’d turned to watch her.

  She gloated a little.

  The doors swung open as she reached for them, another set of suited and armed men letting her in and pointing her in the right direction.

  Halfway down the hall she hauled out her sunglasses and turned on the tiny mic in the frame. “You totally could’ve gotten in here undercover. So far I’ve seen more men than women,” she muttered.

  “Once you get past the pool doors it’ll be different.”

  Gillian left her things in a locker, feeling a little naked since she’d left her firepower at the office, but not even she had figured out a way to hide a gun while wearing a bikini.

  She slipped on an oversized shirt as a cover-up, left her long hair down, and pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head.

  “Moving out,” she informed Parker.

  “I’m in the parking lot. Get what we need and get out of there. Then we can both go have an exciting Saturday.”

  Gillian didn’t bother to mention this was the exciting part of her day. Once the job was done, she was going to be bored out of her skull.

  She wandered around the pool area, feminine laughter and music filling the space. The party atmosphere was starting to kick into overdrive as ladies moved around the large wave pool-turned-tropical paradise.

  Lady Beatrix, her target, was easy to spot in the midst of the bevy. Her gold metallic bikini sparkled in the bright sunshine pouring in from the windows. Gillian grabbed a drink from one of the uniformed servers—more men—and strolled casually through the crowd.

  “We got bad intel. There are tons of guys in here, from the servers to the lifeguards.” She eyed the young man standing at the edge of the pool wearing nothing but a red pair of shorts, his body suspiciously shiny as if he’d oiled up. She smiled in amusement. “Scratch that. They aren’t lifeguards, I think they’re models hired to look pretty.”

  “Damn, we totally could’ve sent Dean with you, or Colby.”

  “Dean would have had too much fun,” she pointed out. “Info incoming.”

  She paced past where Lady Beatrix was holding court with a group of bathing beauties. It was strange to see the woman lounging with no bodyguards around, but it certainly made Gillian’s task easier. She moved in close enough to spot details, then carried on until she was out of hearing range. “All gold jewelry, nothing too flashy. She’s wearing a gold locket—heart shaped—and a couple of rings, including what I suspect is her engagement stone that’s nearly the size of Iceland. Okay, that sucker is flashy.”

  Gillian took a set of stairs to where she could observe the pool area and her target. “She’s not drinking the fruity bullshit everyone else has. Looks like white wine, wait… Her glass is the wrong shape. She’s sipping champagne. She’s also turned down all of the snacks except the shrimp. And that gold bikini she’s wearing has a matching cover-up and sandals, and even from a distance I can see her nails are the same color. The lady likes her gold.”

  Lady Beatrix should have been called Lady Butterfly. The woman flitted from group to group, chatting easily for a few moments before moving to a new area. It gave Gillian time to walk behind and overhear snippets of conversation, but in the end she returned to her perch to see if there were any final details she could get.

  She was craning her neck to watch what Lady Butterfly would do when confronted with another of the models-slash-entertainers, this one turning balloons into naughty animals, when a strong pair of hands caught her wrists. Gillian barely had time to react before a solid body pressed against her and pinned her in place at the railing.

  “You don’t look like you’re enjoying the party very much.” The deep male rumble in her ear sent a shiver up her spine. The tight grip he had on her, and the position he’d trapped her in, with one of his legs jammed between hers and his hips pressing hers to the railing, meant she needed to sweet talk her way out of this.

  “Gillian? Are you in trouble?”

  Shit. Parker must have picked up the guy’s voice, and right now the last thing Gillian needed was for anyone to come rushing to her rescue. Not when she didn’t even know what was going on yet. “Nothing wrong. Need to sign off for a moment. I’ll call you back, Mom.”

  “Ten-four,” Parker responded, probably assuming Gillian was slipping away from a dangerous situation.

  Well, in a way…

  It took less than a second for her sunglasses to be pulled from her head and tossed aside, the tiny receiver in her ear along with them. Her stranger’s hand was back on her wrist before she had a chance to dig her elbow into him.

  She twisted her head to grab a glimpse, and her breath hitched when she realized just how attractive he was. Sandy blond hair worn in a buzz cut, a rugged, masculine face shadowed with stubble, and shrewd blue eyes that locked on her face, searching, assessing.

  “That wasn’t nice,” she grumbled, pretending to be unaffected by both his looks and his manhandling of her. “I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to use a headset for my phone at this party.”

  “You’re not here for the party,” he whispered, tugging one hand off the railing and slipping it across her belly. The position put her entirely into his embrace, so anyone watching would simply see one of the guests having a small moment with one of the entertainment.

  “Neither are you, obviously,” she retorted, attempting to twist her wrist free, testing his grasp.

  “Security detail. You’re a little too interested in Lady B, and we both know damn well you weren’t on the phone just now. I’ll need to see some I.D.”

  Damn it. Time to try a different ploy. “What is it with you rent-a-cops all wanting to sneak a peek at my credentials? My I.D. doesn’t give my measurements. Not that you couldn’t pretty much take my pulse right now, along with whatever info you want.”

  She squirmed a little to prove her point.

  All she accomplished was to knock the shoulder off her cover-up, along with giving her complete and utter proof that her human flytrap was rocking one hell of a pumped body. Including one hell of a solid in the groin, if that thing digging into her hip wasn’t a concealed weapon.

  God, guys really did walk around with a boner ninety percent of the time.

  “I recognize you,” he said softly.

  Shit. “Probably not. San Francisco is a big town, and I’m pretty new and—”

  He put his lips to her ear. “I used to work with the police department. My sister is friends with your boss’s fiancée.”

  “Really? Small world after all.” She was so annoyed she’d been spotted. “So, you mind letting me go,
then?”

  “Not so quick, sweetheart. Why are you here?”

  “To swim?” She sucked for air when he chuckled, his rough jaw rubbing her bare shoulder. “You said you know who I work for. Why do you think I’m here, Einstein?”

  “That’s the trouble, I don’t know for sure.” He stood and lifted her off her feet, twirling them into a hidden alcove beside the stairwell. Damn him, he shoved his leg between hers again, the heavy weight of his body sealing her to the wall like concrete paint.

  And now the equipment she’d been trying to ignore was pressed to her belly and there was no pretending it didn’t exist. Still, she tried. “I’m following her ladyship on the specific request of his lordship. Clear enough?”

  He caught hold of her chin and forced her head up. Damn, the man was cut and gorgeous, steely blue-gray eyes fixed on hers.

  “I know who you used to work for as well.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m a civilian now,” she insisted. When he didn’t move, she lost her temper and snapped at him. “Go ahead and search me if you think I’ve managed to get in here with my assault rifle. Maybe it’s in my bikini top. Maybe you should strip search me.”

  For a split second his focus wavered, his gaze drifting down the gaping cover-up and lingering on her curves.

  Taking full advantage of his distraction, Gillian raised the knee between his legs hard, and as he crumpled backward, shoved herself off the wall. Two steps took her through the exit door, and then she was flying down the emergency stairs to freedom.

  Well now. That had not been boring.

  She skipped returning to the changing room for now—she’d grab her clothes out of the locker another day. Now she just had to explain to Parker why she’d left the building without her equipment, and a rush of frustration struck again.

  Damn the man.

  Not Parker, but the wall of sexy who’d gotten the jump on her. The urge to retaliate was strong, and she fought it for all of thirty seconds. Screw being nice—she wanted a name for her nemesis.