by Trace, Piper
Pressing the unlock button on her key-chain, she’d jumped when her car happily chirped its horn. Sidling slowly up to the driver’s side door, she’d peered into the interior to ensure it was empty. After confirming it was, she’d yanked the door open, jumped in and slammed it behind her, jamming the key in the ignition and hitting the door locks with fluid precision. Throwing the car in reverse, she’d backed out of the space and squealed the tires as she’d careened toward the exit of the dark parking garage.
After driving eight blocks through the sunny, city streets, she’d pulled over and lifted the note from her passenger seat with a shaking hand.
Eves, you made a BIG mistake. Call me immediately. We need to fix the mess you made of things. Call me or I will find you. –John
The only bright spot since that moment was the maniacal happiness she’d felt when she’d remembered the firm had confiscated her only cell phone. He couldn’t reach her if she kept running.
She couldn’t go home, not with John looking for her, so after a night in a crappy hotel bed, she was on her way to Ford’s. The pictures of the dead girls John had used to threaten her with the day she’d broken up with him flicked through her head over and over, like someone else’s life flashing before her eyes.
I’m taking care of things. It’s going to be okay.
Just once she’d like someone else to tell her that.
Though she’d set every lock and even pulled the cheap hotel desk in front of the door, she’d still spent the night jumping at every sound coming from the too-busy hallway. She would be grateful to get to Ford’s.
The estate was twenty minutes outside the city, set among sprawling acres of tall, pine forests. Turning into his driveway, she stopped at a large, black, iron gate that blocked the drive. The gate attached to an equally tall gray stone wall flanking the estate to both sides, so high that driving up she couldn’t get a glimpse of the house. Parked at the gate she could just see the house down the drive, fronted by a lush green lawn.
She opened her car door, looking for a buzzer or camera, when a wiry man dressed in head to toe black and carrying a clipboard stepped out of what she’d thought was a “just for show” guardhouse. Fancy apartment complexes had similar guardhouses, but she’d never seen one actually house a live guard.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to stay in your vehicle.” His gravelly voice twanged heavily in a Southern drawl and his fitted but rugged clothing looked like a soldier’s. Topping his uniform was a beret-style hat snugged precisely down behind his ears. The effect was intimidating, as if he was a member of some bad-ass military unit.
“Oh!” She paused halfway out her door. “You surprised me.” She sank back into her car and shut her door, then rolled down the window to squint up at him.
He circled her car like a predator, his thumbs looped on his belt, fingering the big, black gun strapped to his hip. She wanted to leap from the car and hug the man, but not at the risk of getting shot. He couldn’t know how his severe attention to his job made her heart sing, because soon, she’d benefit from that protection. Finally, his initial inspection complete, he came to her window.
“Name?” His strong jaw barely moved with the question as he studied his clipboard.
“Evangeline.” He raised his eyes to her slowly, eyebrows high. His face was heavy with impatience, as if there was a line of people behind her and she was wasting his time. “I’m…Mr. Hawthorne’s new assistant?” She flashed what she hoped was a dazzling smile that screamed “harmless” in an effort to speed things up. The sooner she got beyond that gate, the sooner she could relax.
He took a deep breath and mashed his lips together, crossing his arms and looking out into the distance.
“Uh, can you open the gate for me now?”
What was the guy waiting for?
“Your last name, ma’am. Evangeline what?”
Her temper flickered, fueled by her impatience. Was this guy serious?
“Mister,” she said sweetly, tilting her head and blinking her eyes, “I’m guessing I’m the only Evangeline on your list who has permission to come in today. So I’m that Evangeline.”
He glared down at her and clenched his square jaw. “License,” he snapped, showing his palm. She dug it out of her purse and handed it to him with a heavy sigh.
“Do you really not know who I am? Maybe you should call Mr. Hawthorne.”
“I know who you are. It’s my job to know everyone who comes and goes.” He handed back her license and turned to walk slowly around her car.
He rapped on her trunk to indicate she should open it. After he was satisfied that all of her items were harmless, he checked her back seat and finally came around to her passenger side and opened the door. Her gym bag was in its usual place on the seat, and he gapped it open to look inside, rummaging around. Evie sighed, officially sick of guards rummaging in her stuff.
Suddenly he jumped back from the car, gun drawn. “Out of the car! Now!” His voice was hoarse with stress.
Damn—the knives.
She pushed her car door open and slowly emerged with her hands in the air, not taking her eyes from the man in black. “Those knives are throwing knives. It’s a hobby, that’s all.” Her voice cracked. She’d never had a gun drawn on her before. Staring at the black hole at the end of the weapon, she felt like all the blood had drained from her.
“Don’t move.” His voice was icy. Training the gun on her with one hand, he fished a cell phone out of his pocket with the other. Without looking, he pressed a button and held the phone to his ear. “Sir, your new assistant is here, and she is heavily armed.” He nodded his head. “That’s right. Knives. Lots of them—yes, knives—she says they’re a hobby.” After another pause he pressed the button again and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Evie and the guard stared at each other until she couldn’t stand the silence anymore. Now that Ford knew she was out there she’d begun to relax. This man wouldn’t shoot her with Ford on his way out. “Can I at least put my hands down now? I’m not planning to hurt anyone.” Her arms were starting to ache, but the guard didn’t answer. Evie sighed. “Is he coming out here?”
“I am.” Ford’s deep voice came from behind her and Evie whirled around. He stepped through the door in the wall next to the gate. Wearing gray trousers and a tight black tee-shirt, he looked straight off a movie set. Evie forgot to breathe for a minute. This must be casual wear for Ford. The guard barked out an exclamation of concern and Ford held out his hand to him. “It’s okay Boone. Stand down.”
Evie squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. How sexy was this man that she’d forgotten there was a gun pointed at her?
Ford put himself between Evie and Boone, clasping her elbows in his large hands. “Evie, welcome to my home,” he said warmly. “I apologize for your reception, but Boone is very particular when it comes to my safety, and I of course had no idea you’d be carrying deadly weapons or I would have thought to warn him.” He kissed her cheek and cocked his head, eyebrows knitting. “Why, may I ask, have you shown up armed? Are you still angry with me?” He looked entirely at ease.
She laughed uncomfortably, the adrenaline in her system now giving way to a fine trembling. “It’s a hobby. I throw knives,” she mumbled.
“You throw knives?” He raised his eyebrows. “Like people in the circus?”
“No,” she said sharply, jaw set. “Like people do in martial arts. I practice kung fu. The knife throwing is just an offshoot of that.”
Moving his hands to her hips, he crooked his mouth up and pursed his lips in that way that drove her crazy. “Martial arts? Knife throwing? Very impressive, love. You are one surprise after another, aren’t you?” Evie felt her face flush and looked down, smiling as he continued. “You must show me your skills soon. I can’t wait to see what you can do.” He turned to Boone. “Let her pass, please. Excellent job, Boone, but I don’t believe she’s going to harm me after all.” He moved back to the door in the wall. “
I’ll meet you in the front hall, Evie. Leave your belongings in your car. I’ll have everything brought to your room.” With that, he was gone.
Boone holstered his gun and moved back to the passenger side of her car, peeking into her bag again. He looked up at her. “May I?” She nodded and he pulled out the suede case, unfurling it and sliding out one of the blades, checking its balance in his hand and inspecting its edges. He nodded appreciatively.
“Miss Evangeline,” Boone said as he gently replaced the shiny knife in its holder, tucking the case back into her bag. He took his time, not meeting her eyes. “I’d very much like to see you throw.” He glanced up at her, his face turning crimson. “Maybe you could give me a lesson? It doesn’t feel right having someone on the staff who can handle a knife better than me.”
Evie laughed, warming to him now that he wasn’t aiming a weapon at her. “I’m sure that’s not true, Boone, but of course I’ll show you. It would be my pleasure.”
Stepping back, Boone rose to his full height, pushed out his chest and opened the gate, motioning her through with a clipped salute.
CHAPTER NINE
EVIE’S HEART POUNDED as she stepped across the threshold into the front hallway of Ford’s home. Her footsteps on the polished stone echoed off the walls and ceilings. He’d said to meet him inside, so she’d let herself in. Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light, she looked around. “House” seemed like a wholly inadequate word for the enormous structure. The mansion was made of pale gray stone that matched the walls surrounding the estate. It was constructed in angles, with straight lines and hard surfaces, but the large windows throughout managed to give the interior a natural glow, softening the stark style of the architecture.
She leaned against the massive door to shut it behind her, and jumped when the loud click of the latch echoed off the glossy marble floors. Feeling as if she was overstepping boundaries, but not being able to help herself, she slid the heavy lock into place before stepping away. She moved hesitantly further into the house, her footsteps magnified in the great hall. The furnishings she could see were tasteful and understated, but a kaleidoscope of beautiful paintings hung on nearly every wall. Originals, it looked like, and of many different time periods and schools of art.
Evie’s memory flashed on Ford’s comment about possessing rare things. When she stepped through that door, had she agreed to become one of those possessions? The thought caused a flutter of excitement low in her body, catching her off-guard. But before she could give it much thought, Ford strolled into the hall like a welcome breeze, carrying two glasses of champagne.
Kissing her on the cheek again, his lips a gentle brush, he handed her one of the tall, delicate flutes filled with bubbles. She felt her skin warm. “Welcome, love,” he whispered, tilting his glass to clink against hers and smiling wide, his dimples causing another flutter in her body, stronger than the first, reminding her why she’d chosen to be there. “You look gorgeous. Do you mind if I tell you that?”
“Not at all. I like that.” She looked down, feeling like a schoolgirl talking to a teacher on whom she had a huge crush. The fine material of Ford’s clothing skimmed the shape of his body and made her pulse kick up. She’d never seen Ford without a shirt, but the clothes he wore were fitted enough to promise her the sight would be quite a treat.
The house was quiet. They seemed to be alone. In the fantasy she’d had the night before, and again on the drive there, they’d barely gotten the door shut before Ford had shoved her against it, devouring her mouth and neck and tearing at her clothes, pushing her to the floor of the hallway to fuck her before they even made it to the living room. She hoped to get very little work done the whole time she was there, but the Ford who’d greeted her was all restraint, the picture of a gentleman.
Evie didn’t want a gentleman. She wanted the dominant guy she’d met in the library, taking exactly what he wanted—her. Why wasn’t Ford cooperating?
“Let’s sit for a moment and talk, shall we?” He gestured into the large room in front of them, populated with a smart-looking couch, chairs and a supple, leather tufted ottoman.
Sit and talk?
This wasn’t going at all the way it had gone in her head.
Adopting a pleasant smile anyway, Evie preceded him into the room. Maybe he preferred to ravage her on the couch? A girl could hope.
She had to step down in order to enter the sunken living room area, taking her feet from the shiny marble of the hall to a soft, deeply-plushed carpet. The flat ceiling soared over two stories above her, an effect emphasized by the lower floor. The back wall was floor to ceiling windows, showcasing a breathtaking view of a resort-style pool and manicured green landscaping beyond. Ford sat on one of the chairs and motioned for Evie to sit on the couch.
She lowered herself to the cushion, disappointment seeping in. Had she misinterpreted his desire for her? Had she just been the woman conveniently available to him that night? Or did it somehow change things now that she worked for him? She wished she knew if that was the case so she could resign immediately, straddle him in his chair and have her wicked way with him. But that wouldn’t work…now she needed this job. It afforded her protection from John and the financial means to pay off her debt.
Besides Ford had to be the aggressor. That’s the world he’d opened up to her—the world she was so eager to experience again. That was the reason her panties were wet just being in the same room with him now.
He finished his drink leisurely and leaned forward, cradling the fragile stemware gently in his large hands. “Evie, love, tell me about these lethal activities of yours. I’m fascinated.”
She took a gulp of her champagne, thinking it was the best she’d ever had and not being the least bit surprised at that. “I do kung fu and I throw knives. Neither of them is particularly lethal.”
He raised his eyebrows. “No? I would think that knife-throwing would be quite dangerous, especially to the recipient.” He smiled and she looked away from his dimples before she started panting and embarrassed herself. She and Ford did not seem to be on the same page about why she was there. They were meant to be fucking right now, not making small talk.
Taking a deep breath, she resigned to chat with him about her hobbies instead of sweating, arching and moaning underneath him. “I wanted to learn some self-defense techniques so I took a class in Wing Chun kung fu.”
“Wing Chun?”
“It’s a style of kung fu that works well for women because it allows smaller, weaker fighters the ability to take on larger and stronger opponents.”
Larger and stronger, like John.
His brow creased. “Sounds serious…a traditional self-defense class wasn’t enough? Were you worried about your safety?”
Fingering the stem of her glass, she frowned. She didn’t want Ford to think she’d brought trouble with her. She hadn’t brought trouble, had she? No. How could John know she was there?
“I…had some trouble with an ex-boyfriend, but it was no big deal.” Gulping more of her champagne, she turned what she hoped was a casual smile to Ford. “I’m just an overachiever, you know? Why learn some self-defense techniques when I could learn an entire martial-arts discipline?”
He laughed. “I suppose that sounds like my Evie.”
My Evie.
She warmed, licking her lips. “It’s mainly throws and holds—ways to escape or subdue an attacker, not really be the attacker. So probably not too deadly.”
“Where do the knives come in?”
“Oh.” She smiled down at her fingers. Throwing knives was one of her favorite pastimes. “I’d gone to class early one day and caught the tail-end of a demonstration on martial arts weaponry. I convinced my kung fu master to give me private lessons.”
“Are you good? I want to know how much danger I’m in if I get you fired from another job.”
Her smile grew bigger—she couldn’t hide the pride she felt in her skills. “I’m pretty good at it. I practice a lot. It’s a great o
utlet for me.” Sometimes, when she’d come to work with a sore arm from throwing and a nicked hand, she’d felt as if she had her own secret fight club, so different from the starched corporate environment of the law firm.
“So how is knife-throwing not a lethal hobby?”
She laughed. “Because of Hollywood, people think it’s pretty deadly, but actually it’s more of a party trick. I do it for exercise, and it helps me clear my mind. It’s really no good for self-defense. See when you throw a knife you rotate it.” She put down her glass and moved her fingers one over the other in a circle in front of her to demonstrate. “And to throw accurately you have to be a precise distance from your target. If you don’t have the distance perfect, the knife will just hit the attacker at some point in its rotation other than the tip and bounce off.” She looked up at him and dropped her hands thinking she was going on in more detail than he was interested in.
“So the chances of accurately hitting a moving person are slim,” he assessed.
“Right.” Relaxing, she sat back on the sofa. He actually seemed interested.
He continued his thought. “And if you miss him, now you’ve given him a bruise, pissed him off and thrown him your weapon.”
“Yes!” She grinned. “That pretty much sums up the problem, but it’s fun and a great stress reliever.” If thrown well, the knife hit the wood with a solid thwack that always made Evie feel like a bad-ass.
Sometimes, when your life’s going to shit, feeling like a badass can be very therapeutic.
“You’ll have to show me sometime…I’m fascinated. I’ve never met a woman who throws knives and can take down a grown man with her bare hands.” His gaze held hers for a moment before he continued, his tone softer. “And I do find myself in need of stress relief. It would be excellent if you could provide that along with your other responsibilities.”
