Forged in Desire

by Brenda Jackson

  Margo watched Striker’s brows furrow as if he was trying to decide whether to let go of her hand or not. Little did he know she didn’t have a problem with him holding her hand. Her problem was him standing there like he wasn’t sure what his next move should be. Honestly, it really shouldn’t be that hard to figure things out. If he was in doubt and needed a little coaxing, then she had no problem doing so. Because—bottom line—she was tired of avoiding him. Tired of yearning for something that was right here and accessible. Tired of wondering if another kiss could possibly be as good as the last one.

  “Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to give in to what we both want right now?” she asked him bluntly, and this time she was the one tugging on his hand to bring him closer to her.

  He didn’t hesitate in coming. Margo wondered if she would regret any of this tomorrow. Possibly. And chances were she would try to figure out why she was giving in to her attraction to Striker after she’d fought so hard not to do that very thing. But she was a goner with him standing there, looking sexier than any man had a right to, while holding her hand and staring at her in a way that had the nipples of her breasts hardening against her top. There was no way he couldn’t see the effect his touch was having on her. Just like she could clearly see what hers was having on him. A huge erection was something most men couldn’t hide and he was no exception.

  “This isn’t right, you know,” he said, releasing her hand and taking a step closer to wrap his arms around her waist.

  She could feel the hardness of him pressed against the juncture of her legs. “What isn’t?” she asked, trying to keep her voice at a normal pitch instead of a breathless whisper. “The fact that we like copping kisses off each other whenever the mood hits?”

  He was studying her mouth in a way that had blood running fast and furious through her veins. “Copping kisses isn’t why I’m here,” he said gruffly. “My job is to—”

  “I know what your job is, Striker. Trust me. You’ve made that pretty clear. Just chalk the kisses up to us sharing fringe benefits.”

  The last thing she wanted was for him to get all honorable when she was feeling pretty indecent right now. He wanted to continue to fight her, block this desire, this connection being forged between them. She understood, since she’d tried doing that same thing. But now she was willing to put fighting on the back burner. They had agreed on a truce, hadn’t they? Besides, as far as she was concerned, they had some unfinished business to take care of.

  He snorted. “Yeah, at the risk of Roland kicking my ass if I step over the line.”

  She tilted her head back and met his gaze. “And who’s going to tell your boss anything? You certainly don’t seem like the kiss-and-tell kind. Besides, why would this Roland care when it’s just another job for his firm? The way I see it, unless I complain about your services, there shouldn’t be any ass-kicking going on.”

  She intended to say more, but he began lowering his head, and before she could catch her next breath, his mouth took hers hostage.

  * * *

  STRIKER HUNGRILY FED off Margo’s mouth like the greedy bastard that he was. It was a kiss meant to rob her of her senses, drain strength from her body and show her he was doing a lot more than just copping a kiss. He was branding her. He’d deliberately started off this way with a deep tonguing that had her moaning. After a while he would slow things down and tease her mouth, nibble from corner to corner and lick it all over. Then he would go for hard and deep all over again.

  She was wrong to think this was just another gig for Roland’s firm. Margo didn’t know him being here was personal. Probably as personal as it could get for Roland. But at the moment he wanted to eradicate Roland from his mind and enjoy this kiss. This woman. Her taste.

  Why was he enjoying her so much? He’d never gotten personally involved with a client he’d vowed to protect before. Even when the women had come on to him and wanted to blur the line, he’d been firm and wasn’t having it. Then why was he having all of this and then some from Margo Connelly? How could any woman’s kiss make him feel like he was in one hell of a sensuous daze? A daze that was quickly headed toward something he needed to put a stop to right now? The red-hot passion was all too quickly igniting flames of desire. He was feeling it with every stroke of his tongue and with every countering stroke of hers.

  The ringing of a phone intruded, and he inwardly muttered a curse. However, this time it wasn’t his phone responsible for the untimely interruption but hers. He broke off the kiss. Who would be calling her at this hour? And why? She’d spoken to her uncle earlier, so who else would be calling? Was it a suspicious call like the one she’d gotten last week?

  As if she remembered that particular call as well, she nervously licked her lips before pulling the phone from her jeans pocket. From the expression on her face, he had a pretty good idea who the caller was, even before he’d made the connection with his phone.

  “Scott? Why are you calling me?”

  “I’ve been listening to the news. Are you okay?”

  Striker frowned. Had he known Margo had been part of the jury and was in danger? From the look in her eyes, she was wondering the same thing.

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  “Because of that crazy man going around killing folks in your town. It’s all over the news. I heard his intended targets are people who were in the courtroom of some trial, but I think you should leave Charlottesville just to be on the safe side. He might get trigger-happy and start shooting innocent bystanders.”

  So he didn’t know she’d been part of the jury but had called out of concern. Maybe Scott Dylan wasn’t as big of an asshole as Striker had thought. He quickly dismissed that assumption upon hearing the man’s next statement.

  “I’d be glad to send you money for a flight but only if you make your destination my doorstep. I miss you, Margo. I need to see you. It’s been a year. You can’t be making too much money designing those gowns. I got another promotion recently and—”

  “I don’t need your money, Scott.”

  Striker shook his head. So the asshole still didn’t know how wealthy Margo was. Striker knew he should hang up the phone and let them talk privately. After all, Scotty was her concern, not his. But something made him hang on. He refused to think it had anything to do with jealousy.

  “Of course you need my money,” Scott said. “Granted, you’ve never asked me for anything, but you’ve always known it was there if you needed it.”

  With a price tag on it, no doubt, Striker thought as he leaned against the desk in the room. What a wuss. Didn’t he know most women didn’t appreciate a man making them feel dependent?

  Margo shot him a dark frown before saying to him, “This is a private call. Do you mind?”

  Instead of answering her, he merely gave her an even darker frown.

  “Margo?” Scott interrupted, reclaiming their attention. “Who are you talking to? Is someone there with you?”

  “That’s not any of your business, Scott,” she snapped. “You aren’t supposed to call me anyway.”

  “I have every right to call you. I didn’t break things off with you. You broke things off with me.”

  Striker shook his head, wondering if the man had actually heard what he’d just said. Was Dylan such a simpleton that he didn’t realize that when a woman broke off with a man, it meant the man no longer had a right to call? Shit, it meant he’d lost any rights.

  “And I broke things off for a reason, or have you forgotten that?” Margo said angrily.

  Instead of answering her question, Scott said, “I want to know who is there with you, Margo.”

  “That’s none of your business, Scott.”

  “You are my business. You need me.”

  Striker thought he should go ahead and release the line before he was tempted to tell the prick
a few not-so-nice things. Dylan was Margo’s problem, and by rights, Striker knew that he should stay out of it and let her handle her business. Scott Dylan wasn’t a threat. Not a real one. Striker decided there was no reason he should be listening in on her call. He was about to get off the line when Dylan’s next words stopped him.

  “You just won’t forgive me for what I did, will you, Margo?”

  Now, that piqued Striker’s interest. What had he done? Whatever the deed, it was obvious from the daggers Margo was shooting over at Striker that she didn’t want him to know. Too bad. There was no way he would release the call now.

  “I don’t want to discuss it,” Margo snapped at Dylan. “Stop talking about it, will you?”

  Probably because she doesn’t want me to hear it, Striker thought.

  Too bad Dylan didn’t do as she asked. “I was wrong for getting that guy to scare you like that. I hoped you would get rattled enough to move in with me. He was just supposed to make you afraid of living there alone. How was I to know he would take it to that level?”

  WTF? Striker straightened from leaning against the desk. What exactly had the man done to scare her?

  He glanced back at Margo, and she deliberately looked away. “Look, Scott, I have to go.”

  “Why? And who’s there with you? Why won’t you tell me?”

  Striker couldn’t hold his anger anymore. “Because she doesn’t want to tell you, so fuck off.”

  There was silence on the other end, and then in an incensed voice Dylan asked, “Who the hell are you?”

  “If Margo wanted you to know, she would have told you. Now, don’t call back disturbing us tonight or any other night. Forget you have this number.”

  Striker clicked off his phone and then, to make sure Margo didn’t say anything else to the man, used his phone to remotely end her call to Dylan as well.

  She stood there, glaring at him, obviously furious. “You had no right to say anything.”

  Maybe not, but he would deal with the consequences later. What he wanted now were answers. “Just what in the hell did that person Dylan hired do?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MARGO CROSSED HER arms over her chest, angry with Scott for talking too much and totally upset with Striker for having the audacity to listen. How dare he invade her privacy like that? Did he think those kisses they’d shared had given him some rights? Well, she had news for him. No man had rights where she was concerned. “I’m not telling you anything, Striker. You had no right to—”

  “At the moment I don’t give a damn about any rights,” he snapped. “What did he do? You either tell me or I’ll report him to Roland and let him explain that bit of information to your uncle.”

  She dropped her hands. “That call has nothing to do with the reason you’re protecting me.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Frazier would love to know what Dylan did to you. Once your uncle finds out, I doubt he’ll last in that cushy, six-figure-salary job that he thinks so much of.”

  “What Scott did is not my uncle’s business. Nor is it yours. I handled it.”

  “How? By running back here to Charlottesville?”

  Margo crossed her arms over her chest again, livid. “That is not why I moved home.”

  “Then why did you? Can you explain that?”

  “I don’t have to explain anything.”

  Striker was about to tell her just how wrong she was about that when his phone went off. He recognized the ringtone. For Stonewall to call this time of night meant something was up. “What’s going on?”

  “The lights are still on there. Why haven’t you and Margo gone to bed?”

  “Why are you interested?” Now was not the time for his friend to get nosy.

  Stonewall laughed. “Quasar said he’s been picking up on a lot of sexual tension over there. If things are getting too hot for you, let me know and I’ll send in a replacement.”

  Striker rolled his eyes. “You can kiss it, Stonewall. And tell Quasar to mind his own damn business.” He rubbed his face and saw Margo head toward the door, but he eased over to block her from leaving.

  “I need to go upstairs, Striker,” Margo snapped.

  “Not until I go up there with you. You know the rules, Margo.”

  “Can the two of you argue some other time?” Stonewall cut in to say. “There’s a reason for my call.”

  “You mean it wasn’t to harass me?”

  “Not this time. Janice is working the monitors and noticed a car—black sedan—slowly driving by Ms. Connelly’s place twice tonight. At first we assumed it was an unmarked police car, but now we aren’t so sure. We’re waiting for someone from police headquarters to call us back.”

  The hairs on the back of Striker’s neck stood up. “Call me if anyone sees that car again or if anything else looks suspicious.”

  “Will do.”

  Striker ended the call. He realized Margo was studying him. She hadn’t even pretended not to eavesdrop. “Now, Margo, where were we? Oh yeah, you were about to tell me just what that guy did to scare you.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. He wished she wouldn’t do that. It placed too much damn emphasis on her breasts. And they were breasts he recalled his chest rubbing against whenever they kissed.

  “What did Stonewall want? What’s going on?”

  Leaning in the doorway, he placed his arms across his chest as well. “If you don’t answer my question, I won’t answer yours.”

  She glared at him. “Play your games by yourself, Striker. Move out the way so I can go upstairs.”

  He was about to move out of her way when his cell phone went off. It was Stonewall again. “You got something?”

  “Yes. I just heard from police headquarters and that car wasn’t one of theirs or the feds. I need you to kill all the lights in the house for at least an hour. We want to see if that black sedan does another drive-by. Someone might be checking to see if anyone’s awake.”

  “Okay.”

  He hung up the phone and looked at Margo. There was no way he could avoid telling her what was going on now. He saw the way her eyes widened as he relayed Stonewall’s message and could all but hear her heart thumping in her chest. “Who do they think it is?”

  “They aren’t sure. Stonewall is on it, so don’t worry about a thing.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not worried.”

  Yes, you are, he thought and decided not to point out how she’d begun fidgeting with the hem of her top and showing a little bit of skin, which he didn’t mind seeing. “We need to turn off all the lights for a while. And it will be best if we stay down here instead of going upstairs.”

  When he reached for the light switch, she intercepted and then snatched her hand back. He figured she’d felt the same tingling sensation that he had when they’d touched. “What did you do that for?” he asked her, frowning.

  “Why are you turning off the lights down here? I thought you said we needed to stay down here. Why not go up the stairs and turn those lights off first?”

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans to deflect the tingling sensation he still felt. “If someone is watching the house, from the outside it will appear as if we’ve gone to bed for the night when we turn the lights off on the first floor and then upstairs. We’ll use the flashlight on our cell phones to come back down here and sit for a while.”

  “Sit?”

  “Yes, sit and talk. You still need to tell me what that guy did.”

  “I’m not telling you anything, Striker.”

  She followed him out the room and he decided not to argue with her. He would get the information out of her no matter what it took.

  * * *

  THE HOUSE WAS completely dark as if they were tucked away in bed. The only light was fr
om one of the lampposts that lined the street, its soft illumination coming through the window.

  Margo was sitting on the love seat, and Striker was stretched out on the sofa. So far he hadn’t brought up Scott, and she was grateful for that. But she had to assume he would at some point. He’d been too adamant earlier about finding out. She had put the episode behind her and didn’t want to talk about it again. Like she’d told him, she had handled it. And regardless of what Scott thought, there could never be anything between them again. Some men just didn’t know when to let go, and she was finding out that Scott was one of those types.

  Margo heard Striker ease up on the sofa into a sitting position. “Ready to talk?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I have nothing to say.”

  “I need to know what that guy did, Margo.”

  She wanted to scoff at those words but couldn’t. There was something in Striker’s voice, she couldn’t say exactly what, that seized her and wriggled through her defenses in a way she wasn’t prepared for. “Why? So you can tell my uncle?”

  “No, I won’t tell your uncle unless I feel there is a security need for me to do so.”

  “I told you I handled it.”

  “But you should not have had to.”

  That much was true. But Scott had underestimated her. He hadn’t really known her. He still didn’t know her. “I’m a big girl, Striker. I can take care of myself.” Except in a situation like this, she thought, when there’s a crazy man out there who wants me dead.

  “What did he do? Tell me.” He swallowed. “Please.”

  That last word was softly spoken, but she heard it whether he’d wanted her to or not. There was a deep sense of care and concern in that single word. If their roles were reversed, she knew she’d be just as insistent because she would care as well.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you.” She paused a moment to collect her thoughts, to recall memories she’d rather leave in the past. But she was bringing them into the present for him. “Scott had been trying to get me to move in with him for a while, and I kept refusing. He couldn’t understand why, since he figured it would save me a ton of money in the long run. On the other hand, I couldn’t understand why he would want me to share space with him when he wasn’t paying much attention to me anyway. Eventually I realized it was all about control. He wanted me to be the dependent little woman who needed him.”