by Em Petrova
A growl broke from him, too late to rein in. He hooked her around the waist and yanked her against his body. Her head dropped back, and a puff of air passed her plump lips.
Searching her eyes, he murmured, “You were wonderful last night.”
She sucked in sharply.
He released her. “Stay out of trouble, wife.”
She blinked as if to wipe away what he’d said to her about last night.
When he walked out of their suite, he shifted into guard mode once more. His roles were too blurred in this place. Sure, he and Lauralee were legally married, but she twisted him up in ways he never guessed possible before they were thrust into this mess.
He only hoped she could tread water and keep from going under while he was gone for the day. He didn’t want to contemplate her getting into trouble.
In minutes, he followed Black across a personal helipad to a waiting chopper. The wind off the blades brought the scent of hay and grass, which left him longing for home in a way he rarely did on the job. They settled in the seats with headsets so they could communicate, but Black remained silent the entire flight.
When they landed in Colorado Springs, he saw them settled in the transport to a ritzy office where Black would attend a meeting with other bigwigs in the oil industry.
Boone preceded him into the expansive glass-walled office and immediately went ice-cold as his gaze fell on a man who would surely recognize him as a Wynton.
Fucking hell, what bad luck. How to escape his notice? Without his hat, he couldn’t hide. With his hat, he’d be even more recognizable.
Damn, he’d just have to keep his head down and fade into the background with the other bodyguards dotting the room.
“Hey, Pete. Damn good to see ya.” The Texan approaching Black from the right caught Boone’s attention, and he snapped around to position himself to protect Black.
His boss waved a hand for him to relax. Boone stepped back while the pair shook hands using a death grip that revealed more about their relationship than the Texan’s drawled greeting provided.
They weren’t friends.
And the manner in which the rest of the five men greeted Black showed the same—they were not friends. But they all commanded a degree of respect even if they only showed the bare minimum in return.
When the tall guy dressed the least pretentiously among them, in a pair of jeans and a simple chambray shirt, walked up to Black, Boone made sure to keep his head down. This man had known Boone’s father…hell, for most of Boone’s life. No way would he not recognize him if he looked at him directly.
Thankfully, Black kept his father’s acquaintance entertained with a story about a folly with one of his horses and he didn’t pay any mind to Boone.
“How’s Isadora? You didn’t bring her with ya, did you? Amanda will be mighty glad of some company this afternoon if you did.”
Boone’s ears perked up. With his head down, he peeked at Black’s face to see it closed off to the question.
“She’s at home.”
“Too bad. You know how entertaining women can be in a city. They want to shop and go out to extravagant lunches. I thought you and I could share a few drinks while our wives caught up.”
“Another time.” Black’s blatant dismissal brought a measure of relief to Boone. If they did end up in a bar having drinks, Boone would be in even closer proximity to his father’s acquaintance and the chances of being recognized would skyrocket.
The guards were asked to step out of the room during the meeting, but since the walls were glass they still had eyes on their wards. It also provided Boone with an opportunity to study the men and analyze how they interacted with Black.
When it came to reading body language, on a scale of one to ten, Boone considered himself a twelve. Ross didn’t hand Boone the best jobs simply because they’d shared a bedroom growing up.
The longer the meeting went on, the more he saw these men flat-out hated Black. A few held a general hatred for the cocky billionaire, but a couple others looked as if they wouldn’t mind personally getting Black out of their paths to whatever success they were discussing in there.
One man in a Hugo Boss suit sat with his body angled away from Black and his arms crossed. When he did meet Black’s gaze, he drilled a look straight through him. Black never looked away.
On this side of the glass, the pair appeared to be in a deadly staring contest. Finally, another man said something that broke their eye contact.
The meeting ended within minutes. Black stood first and walked out. Boone opened the door for him and led the way out.
“Where to, sir?” he asked over his shoulder, keeping his eyes peeled for danger.
“To the chopper. We’re leaving.”
“Yes, sir.” Fine by him.
As soon as they were seated in the chopper, Black gave him a direct look. “Well?”
Boone tensed. “What is it you’re asking, sir?”
“Which one of them is my enemy?”
Was this a test? Black wasn’t stupid—he surely already knew that answer.
“The guy in the navy suit.”
He gave a single nod and flattened his lips. “I figured as much. But all those assholes are out for blood.”
They were silent for the rest of the trip, but Boone had learned something today—Black had a lot of reason to be paranoid. A lot of those guys wouldn’t hesitate to shove a knife in his back.
Black’s wife running off with the help was the least of his worries.
* * * * *
The maid, Anna, slowed her steps as they reached Lauralee’s room and threw a covert look at Boone standing in the doorway waiting for her.
“See you in the morning, Lara.”
“Goodnight. Put your feet up.”
“Oh, I will! I have a new book to read, and I’ve been dying to crack it open all day!” Anna smiled warmly and hurried past Boone, who braced himself in the opening as if his strength alone held the walls up.
With an image of the Greek god Atlas in mind, Lauralee stepped up to him.
He dropped his stare to her lips and then trailed down to her breasts in the ugly uniform. “Took you long enough.”
“I was wash—” She cut off as he looped an arm around her waist, slammed his mouth over hers and swept her into the room. Her mind registered the door crashing shut behind them, but she let her cares drift away in Boone’s arms.
As he angled his mouth over hers and walked her back to their bed, she realized with a shiver that for the first time all day, she felt safe.
She pressed her palms into his chest to ease him back a bit.
His brow pinched. “What’s wrong?”
“I…” She swiped both hands over her face. “I just need a moment. Okay?”
He nodded and stepped away from her. She hurried into the bathroom to wash the scent of cleaning products off her hands and collect her thoughts.
How to explain the thunderous black cloud that seemed to be hanging over the place all day while Black was away? Or how more than once she’d felt someone watching her? Though every time she turned, she could never figure out from who or from which direction the threat came?
She’d been sick to her stomach since her hasty breakfast with the other servants where she overheard something odd.
She needed to tell Boone.
Shooting a glance at the bathroom door, she was halfway to the hope that he’d burst in and demand more kisses from her. Or a repeat of the previous night.
Her body still throbbed from the things they’d done, and several times today she’d felt heat creep into her face at the memory of what she’d done to him. On one occasion while she and Anna were dusting, the maid had questioned her blush and commented about her hot hubby.
Unable to find the distance she needed to think, because her mind conjured him even through closed doors, or with an entire state between them such as today, she opened the door and stepped out.
Boone had changed from his white shi
rt and black trousers into jeans and a black T-shirt that conformed to his chiseled chest and left her mind reverberating with thoughts of her tongue on his hot, salty skin.
“It’s obvious we need to talk,” he said without preamble.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry about just a bit ago. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”
Her insides knotted. But I wanted you to, her body screamed. In fact, it had gone beyond yelling to a full-blown tantrum. Her skin prickled with awareness of his presence, and at the scent of his body wash, her belly coiled. Don’t even get her started on the state of her damp panties.
She expelled a shaky breath. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I’ve been out of control these past two days, and I can’t even figure out why.” He compressed his lips into a harder line.
“How flattering.”
His gaze shot to hers. “You know what I mean.”
She sighed. “I do, because I’ve been just as out of control. But all of this aside,” she waved her hands in the air between them, “there’s something far more pressing and I’ve been dying to talk about it with you all day.”
He centered his stare on her. “Tell me,” he gritted out.
“You won’t like it.”
He firmed his lips even more. “Lauralee, I swear if you went against my orders and did something dangerous—”
She cut across him. “I was told to place towels in a linen cupboard for Black. And when I was walking by, I looked down at the floor. I saw…” Her throat closed on the pain and terror of the sight that had sent her almost tossing the towels in the air and sprinting for the nearest exit.
In one step, he drew near enough for his heat to wash across the front of her body. She curled her toes and steeled herself to say it.
“Under a door…”
“What was under the door?” he prompted.
“Fingers. Reaching under the door. As if begging for help.” Her voice broke, and Boone took her in his arms. “I-It has to be her. His wife. Don’t you think?” Her words were muffled against his chest.
“Most likely, unless he’s got more than one woman locked up in this place. Hell on wheels. I’m not so sure we shouldn’t call in a special unit to search this place.”
“I was wondering if we’re doing the right thing.” She drew back enough to search his face. “We are, aren’t we? Doing the right thing?”
“Hell, I don’t know anymore. It’s been a full day and all I’ve managed to do is find out Black’s got far more enemies than we thought. And I was almost made today.”
She blinked at him. “Made? As in your identity discovered?” Her voice rose higher.
“Yeah… I was with Black at a meeting with some oil tycoons, and one of them happens to know my father.”
“Crap!”
“He didn’t recognize me.”
“Thank God. I can’t bear to think of what might have happened if he did.”
He smoothed a hand over her hair and down her spine. “Then don’t think about it. I’m fine. What did you do after you saw the fingers?”
“I…made a break for it.” Agony and humiliation burned in her stomach. “I ran away like a complete coward.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she bit into her lower lip.
“Oh hell, honey. You’re not a coward. Anybody would have been freaked out.”
“Not you,” she muttered miserably.
He fell silent, simply holding her while she composed herself. Finally, he said, “I need to make a plan.”
“I need eyes on that room. There has to be some video surveillance of his wife if Black’s so hellbent on keeping her locked up. You don’t see anything on the footage?”
He shook his head and then took her by the hand and led her to sit on the edge of the bed. He held out his phone and brought up his emails. As he scrolled through several, she took notice of his big, callused fingertip, how it stroked the glass screen the way she wanted him to caress her body.
When he landed on an email from Silas, he opened it. A blueprint popped onto the screen.
“Is that a plan of this house?”
He nodded and using his thumb and forefinger, blew up the image.
“Show me where you saw the hand.”
Leaning close, she didn’t bother to try to keep her skin from touching his. She had no time to think about what was happening between them. She’d hardly processed being married to him, let alone having a physical relationship. Their focus, a thousand percent, had to be on Isadora Black.
Using her fingertip, she moved the plan around, following her path out of the laundry room to the corridor that led to the linen cupboard.
“Here!” She pointed to the opening on the plan.
Boone nodded. “I’m going down to relieve Grant.”
“Who’s Grant?”
“The night guard. I want to do some digging, and night’s the best time for that.”
She knew Boone’s work came first. And above that on the tier of priorities came Black’s wife. But she wished that holding her tonight to keep away the ghosts of what she’d seen made the list someplace.
He lifted his hand and smoothed her hair off her cheek. The tender touch mixed her up even more than she already had been these past two days. Everything was moving so fast—too fast for her to break down what was real or fake.
The marriage? Fake all the way.
The sex? Very, very real.
Her emotions? Fell somewhere in the middle ground, between intimate and work.
“Will you be all right while I’m out?” He pitched his voice low, teasing his warm fingers over her scalp where he pinned her hair back.
She nodded. “We have to get that woman out of here.”
Then, later on, she’d figure out what to do with the mess her life had become in the name of rescuing Isadora Black.
Chapter Eight
“Psst! Anna!” Lauralee waved through the crack in her bedroom door.
Anna shot her a confused smile and approached. “What’s going on?”
“Boo—aghhaahh”—she fake coughed to cover her near-slip of Boone’s real name—“Excuse me. My allergies are flaring up. Brodie already left for his shift, and I need my dress zipped. Would you mind?”
“Of course not. These uniforms are difficult, aren’t they?”
Anna followed her into the room and gazed at their belongings. For a moment, Lauralee panicked at the thought that something would give away their true identity.
“Your room’s a little bigger than the one Dani and I share.” Anna waved at the space.
“It’s probably an illusion because there’s one bed instead of two. But it’s a nice room and we can’t complain.” She bestowed a smile on Anna and turned around for the maid to zip her up.
“There you go.”
“Thanks. I didn’t know how I was going to manage without B-Brodie.” God, she was terrible at this ruse. She belonged behind a screen where she couldn’t screw up and get anybody in trouble. Or worse.
Anna chattered as they walked to the kitchen to get their orders. Today Lauralee was determined to glean some information from these people she worked with. One would surely slip at some point.
When she was informed that she’d be doing rugs all day, she inwardly groaned but folded her hands before her and tried to look pleased to do any work as long as it was honest work. In reality, if she made it through the day without throwing the vacuum through a window, she’d be even more pleased.
After the housekeeper finished doling out orders to them all, Lauralee stepped up to her. “Would you mind showing me the rooms you’d like me to work on? Is there any certain order?”
“Actually, yes. You don’t want to be in a room at the same time Mr. Black is. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Relieved to have pulled off her lie and hopeful that she’d be able to pick the woman’s brain for information, Lauralee followed her to the first room, the dining room.
She’d seen the space b
efore—dominated by a heavy wood table and chairs that looked to weigh a ton. A massive sideboard held various dishes depending on if it was a mealtime, and the thick Persian rug in the center of the room was Lauralee’s first job.
“Pull out all the chairs at once. It will make it easier on you.”
Lauralee nodded.
“Next, do this room.” They walked into the adjoining space, which was a huge living room upon first glance. Then she realized the entire wall was covered in draperies and there were armchairs rather than sofas.
“A home theater?”
“Yes. Sometimes Mr. Black lets us employees have a movie night on a holiday.”
Gee, how generous of him.
She almost rolled her eyes at the things these poor people put up with in the name of earning a living, but she locked her eyeballs in place.
The tour continued, progressing through room after room until they reached the hallway. The dreaded hallway.
The woman beside Lauralee was a tense bundle of nerves too.
“Have you ever…seen anything weird in this hall?” Lauralee asked her.
She sliced a look in her direction. “Of course not. There’s nothing weird here. Just do the carpet runner and these three rooms.” She pointed to doorways Lauralee knew didn’t belong to Black or the locked one of his wife.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then report to the kitchen when you’re finished.”
“I will.”
A black stain started to spread throughout Lauralee’s soul the longer she was in this household. Though invisible, a weight sat heavy on the shoulders of every person. Even the zipper on her spine felt like a shackle to a job and feelings of being less than worthy of human rights.
Black treated them all fine—but the unspoken I’m-better-than-you was there, and that was a hard pill to swallow for a woman like Lauralee.
She vacuumed until her arms ached and sweat dampened her nape. In each room she entered, she immediately searched out the security cameras. Could she trust that Boone sat behind those monitors?
She threw up her middle finger at one camera. One way or another, she’d hear about her action.
