Is she pretty?
Though he’d ignored his friend’s question, the query came back to haunt him. In the traditional sense, no she wasn’t what one would call pretty. Her face was a little to round, her nose a little too pert. Her mouth, though, was possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Extra full bottom lip, bowed upper, and wide enough to make him hard.
The overheard light gleamed over the caramel highlights in her pale brown hair and her tiny foot, clad in a shoe that would more than likely cover a food bill for the month for the average family of four, tapped in time with beat of the piped-in music. She wore a pair of red butt-hugging Capri pants that clung to her ripe rear end with just enough cling to be a degree shy of tight and a white scoop-necked t-shirt with lots of little sparkly doodads. She looked funky but chic and sexy as hell.
She turned then, and smiled at him--and just like that the breath that had been in his lungs silently evaporated, as though it had magically disappeared.
Oh, hell, Huck thought as his mouth parched and his heart- rate kicked up a notch. Another blast of heat landed in his loins and he resisted the urge to gnash his teeth and scream.
This was so not good.
On too many levels to count.
“I’m ready,” she said brightly, shoving her newest purchases at him as though he were her personal bag boy. It was like a welcome splash of cold water over his privates. Though it went against every bit of southern gentleman training he’d received from his mother and grandmother, Huck made himself stand still and not accept her load.
Seemingly stunned, she stared blankly at him. “Aren’t you going to carry these for me?”
“Did you buy them for me?”
She smirked. “I wasn’t aware that you were into that sort of thing.” Her gaze slid over him and she cocked her head in exaggerated bewilderment. “Just goes to show you can never tell.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Tell me, are you wearing a bra now?” she stage-whispered to everyone in a fifty feet radius, much to his immediate discomfort.
Lips pursed into a thin line, he grabbed her arm and propelled her out of the store. Trixie yelped into action. “You know damn well I don’t wear a bra.”
“How would I know that?” she asked, hurrying to keep up with him. “For all I know you’ve got a thong on, too.”
He felt his teeth almost crack. “I can assure you that I don’t have on a thong.”
Eyes twinkling, he slid him a provokingly sly grin. “But you won’t assure me you’re not wearing a bra?”
“I’m not wearing a bra either,” he clarified through a tight smile. “And while were on the subject of what I’m not doing, maybe I should take this opportunity to clarify a few things for you.” He drew up short and whirled her around to face him, then glared down into her irritatingly sensual face. “I’m not going to dog-sit or tote your bags. I’m not going to fetch the sugar for your coffee or select the color of your nail polish.” He felt his expression blacken as another pain sliced through his leg. “And I’m not going to drive your car anymore. In fact, if I let you leave the house again--and at the moment that’s a pretty big if--we’re taking my car and you’re sitting in the--“
Huck paused as sudden inspiration, like a gilded gift from the heavens, descended up upon him. He felt a smile slide slowly, wonderingly, over his lips.
Alarm registered in those startling green eyes. “What do you mean if you let me leave the house?” she asked, growing pale.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Huck told her, laughing softly, as the brilliance of the idea--the solution to his problem--unfurled in his furious mind. That was it. That was the key. Honestly, he didn’t know why Payne, Flanagan and McCann hadn’t thought of it.
His gaze slid to hers and caught. He’d put her in lockdown mode. Hadn’t he just thought she was safer at home than out in public? That her father’s compound was the best possible place for her to be? No more running around feeling foolish. No more beauty appointments and shopping.
Hell, it would probably be good for her. She could read a book or something, he thought uncharitably.
“You’d better get your errands done today, sweetheart, because your days of leading me around like a circus bear are over. Starting tonight, you’re going under house arrest.”
She gasped, then her eyes narrowed and the intelligence he’d glimpsed off and on all day suddenly flared in those green orbs. “The hell I am.”
“I think perhaps you have confused me with your other hired help,” Huck pointed out. “I don’t have to follow your orders. You have to follow mine.”
Impossibly, her eyes narrowed further. “Listen, Jack. I don’t work for you. You work for--“
“Your father,” Huck interjected. “And the name’s not Jack. It’s Huck.”
She glared up at him. “I’m beginning to see why the sonofabitch, bastard and asshole nicknames followed you around. And my father--“
“--will follow my recommendation,” he finished for her, once again cutting her off. From her mutinous expression it was a novel experience for her and for reasons which escaped him it made this all the more enjoyable.
He liked pissing her off. It was fun.
“He’s paying for my professional opinion and the instant we get back I’m going to give it to him.” He chuckled darkly. “Unless it’s an emergency of epic proportions, your newly waxed, buffed and painted ass isn’t leaving the house. Playtime is over, sweetheart.”
* * *
He couldn’t possibly be serious, Sapphira thought as a triumphantly smiling Huck held her car door open for her. He might have been doing it out of courtesy, but it felt like he was ushering her into a jail cell, or worse still, the last walk for a death row inmate. Panic punched her heart rate into overdrive and nausea spun in her suddenly churning gut.
House arrest? House arrest?
Had he lost his freaking mind?
No, dammit, she was the one who’d lost their mind. She’d known--known--the instant she’d laid eyes on him that he was different, that he wouldn’t put up with her the way that the others had. She’d recognized it, but hadn’t changed her tact, hadn’t developed a new strategy.
She watched him round the car, a slight limp to his gait and observed the faintest hint of a wince behind the grin he wore at her expense. She’d noticed the hitch in his step this morning when she’d first met him, but couldn’t recall seeing it the rest of the day. Come to think of it, though, he’d either been sitting in her car, in a chair, or leaning against the wall.
As he angled into her tiny car and wedged himself behind the wheel a bolt of insight flashed in her otherwise preoccupied mind and she inwardly squirmed with shame. Clearly piloting her Mini Cooper hadn’t helped with whatever ache pained his leg. Ordinarily she wasn’t so dim and thoughtless, but the sight of him earlier today and his overall appearance had rattled her beyond the usual measure. Her guardian bird of prey obviously had a broken wing, she thought, shooting him a look from the corner of her eye.
“I can be reasonable,” Sapphira said, dragging her shredded thoughts together and forcing herself to remain calm. “If driving my car hurts your leg, then we can take yours. Why didn’t you say something?”
She watched his jaw tighten as he shifted the car into gear and expertly merged out into traffic. “Who said anything about my leg hurting?”
“Nobody had to say anything. It’s obvious. You’ve got a bit of a limp.”
“I’m not making you stay home because of any physical discomfort on my part,” he all but growled. “It’s a safety issue.”
Sapphira rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. You just don’t like following me around. Newsflash, Huckleberry, that’s your job.”
He slid her a look that would have wilted steel and frightened small children. “My job is to protect you, not follow you around. Contrary to popular belief, they aren’t synonymous.”
“Then why didn’t the others balk?”
He snorted. “They were too n
ice.” He bared his teeth in another disturbingly thrilling smile and those mesmerizing eyes pinned her to her seat. “I am not.”
Her muddled belly did a little roll and, against all sense, her nipples tingled at the blatantly bald comment. Sweet God, what was wrong with her? The man was being a complete ass--and an obstinate one at that--and yet she found herself curiously aroused.
Clearly the heat from the unusually potent attraction had fried her brain, otherwise she was certain she’d give him a real piece of her mind, not the dumbed-down version she’d been sharing with the other men over the past week and a half.
Sapphira looked away and harrumphed under her breath. “Trust me, it’s nothing to be proud of.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“That’s right. Mine,” she added pointedly.
A low chuckle rumbled up his throat. “And I suppose you think yours is the only one that matters?”
“Of course, not,” she snapped, annoyed despite the fact that she’d obviously given him that impression. At the moment it felt like a very shallow victory. “But if you think you’re going to keep me locked up until you figure out whose sending those ridiculous letters, then you’d better think again.” She pulled out her hand sanitizer and squirted a dollop onto her right palm, then put her hands together and gave them a vicious rub. “I have things to do.”
He grunted. “Your spray-on tan can wait.”
Sapphira felt her mouth drop open. “I don’t--and have never--gotten a spray on tan,” she said through tightly gritted teeth.
Obviously having watched her apply the hand gel, he jerked his head in her direction. “What’s with the disinfectant stuff? You’ve been putting it on all day.”
“I’ve been touching things covered with germs all day,” she shot back. “Did you know that some bacteria and viruses can live for up to two hours on a doorknob?”
A smile caught the corner of his mouth. “Er...no, I didn’t.”
She hadn’t either until she’d watched that damned primetime special. At first she’d just been appalled at the number of people who didn’t wash their hands after using the rest room and had decided that hand sanitizer was a good way to combat other people’s uncleanly behavior, but once she’d started using the gel... Well, suffice it to say that it was more addiction now than habit. She craved that cool feeling on her palms. She kept multiple bottles in her purse and around her house. She needed it. Without it, she could practically feel the germs crawling all over her hands.
“Well, they do.” She held the bottle out to him. “Want some.”
“No, thanks. What makes you think the letters are ‘ridiculous?’”
Dammit, she was going to have to be more careful. She should have known he’d pick up on that slip. “They’re ridiculous because they are disrupting my life,” she said, exasperated and thankful it was, in part, the truth. “I have things to do.”
Huck presented ID at the gate, then pulled around to her house. “Yes, well, that list just got shortened considerably. From this point forward all of your errands will be vetted by me and I will decide whether or not they are pressing or can wait until we’ve determined the source of your threat.”
“Well, just exactly what have you done about that?” Sapphira asked, feeling panic fuel her ascending blood pressure. “Could you tell me what you’ve done to find out whose sending me the damned letters?”
Huck shifted into park and immediately climbed out of the car to stretch. Rather than wait on him to round the hood and open her door, Sapphira scrambled out as well. “Well?” she demanded. She knew she was being unfair and unreasonable. The man had scarcely been on the job eight hours and she’d had him chauffeuring her around the majority of that time. She knew she was being a certified pain in the ass, but couldn’t seem to help herself. Her life was spinning out of control and she seemed utterly powerless to stop it.
And for whatever reason, he seemed to be making things worse. His presence, his attitude, not to mention this damned attraction. Truth be told she’d offered him the hand gel to see if she could eliminate a bit of that strangely wonderful scent that seemed to ooze out of his pores.
Furthermore, she’d caught the disgusted look on his face when she’d snapped at Mark, the coffee clerk, and the realization that her plan to make him dislike her was working had left her more depressed than happy. Did he know that she’d slipped Mark a hundred dollars last week to play along? That she’d apologized in advance for her tacky behavior so that he wouldn’t be hurt that she’d suddenly turned into a screaming harpy from hell?
No. He didn’t. And couldn’t ever know it, otherwise her plan, such as it was, would be ruined.
And as far as a plan went, she had to admit it was pretty damned stupid. Entertaining at times, but ill-conceived, ineffective and ignorant. Had she annoyed them? Made them miserable?
Certainly.
But she hadn’t managed to permanently put them off and knew that, ultimately, she wouldn’t be able to pull that sort of coup. These men were former Rangers, for pity’s sake. Bonafide bad asses. They’d been put through some of the most rigorous military training exercises in the known world and had come through on the other end. They were modern day warriors, Uncle Sam’s elite, the cream of the crop. Had she honestly believed that being a shallow prima donna with more money than sense would really make them go away? Quit, even?
She inwardly sighed. Who was she kidding? They weren’t going anywhere. Her gaze slid to Huck. And he damned sure wasn’t. He would ride it out regardless because he was just that damned stubborn.
And only she would find that deeply sexy. She smothered a whimper and resisted the urge to howl with frustration.
“What have I done to locate the letter-writer?” Huck asked, glaring wide-eyed at her from across the hood. “You know damned well what I’ve done today, Princess. I haven’t had time to piss,” he said, glowering at her, “much less investigate who wants to hurt you, though given the day that we’ve had together I can see that the suspect list should include anyone in the food service, retail sales and personal hygiene industries.”
The jibe, while deserved, struck a nerve.
“But you can rest assured we won’t have another repeat of today.” He paused and shot her a shrewd look with those clear gray eyes. “We’re done playing by your rules. From now on we’re following mine. And, believe me,” he added laughing softly though it lacked any genuine humor, “no one wants to neutralize the threat more than I do.”
Meaning, he couldn’t wait to get away from her.
Mission accomplished, girl genius, she thought her heart sagging as Trixie did her pee-pee dance around her leg. And in record time, too. He hates you.
It should have been the least of her worries, but oddly enough...it wasn’t.
CHAPTER 5
“I understand that Sapphira isn’t going to like being confined, sir, but under the circumstances I think it’s our best bet for keeping her safe until we’ve uncovered the source of the letters.”
Mathias Stravos, a remote robust sixty-something with tanned skin and sporting a full head of bristly salt and pepper hair, didn’t respond at first. The man was too busy staring at his computer screen to offer any sort of reply. And had been since the moment Huck had been granted entrance into his opulent office. “Damned technology,” he muttered, poking angrily at the keyboard. “Why can’t this thing run any faster?”
Given the way he’d been abusing the machine, Huck thought it was a miracle the computer hadn’t fallen apart already. Stravos had been slapping the side of the monitor as though it were a vending machine with a stuck snack. He inwardly grimaced. Not exactly the best way to handle delicate equipment. Clearly finesse and patience weren’t part of his character make-up.
Quite frankly, for reasons he didn’t know but trusted nonetheless, he didn’t like the man. He was arrogant, entitled and cold. Had he always been that way? he wondered. Or had his son’s suicide precipitated the change?
“I hired your company to protect my daughter. If I wanted to make her a prisoner I would have confined her myself.”
And no doubt he could have done it as well, Huck thought, oddly chilled. He’d gotten a strange vibe regarding Sapphira’s father from the moment he arrived, but now that same premonition was ringing so hard he could feel it rattling his spine.
“I’m not talking about making her a prisoner,” Huck felt compelled to point out, his tone even and firm. “I’m talking about keeping her safe. Taking the dog to the groomer, in my opinion, is an unnecessary risk until we’ve isolated the threat. Furthermore, it’s hard to focus on the investigation if I’m chaperoning a shopping trip. Frankly it’s an unwarranted hazard and a waste of my time and your money.” He shrugged, unconcerned. He sure as hell wasn’t afraid of him. “However if you want me to continue--”
“No, no,” he interrupted impatiently, once again whacking the computer. The man had yet to look him in the eye, an indirect insult and overall lack of respect. “That won’t be necessary. All trips out of the compound are at your discretion. I’ll see to it that Sapphira doesn’t give you any trouble.” Huck didn’t detect the slightest bit of fatherly affection in the man’s voice and it put him instantly on guard on Sapphira’s behalf. Why? Who the hell knew? But it was a gut-check reaction and he knew better than to ignore it.
“That won’t be necessary. I don’t anticipate her giving me any trouble.”
At that, Stravos finally looked up and a flash of unreadable emotion washed over his lined face. “Then you obviously don’t have children, otherwise you would know that they are nothing but trouble.” His gaze drifted over to a photograph on his desk, presumably of his son, and grew shuttered. “Good evening, Mr. Finn. I’ll expect daily reports of your progress.”
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