by Lori Foster
Drew could hear the water running in her bathroom, and he pictured her naked, wet, suds sliding over all those full curves . . .
Shit. He needed to think about something else before he joined her in the shower. She needed some time without him pawing at her, and they really did have other issues to deal with. He was first and foremost a businessman, and getting things back on track would now have to be a priority.
As he strolled around her apartment, he made note of everything. Gillian had a nice place, girly like her, but also orderly and functional. High-end pieces filled the place, telling him that Gillian liked the finer things in life. But he didn’t have a problem with that. He could afford to give her anything she wanted. With him, she’d never want for anyth—
Whoa. Drew put the brakes on that thought, which encompassed the foreseeable future. Dragging out their relationship was one thing; he loved having sex with her, and her company pleased him.
But was he ready for anything more?
Being with Gillian long term wasn’t an insufferable thought. God knew, she looked like a million bucks; any guy would be proud to be seen with her. And in all social settings, she had a classy way of presenting herself that made her stand out from the crowd. She wasn’t intimidated by him, even when he lost his temper. And she didn’t simper the way some women did.
She was honest but tactful, sincere but strong willed . . . Losing her, now that would be intolerable.
How did she feel about it?
Drew paced into her kitchen and over to a set of balcony doors that overlooked a fountain in the courtyard. Gillian was independent enough that she wouldn’t need a man. Not for anything.
He was used to fight groupies coming on in droves, but a woman like Gillian was unique. She enjoyed their lovemaking as much as he did, but did she want him beyond the physical?
Maybe he should start with that—find out how she felt—and then he’d figure out his own feelings.
With that decision made, Drew was able to concentrate on his messages. The price of business was that he spent more damn time on the phone than doing anything else.
He’d gotten through four return calls to promoters and sponsors before Fran started calling. Repeatedly.
Knowing he had her in a panic, Drew didn’t take her calls and instead let them go to voice mail.
Let her stew, he decided. He was still pissed off over her rudeness to Gillian.
He was on his sixth call, talking to Marcus Gorman, the hard-boiled investigator he’d hired after the bomb threat at Roger’s Rodeo, when Gillian came into the kitchen. She’d already dressed and fixed her hair and makeup. She looked sexy, beautiful, and ready to take on the world.
Drew marveled at her serene expression and innate poise. Since knowing him, so much had happened to her, most of it unpleasant. But it didn’t get her down. It struck him then that while she was as feminine as a woman could be, she had a fighter’s spirit. Beneath her voluptuous curves and silky soft exterior was the core of a champion, with the same unrelenting heart and never-die determination.
Drew laughed, and not only did his caller pause, but Gillian glanced at him with a brow raised.
In that instant, any doubts he’d felt were gone. He knew he didn’t want to let her go, not ever.
Silently, she mouthed, What?
He covered the mouthpiece and said, “You’re beautiful. That’s all.”
With an exaggerated eye roll and a special little swish to her backside, she turned away. As she began making coffee, Drew forced his attention back to Marcus.
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“The police found the car that hit your photographer.”
“Not my photographer.” Drew snorted. It was too bad the schmuck had died, but he wasn’t about to lay claim to him. “What of it?”
“It was abandoned by the riverbank, and get this—someone had doused it in gasoline and then torched it. All that was left was a heap of metal and the barely distinguishable license plates.”
“Any idea who it belonged to?” Not that Drew expected it to be that easy.
“Yeah, but that’s a dead end. The guy had reported the car stolen earlier in the night. I have the owner’s name if you want it. He’s an older guy, retired, and he’s never even heard of mixed martial arts. He had the car insured, but he’s mostly broken up because it belonged to his deceased wife. She passed away two years ago.”
“Damn.” Drew turned to Gillian. “Write something down for me, will you, honey?”
“Oh.” She opened the drawer he indicated and took out a pen and some paper. “Okay, shoot.”
Drew got the man’s information from Marcus and shared it with Gillian. She didn’t ask any questions, just took down the name and address and then went about her business.
Drew intended to contact the man. He couldn’t do anything about the car or the sentimental loss. Drew knew he wasn’t personally responsible, but the man had been affected because of some nut-job’s vendetta against him, so he’d touch base to see if the man needed anything.
“Is that it?” he asked Marcus.
“Not quite. You know that woman you wanted us to do the background check on?”
“Millie Christian. What about her?”
At the mention of Millie’s name, Gillian paused, but not for long. As if she refused to let it bother her, she returned to her breakfast preparations.
“Well, the cursory check sparked some interest, so I went ahead and dug a little more. I figured you’d want that.”
“Damn right.” Drew watched the innate, feminine movements of Gillian’s body as she stood at the counter mixing eggs in a bowl.
Today she wore a vintage-looking dress with a portrait collar that showed off her throat, collarbone, and a tantalizing amount of cleavage. The waist cinched in, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and hips, and the skirt hung loose to her knees. The light blue color brought out the bluer shade of her eyes. She’d pulled her shiny black hair into a simple twist and fastened it with a clip.
For so early in the day, she looked downright edible. It hadn’t been that long since they made love, but Drew was starting to think he could have sex with her ten times a day and it wouldn’t be enough to keep the lust at bay.
He turned away from her. “I’m listening.”
“Christian has a criminal record a mile long. Dated. Nothing new for a couple of years now, and nothing too serious. Petty theft, harassment, driving under a suspended license, and some drug use. Also, probation a few times, and one court-ordered stint through anger-management classes.”
Drew whistled low. “Anger management?”
“It’s sketchy, but apparently she flipped out on a friend when they had a disagreement. She slugged her several times in the face and then kicked her when she went down.”
“Damn.” He could barely picture it. To him, Millie looked like a tall, redheaded frump. “Some friend.”
“I thought you’d be interested in all this.”
“There’s nothing recent, huh?”
“Not for the last two years. The thing is, she moves around a lot. I’ve had to gather this stuff from three different states. If there is anything more recent, I haven’t found it—yet.”
“Keep digging. And try to find out where she was last night.”
“You think Christian had something to do with that photographer?”
“Makes as much sense as anything else. The woman makes no bones about thinking I’m the devil incarnate.” Wouldn’t that be a kicker, if it was Millie Christian causing all the trouble? Talk about vindicating himself . . . “How far does she live from where the car was stolen?”
There was a pause and a rustling of papers, and then: “Huh. Less than five miles.”
“Interesting, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ll get right on this, and I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything. In the meantime, given how things are escalating, I think it’d be a good idea to put a tail on Ms. Christian. How
do you feel about that?”
It’d raise his bill astronomically, but what the hell. “Do it. And while you’re at it, you have someone you can put on my house to keep an eye on things?”
“I have some very discreet people I work with. Consider it done. What about your lady friend?”
“She’s going to be staying with me.” And Drew knew he sounded possessive when he said, “I’ll watch over her.”
“Ah, got it. Okay, then. I’ll be in touch.”
When Drew turned back around, Gillian had crossed her arms and was watching him.
“Who are you talking about?”
Ignoring yet another call from Fran, he closed the phone. “None other than Ms. Millie Christian.”
Gillian shook her head. “No, I got that part, and you’ll explain the details in a minute.” Crossing her arms under her breasts, she took a challenging stance. “Who’s going to stay with you so you can watch over her?”
Because, in his mind, there was no question about it, Drew didn’t balk. “You are.”
Her mouth firmed. “I see. And do I have anything to say about it?”
“You want me to go on bended knee to ask all pretty-like?”
That image, usually associated with a marriage proposal, stymied her. “No, no, of course not,” she stammered. “But I don’t want you making plans that concern me without talking to me about it first.”
“Fair enough.” He helped himself to a cup of coffee. “A lot of shit has gone down because some lunatic has a grudge against me. It’s bad enough that your car got trashed, but you’re dead level in the crosshairs now, thanks to the media blast.” He sipped his coffee, leaned on the counter, and then gave her a level look. “I care about you.”
A slight flinch of her eyes left him guessing if it was inspired by surprise, or dismay.
“No way in hell am I going to let some slimy little psychopath hurt you. And the easiest way to make sure you stay safe is to keep you with me.” He took another sip, watching her, gauging her reaction. “Right?”
A flush colored her cheeks. She started to answer, and then suddenly she turned her back on him.
Drew lifted a brow. “Gillian?”
When she faced him again, she appeared more composed, at least outwardly. But he wasn’t buying it. He knew her too well to be fooled. He had her on the ropes and he planned to keep her there until he got exactly what he wanted.
Which was . . . everything.
“I suppose it’ll be fine since it’ll surely be . . . temporary.”
Like hell. Drew just waited, curious as to how she’d handle his lack of affirmation on a short-term arrangement. She didn’t know that he had no intention of ever losing her, and once he made up his mind on something, that was that. If she wasn’t already won over, he’d ramp up his efforts.
And in the end, she would be his.
GILLIAN felt like a fish on a hook, squirming, gasping, and helpless. Drew, damn him, made no effort at all to clarify things for her, and she just didn’t know if his intent was solely to protect her or if, like her, he wanted more.
Subtlety was not her forte. She was a woman used to stating her mind and going after what she wanted.
And, God help her, she wanted the infamous Drew Black.
But she wasn’t bold enough to come right out and say so. Too many women before her had made that mistake and been dismissed because of it. If—when—their relationship ended, it’d be because she walked away. Not because he sent her packing.
But in the meantime . . .
Gillian cleared her throat and sought a tactful way to query him on his objective. “So you’re proposing—”
He flashed a grin at her word choice.
Face burning hot, Gillian gulped back the rest of what she’d intended to say. Good God, this was not a proposal. “Ah, bad choice of words.”
He shrugged, still amused, which left her more befuddled than ever.
A little irritated to be in this awkward position, Gillian started again. “What I meant to ask is, how long do you think it’ll be necessary for us to . . . to . . .” To what? She had no idea what to call their relationship.
“Shack up?” Drew offered.
Jerk. She took a turn shrugging. The base description worked as well as any, and until she could form complete, articulate sentences, she might as well play mum.
“However long it takes, honey.” Drew’s gaze never wavered from her as he pushed away from the counter. “I’m patient—when I need to be.”
That enigmatic statement did nothing to shed light on his purpose.
“I see.” But she didn’t.
Stopping right in front of her, Drew asked, “Why? Does the idea of living with me bother you? Are you so old-fashioned that you want a ring on your finger first?”
“No!” The shrill denial took her by surprise. Gathering herself, she said, “No,” in a much firmer, less horrified tone.
Some vague emotion passed over Drew’s face. “The idea of a ring really spooks you, huh?”
Oh, worse and worse. Gillian had never been so flustered over something so simple, but Drew was teasing her with an illusion of what her heart badly wanted.
Time to be logical and reasonable.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not in the least spooked.” She forced a small laugh. “All I’m saying is that I understand the logic in being extra careful. The world now knows we’re sleeping together. The cat’s out of the bag on that one.”
Drew narrowed his eyes the slightest bit.
“So why take unnecessary risks? Even though my building is secure, I don’t relish the thought of being alone.”
“Anything could happen,” he agreed.
“And we’re both mature adults who grasp the reasoning behind . . . cohabiting.” She would not use that awful description shacking up. “And we both understand that it’s on a temporary basis.”
“I love logic in a woman.”
That tripped her up, but not for long. “Yes, well . . .” Wishing that he wouldn’t use the L word, Gillian forged on. “I’m a very capable person, as I’m sure you know. But after the bomb threat, what happened to my car, and the tragic drama of last night, I see no point to foolhardy bravery.” Glad to have successfully navigated through those treacherous waters, she released a pent-up breath. “Until we figure out who’s behind this nasty business, I’ll stay with you.”
Drew nodded as if bored by that diatribe. Ever so softly, he brushed the backs of his knuckles over one breast, and his voice lowered to that sexy rumble. “So it’s all about security. The fantastic sex doesn’t factor in to your decision?”
Gillian locked her suddenly shaky knees. If he thought she’d deny how much she enjoyed sex with him, he was wrong. “The great sex is an added bonus.” She nudged his hand down to her waist. “But understand, Drew, I wouldn’t live with any man just for sexual gratification.”
Nodding, he drew her closer and said against her mouth, “Just so you know, if you do need a ring, I can get you one, no problem.”
Did he really think she was that shallow about appearances? “I can afford to buy my own rings, thank you.”
He looked very disgruntled with her, but then her cell rang, interrupting things.
Gillian groaned. She just knew who it was, and she dreaded what would follow.
His expression dark, Drew said, “Ignore it.”
But she couldn’t. “I’ll only be a moment.” She sidled out of his embrace and went to the counter to dig her cell out of her purse.
Just as she suspected, it was her boss at the firm where she worked. The second she said hello, the reasoning behind a dismissal began. Gillian had little enough to say in reply beyond, “I understand.”
When the call ended, she closed her phone with a click and . . . just stood there.
Never in her life had she been “let go.” Her entire life, she’d been an exemplary employee who steadily advanced.
Her status had just changed in a very big way.
But she didn’t feel nearly as desolate as she’d imagined—because Drew had given her options.
And speaking of Drew . . . he seethed with concern and tempered anger.
The anger, Gillian knew, was on her behalf. “Well,” she said to him with a sincere smile, “I’m certainly glad that’s behind me.”
“What did they say?”
“In a nutshell, I’m now unemployed.”
“Wrong.” Drew watched her with caution, as if he expected her to start crying at any minute. “You’re working for me now, remember?”
Such an incredible man. “I could hardly forget.”
His scrutiny intensified. “How much were they paying you? I’ll match it.”
Gillian laughed. Amazing that she could laugh after everything, but Drew did that for her. “We can negotiate that later. Right now, I want to call Fran and set up a meeting.”
“Couldn’t we keep her waiting a little longer?”
“No.” As she punched in the number, she explained her stance. “Striking while the iron is hot is always a good strategy. The longer we wait to do a press release, the more insane the gossip will be. And we owe it to Fran to get her input before making any decisions. And Drew?”
“Yes, dear?”
She gave him a look for his sarcasm. Fran’s assistant answered, forestalling her conversation with Drew.
“Yes, this is Gillian Noode. I’d like to speak to Ms. Ferrari, please.”
“Certainly, Ms. Noode.” Excitement sounded in the assistant’s tone. “Ms. Ferrari asked that you be put right through. One second, please.”
So Fran had hoped she’d call? Perfect.
While waiting, Gillian covered the mouthpiece and said to Drew, “When we meet with Fran, you will be nice. Is that understood?”
“I hear you.” He went back for more coffee, and just as Fran answered, he added, “But as my current number-one employee, you should know that I won’t make a promise I might not be able to keep. How nice I am will depend on how nice Fran is.”
Drew and Fran were both such dominating personalities that they would always butt heads. Gillian figured that she’d have her work cut out for her. But ultimately, regardless of what he said, she knew that Drew wanted to be with the SBC, so whatever it took, she’d make that happen.
