Forged in Desire

by Brenda Jackson

  She stopped pacing to stare down at the floor. And then there was Horace Amos, one of the prosecuting attorneys. She’d seen him in the courtroom, heard him, admired how he and his team had expertly and audaciously proved without a shadow of a doubt just what a heartless, cold-blooded killer Murphy Erickson was. Now Horace Amos was dead. She couldn’t help but wonder who would be next. Her?

  “Don’t even think it, Margo.”

  Striker’s sharp words made her jump. She saw in his features a startling intuitiveness of what she’d been thinking. How had he known? “How can I not think it, Striker?”

  She watched him push his chair back to stand. “Because I’m here and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Margo sensed the truth in his words. She wasn’t sure how he would manage it if an assassin was hell-bent on killing her, but a part of her believed he would. Over the past week, she’d had moments where the reality of what was happening had hit her hard, and this was one of those times. And, for whatever reason when one of those moments intruded, caught her off guard, it was always Striker’s presence that would bring calm to her turbulent world...even if he had to go so far as to incite her anger to do so.

  He’d also incited her desire for something that was as forbidden as it was yearned for. Okay, she would admit it. And whether he knew it or not, she could read him as well. Kind of. Enough. In the week they’d spent together, she’d tried her best to figure out what made Lamar “Striker” Jennings the person he was. Much still remained a mystery. He was intentionally keeping foggy certain aspects of himself and his life. But what she was seeing clearer with each passing day was that he was fighting the same longings, the same desires that she battled. Margo knew he kept his distance, took great pains never to come close to her. And he definitely went out of his way not to touch her again.

  Yet today, while sitting in a parked car and sharing a hamburger, they had talked. Although at times it had seemed more like an interrogation than a conversation, at least they’d communicated. She’d learned a little more about him and he’d certainly gotten to know more about her. Typically she was fairly easy to get along with unless someone tried getting into her business. She was overly protective of her privacy, but more than once she had let her guard down with Striker.

  As she watched, he moved around the table with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. For such a tall and built man, he had the ability to move with an ease that could take a woman’s breath away. He had shaved that morning, she was sure of it. Yet she could see the dark stubble covering his entire jaw. Why did such a thing not only make him look dangerously serious as well as dangerously sexy? But nothing detracted from that sensual look, not even the holstered gun strapped to his shoulder.

  He stood there watching her, not saying anything. He really didn’t have to. The look in his eyes said it all. He was fighting this pull between them just like she was. For some reason, she felt the need to speak. To address what he’d said. “I know you won’t let anything happen to me, Striker.”

  He nodded, as if satisfied by her response. Then he asked her, “Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

  She actually got shivers at the question. “Heavens, no. Apollo tried teaching me and I couldn’t even hold one in my hand. The thought that such an object is capable of taking a human life petrified me. If given a gun, I’d probably end up shooting myself. Pepper spray works just fine.”

  He shook his head. “Glad you told me that. I won’t ever give you a gun for any reason.”

  It wouldn’t bother her in the least if he didn’t. She would leave the burden of protecting her solely on his shoulders, and roaming her eyes over him, she thought, Those shoulders are massive. He was standing there, staring at her, blatantly allowing all that manly heat to penetrate her space. Causing her heart rate to increase, shivers to ripple up her spine and quivers of need to infiltrate her very being.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Margo.”

  She swallowed. There was no need to ask what he meant. If there was any semblance of lust in her eyes, it was his fault. There was only one response to his deep, husky voice. “I can’t help it, Striker.”

  He had taken a step toward her when his phone rang. The shrill sound should have shattered the moment, but it didn’t. Not really. She stood there, as if glued to the spot as he continued to hold her gaze while pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

  “What?” he barked into the phone. Then in a mild tone, he said, “Everything is fine here.”

  Margo drew in a deep breath. Honestly? Did he think that? How could he when she was about to go up in flames thanks to his deep, penetrating gaze? She figured now was the time to escape into her workroom. To save herself before she was beyond rescuing.

  She turned to leave.

  “No. Don’t go anywhere, Margo.” She turned back around and saw he’d ended the call. He slowly strode toward her.

  When he came to a stop directly in front of her, she swore she could hear the beat of his heart. “I think I should go, Striker,” she said in a voice she was trying to keep calm.

  “And I think you should stay,” he countered.

  Without saying anything else, he reached out his hand to her. She knew what it meant to let him touch her. Didn’t Striker know what this could lead to? Was that what he really wanted? Did she? Granted, they had kissed before, but to cross this line again could cause problems if things between them went sour. Like her ability to trust him, listen to him or follow his orders when she should.

  Considering all of that, she should be the sensible one and walk away, think of the danger surrounding them. She should concentrate on the fact that a killer was still out there and she could be his next intended victim. However, at that moment none of that mattered. The only thing she wanted to think about was a kiss that had ended too quickly, and that they needed to pick up where they’d left off.

  Margo did the one thing she knew she shouldn’t do and placed her hand in his.

  * * *

  STRIKER FELT IT the moment their hands touched—a yearning so acute it had parts of his body aching. Inwardly he was calling himself all kinds of fool, especially when just moments earlier he had decided to back away from the personal and concentrate on the professional. However, for a reason he couldn’t quite understand, he was tired of backing away, didn’t want to fight the intense attraction, the mind-blowing desire between them. At that moment he refused to consider the consequences or the possible outcome of his actions. If he crossed the line with Margo, if they had sex, how could they go back to just a protector–client relationship? The only thing he knew with certainty was that he wanted to kiss her. And he wanted to do it now.

  He gently tugged on her hand and pulled her toward him, until their bodies were pressed close. That was when he released her hand to encircle her waist, gazing down at her. She had tilted her head back and it was as if she was offering her mouth to him. And, dammit, he intended to take it.

  He didn’t care if his phone rang; he wouldn’t answer it. This time there would be no interruption. Nothing, he decided, would intrude into what was about to take place. Not a damn thing. With that thought firmly embedded in his mind, he tightened his hold around her waist, eased her even closer and lowered his head.

  Striker took her mouth with the hunger he felt in every part of his body, immediately reacquainting himself with her taste. Without hesitation, his tongue skillfully and proficiently slid from one side of her mouth to the other, licking, exploring and tasting her with a yearning that stirred sensations that had never been riled before. A strong, primitive force had taken over his mind and his senses, pushing him to take as much of her mouth as he could while convincing himself that doing so was the only way to satisfy the raging desire coursing through him.

  And the way she was kissing him back was fueling his fire and overwhelming him in a way that w
as totally earth-shattering. Why did the shape of her mouth seem perfect for his? Her taste was a total erection builder. Margo was storming his senses, igniting his fire. Stroke for stroke.

  It was with great reluctance that he finally pulled his mouth away moments later, knowing he was leaving his taste with her just like she was leaving hers with him.

  * * *

  “MERCY.” MARGO BREATHED the word from a mouth that had just been thoroughly kissed. Talk about finishing what had gotten started a few days ago. Striker had left her breathless. The man had a startling sensuality that sent intense pleasure all through her. When had something like that ever happened to her before? She was convinced never.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she took in his scent. Not only did he look good and taste good, but he also smelled good. Striker had the scent of a man. A man she wanted more of. And from the size of the erection that had been pressing hard against her middle a moment ago, he wanted more of her as well. The very thought had a heated effect on her.

  It was then that his phone chimed with an incoming text and she appreciated it hadn’t done so sooner. An interruption was the last thing she would have wanted when their mouths had been busy feeding off each other. But now she considered it a blessing. It would give her a chance to regain her senses. In fact, she tried looking everywhere but at him since she knew for certain he was staring at her.

  “Margo?”

  Hearing her name forced her to look at him. “Yes?”

  “That was Quasar. Dinner is on the way.”

  “Alright.” She nervously rubbed the front of her jeans. “I guess I’ll get back to Claudine’s gown. Thanks for taking me to get that thread.”

  When she made a move to walk away, he reached out and grabbed hold of her hand. Intense desire shot all the way up her spine with his touch. “You okay, Margo?” he asked her.

  She nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. I got just what I wanted, Striker,” she said honestly.

  Pulling her hand from his, she quickly walked toward her workroom.

  * * *

  ERICKSON LAY IN the bunk and stared up at the ceiling. The ultrabright fluorescent bulb nearly blinded him, but even that couldn’t stop the smile that touched his lips. Did those bastards think a maximum-security cell could stop him from making sure things went off as planned? And was that crap they called food supposed to torture him? If that was what the fucks thought, then they had a lot to learn about him. It would take a lot more to break him, and in the end, his retaliation would cost them all. It was already costing them. They were running scared now.

  He had intentionally given them four days to assume they had the right man. He’d seen the smiles, the gloating, the we’ve-got-you-now-bastard looks. Now shit was all over their faces, and what was really pissing them off was that they had no idea who they could trust. It was now obvious that someone on the inside was part of his network. For all they knew, it could be more than one person. And they were right. They would be surprised to learn who his people were. They would find out in due time that he knew every single thing about what was going on. He liked seeing the bastards sweat.

  Pretty soon they would give in to his demands and he would get out of here. He would be free but not without a purpose. He had a lot of people he had to settle a score with. Not just those in the courtroom that day, but those responsible for his arrest in the first place. Traitors. Those he thought he could trust. They could try to run, but they could never hide. He intended to teach each and every one who thought they could betray Murphy Erickson a lesson they wouldn’t forget. Ever.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “ARE YOU PLANNING on going to bed tonight?” Striker asked, leaning in the doorway of Margo’s workroom. Seeing her reminded him of the kiss they’d shared earlier and just how much he’d enjoyed it. Knowing that was the last thing he should be thinking about, he glanced around the room. Aside from the sofa, the room had a couple of rectangular tables holding bolts of fabric, and some kind of lacy material was draped over several mannequins.

  Margo placed the scissors down. “What time is it?”

  “Past midnight.”

  She drew in a surprised breath and pushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

  She’d kept herself busy. In a way, Striker saw that as a good thing. Margo was only human and, given the fact that two more people had lost their lives, he couldn’t help wondering how she was really doing. It had to be driving her crazy knowing someone right this moment could be planning an attempt on her life. At least she had him protecting her. According to Stonewall, all security agencies in the city were booked solid. People were freaking out, and a number were arming themselves. Off-duty cops had been called in to maintain order, and additional federal agents had been called in as well.

  Striker and Margo had eaten the dinner Quasar delivered, and afterward she had quickly fled to her workroom and hadn’t been out since. He had taken a seat on the sofa that provided him a good view into her workroom while he was watching the news reports on the television.

  Frazier had called earlier to talk to Margo. Roland had also called and would be talking to Stonewall about moving Margo to a safer location. Striker had warned Roland that would not go over well with his strong-willed niece.

  Word had leaked to the press that the psychic investigator who had been brought in had warned the feds and local police days ago they had the wrong man, but they hadn’t listened.

  Margo stood and stretched her body. Striker wished she hadn’t done that when he felt his body immediately respond. He couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming all over her; it was such a turn-on seeing a woman in a pair of skintight jeans and a tank top. Although she looked sexier than any woman had a right to look, she also appeared tired. He knew all her exhaustion wasn’t due to working on that wedding dress. Although she might not ever admit it, she had to be under stress. There was no doubt in his mind that she was using her laptop to keep abreast of what was going on around the city. Knowing her name might be on some hit man’s list had to be nerve-racking. A lot of women in her predicament would have caved under the pressure by now.

  He couldn’t help but admire her spunk, strength and fortitude, though he wondered if perhaps the reason she was still up past midnight, when usually she was in bed by nine, was partly because she was afraid of sleeping alone tonight.

  Okay, Striker, you would look for any reason, any poor-ass excuse to keep her in arm’s reach. He blamed it on the kiss he couldn’t forget about. At some point he had to get a firm grip on the situation between him and Margo. Never before had he gotten involved with a client because things could get messy. He knew that, yet he couldn’t get a handle on things when it came to her.

  “Time for you to call it a night, don’t you think? It’s already another day,” he said gently, when she made no attempt to leave the room.

  He couldn’t ignore the wary look on her face. “And then what, Striker? There were twelve of us on that jury and three alternates. So far three of us are dead. I can’t help but wonder who will be next.”

  “It won’t be you. I thought you believed that.”

  “I do, but I don’t want it to be anyone.”

  He hadn’t realized until that moment just how much she tended to think about others first, more than herself. For him that shed a little more light on the situation involving her uncle’s girlfriend and why the thought of staying at the Connelly estate, even when her life could be in danger, was something she refused to do.

  Striker had a feeling it wasn’t the fact that she couldn’t handle this Liz character but instead Margo’s belief that if she did move back and drama ensued, it wouldn’t be Margo whom Frazier would ask to leave. Although Striker didn’t too much care for Frazier Connelly, he had a feeling he wouldn’t put any woman, girlfriend, live-in lover or otherwise before his niece. C
hances were Margo knew that as well and was actually doing Liz a favor...although Striker doubted Frazier’s girlfriend saw it that way.

  “Excuse me. You’re standing in the doorway, Striker. Blocking it.”

  “Oh.” So he was. He was thinking seriously about suggesting that she try squeezing by him. The thought of her doing such a thing had every cell in his body vibrating in desire. Deciding that wouldn’t be a good idea, especially since he was pretty damn hot for her already, he slowly moved away from the doorway. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.”

  Except there was a problem, and it was one that had nothing to do with the threat of a hit man. It had everything to do with the two of them staying under the same roof together after sharing one hell of a scorching kiss. He knew her taste. He knew how she felt in his arms with their bodies pressed together. How his hard erection felt snuggled close to her middle. She’d almost made it past him when, for some reason, he reached out and snagged her hand. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Was it because he knew that, once she got to her bedroom and closed the door, he wouldn’t see her again until morning? Or was it because he needed her touch...desperately? Or could the reason be that once she was behind that closed bedroom door, he would get an earful of the sounds she’d make—stripping off her clothes, showering, putting on her bed clothes and sliding between the sheets. The hot and steamy visuals flowing through his mind would keep him hard all night.

  Just as he’d expected whenever they touched, a surge of desire ripped through him, and from her expression, it had torn through her as well. Striker was well aware of all the dynamics that made up such an intense attraction—that could make all sorts of wicked, naughty and sinful thoughts go through a person’s head. But more important, he understood how such magnetism could exist between him and Margo. It had to do with opposites attracting. And they were as opposite as opposites could get.

  “Striker?”

  He looked into her eyes and wished he hadn’t. “Yes?”