Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2)

by Halliday, Suzanne

  The stranger’s expression softened, almost like he understood her torment. Leaning casually against the jam, his foot still wedged in the door, he answered softly.

  “I’m here, Miss Wilde, because of Kim Walsh.”

  Hearing that despicable woman’s name was the last straw. Howling in frustration, she used both hands and her entire body to try to force the door shut. The useless attempt made her wince when a bolt of pain shot through her neck. Dammit. Now that the cast was off, all she had to protect her wrist was a soft, removable brace. Acting like a crazy person and trying to get all physical hadn’t been her smartest move.

  Pulling the injured arm close to her chest, she cradled it and rubbed her wrist. Roman Bishop took the opportunity to let himself in, quietly shut the door, and reach for her.

  “I’m glad to see the cast is off, but you need to be careful for the next couple of days. Give that wrist time to regain strength and mobility. Come on, let’s go someplace and sit down so we can talk. Okay?”

  “Like I have much choice,” she muttered darkly.

  Huffing angrily, she stomped away pounding her bare feet up the stairs as she led her unwelcome visitor to the living room.

  Nodding for him to have a seat, she waspishly bit out, “I’d offer you something to drink, but that would contradict the buzz off portion of our program.”

  He chuckled again as he laid the leather jacket aside. “Please,” he joked, “feel free to speak your mind.”

  For some reason, he didn’t threaten her at all—even not knowing why he was really here, she felt oddly relieved by his presence. Though she was starting to like the guy, Rhiann still glared at him.

  “I have a black belt in smart-ass, Mr. Bishop, and an advanced degree in suck my dick. If you can’t handle it . . . well, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

  The big man threw back his head and laughed. “I knew you were a piece of work that day in the car, Miss Wilde. I’ve been with Mr. Ashforth a couple of years now, and in all that time I’ve never witnessed anyone make him lose his cool. So bravo and please don’t ever stop. He needs to have his ass handed to him from time to time.”

  Oh? Really? That sounded like a compliment. Hmmph.

  “Here, sit down,” he said patting the cushion next to him. “Let me have a look at your arm.”

  The suggestion to sit was actually an order made clear when he pulled her down and immediately set about tearing open the Velcro straps on the brace.

  “Wiggle your fingers,” he instructed—which she did . . . slowly. “Does it still hurt?”

  “Only when I laugh,” she murmured.

  Smirking, he wrapped her wrist back up in the brace then relaxed against the back of the sofa.

  “What do you say we cut to the chase, Mr. Bishop? You work for Li . . . uh, BPG and since you didn’t turn to stone when you said that woman’s name, I’m assuming you have some sort of protective superpower. Me? Not so much,” she told him waving the braced arm for emphasis. “In any event, it would be nice if you told me why you’ve tracked me all the way to North Carolina.”

  “Mr. Ashforth sent me . . .”

  “Okay. Stop right there,” she snapped.

  When he silenced and simply looked at her, she groaned on an exhale.

  “That man,” she said bitterly—her lips pursing to a grim line. “That man has nothing to do with me or my life. And last time I checked, BPG no longer approves my paycheck. That’s what happens when they sack you. So unless . . .” she paused and searched for more words.

  “Miss Wilde,” he cut in. “I can see you’re not a beat around the bush person so before you go any further finding ways to pretend that Liam Ashforth means nothing to you, how about you just sit back and listen?”

  Sit back and listen? Why the hell not? She could use a good fairy tale. Could serve as inspiration for her writing. Pulling her legs to the side and tucking her bare feet beneath her bottom, she rested her good arm on the sofa back and waited.

  “You’re in danger, Miss Wilde. What I’m about to tell you will probably come as a shock, but there are things you need to know. Things that make my presence here absolutely essential for your safety.”

  “Thank you for lunch, Liam. I’m glad we’ve been able to overcome our little . . . bump in the road. Your success in England and the ramifications of the deal BPG struck only underscores my point about the business being bigger than all of us.”

  “Yes, well—we have a ways to go before overcoming that particular bump, but business is business, and I expect you to do the job I hired you to do.”

  Was she kidding? Like sitting down to a meal and him not reaching across the table and ripping open her throat with his bare hands constituted a return to their previous friendship. Stupid fucking bitch.

  Stowing her iPad and the notes she’d taken in a designer bag, Liam let her dig the hole she was in even deeper as she tried to alter the dynamic of the stand-off they were embroiled in. Boy, was she in for a shock.

  With one of those fake, hollow smiles she excelled at fixed to her face, Kim went where he knew she’d eventually go and mentioned Rhiann.

  “I thought you’d over-react about your little friend’s suspension.”

  The challenge he heard in her words almost derailed his trap her with kindness strategy. Almost. But thinking about Rhiann in the emergency room was all the motivation he required to stay on course.

  “Things aren’t always as they seem, hmm? And besides, there’s no excuse for physical violence. You know I can’t tolerate such behavior. I’m just grateful you’re okay.”

  Her look of triumph was sickening. How he didn’t choke on the words or throw up from saying them was a holy miracle.

  Reaching into a bag down by her feet, Kim drew out a box and placed it between them on the table.

  “I know you don’t do Christmas, but I saw this and thought you might have fun with it. Instead of a present, let’s just call this a peace offering.”

  Schooling his expression into a mask of passivity, Liam showed no reaction whatsoever even though a prickle of unease worked the back of his neck as he took in the sight before him. A model kit. For a car. A classic Tin Lizzy. A Ford Model T to be exact. Was she messing with him or just think him stupid? Besides Rhiann, there wasn’t a single person who knew about his penchant for model building. He was sure of it. What the fuck?

  “How . . . unusual,” he murmured. Refusing to let her take the upper hand his mouth twisted into a mocking smirk. “Is this a re-gift Kim? Or something one of your nephews didn’t want?”

  She gave a short laugh. “Of course, not!”

  “A gag gift then?”

  He watched with satisfaction as her composure fractured. How she found out about his old hobby irked the shit out of him, and he was not about to give her the satisfaction of thinking she’d scored a hit.

  “Liam! For god’s sake. I just thought this was something . . . something you’d enjoy. That’s all.”

  He had to give her credit. She was playing him pretty neatly. Shame she hadn’t counted on him being a much fiercer opponent than she imagined.

  Smugly satisfied that he’d succeeded in rattling her cage, he glanced again at the box and perfunctorily stated, “Thank you.” He also didn’t touch the gift, not even to move it aside. It just sat there between them like a rotting carcass. He rather enjoyed the confusion marring her plastic face.

  Switching gears, he maneuvered them neatly back to business mode, which seemed to throw her off even more.

  “I’ll have Gardner forward my notes on the British merger to your office for review. It’s a done deal so at this point it’s just information. Next week I want you to work up an analysis for Sydney in acquisitions concerning the ramifications of the new European VAT directives.”

  His matter-of-fact tone and dismissal of her attempt to humor him clearly caught her off guard. Before he could say another word, he heard a slight commotion behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a
woman striding confidently on a straight line directly to him.

  Tall and ridiculously good-looking, with waves of long, perfectly highlighted hair, the woman beaming at him had a devilish twinkle in her eye. Whoa. This must be Romans’ friend, Jill. Holy shit. She was incredibly beautiful and was wearing the uniform of high fashion that let everyone know she either had a fuck ton of money or a very generous sugar daddy. Roman was a goddamn genius.

  “Darling!” she gushed with a throaty purr in a charming British accent. “Hope I’m not late.”

  Grinning like a lunatic because the scenario unfolding was fucking hilarious, he stood as she leaned into him and put an arm around her waist. Part of her greeting included a kiss that deserved an Academy Award. He nearly choked on his tongue though when she discreetly palmed his crotch. They were supposed to be acting like lovers, after all.

  At the conclusion of the naughty performance, he turned toward Kim’s stunned and shocked face and said, “Kim. I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Jill Munroe. We met while I was overseas. I’m showing her the sights of New York in the hope that she stays on this side of the pond for a good long while.”

  With Jill plastered to his side, he said, “Darling, right on time as usual.” He gave her a dazzling and quite uncharacteristic smile for good measure. “This is Kim Walsh. She’s the finance director for BPG. We were just having a working lunch.”

  Fuck, this was funny.

  In his mind, he did an end-zone ball spike and a raunchy victory dance when Kim sputtered, outraged, in a high, shrill voice, “Girlfriend?”

  Jill ignored the reaction and politely extended her hand.

  “Mrs. Walsh. Pleasure, I’m sure. You won’t mind if I steal Liam away now, will you?”

  As Kim sat there frozen and immobile, his girlfriend dropped the hand she had extended and placed it possessively in the middle of his chest saying, “We haven’t seen each other since breakfast and . . . well, you know!”

  Ahhahahahaaa. Winning!

  RHIANN DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO think after Roman wrapped up the story he’d come all this way to tell her. It was one thing to think of Kim Walsh as a full-bore psycho and another altogether to hear those suspicions confirmed.

  It also scared the shit out of her to learn how close she’d come to being an even bigger victim of the crazy bitch. If she hadn’t left New York when she had, who knew what might have occurred.

  He was keeping his words to a minimum, though, she could tell—leaving out big chunks of information. Like anything about Liam’s personal relationship with the icy cougar or why the woman felt so threatened by Rhiann. After all, she hadn’t been the one who bought a business in order to get closer to him. Since it was obviously the other way around, she just couldn’t fathom what she’d done and why all this shit had landed squarely on her. And not him.

  When he confessed that in one of the houses across the street was a husband and wife team of surveillance experts whose sole function was to keep an eye out on her, she went blank. There was so much more to this ugly tale and why he wasn’t laying the whole thing out was a concern.

  “So, let me see if I’ve got this straight.” Putting her thoughts and questions into some sort of order wasn’t easy.

  “Small town girl working her dream job in the big city wakes up one day to find the company she works for was acquired by a ruthless businessman for reasons that remain a mystery.”

  Roman smirked. “Oh, hardly a mystery, Miss Wilde.”

  She ignored the comment and continued.

  “Back to the small town girl. She minds her own damn business, even after discovering that said businessman is a former . . . friend.”

  She ignored his arched eyebrow as well.

  “Water under the bridge,” she muttered with a frown. “Anyway . . . for reasons, which again, still remain a mystery—the rich guy with too much money and time on his hands and very little in the way of sense or common decency proceeds to stalk her. Something she did not seek out or invite.”

  She gave a half-shrug and asked, “We good so far?”

  He gave her an inscrutable smile and though she tried to read his expression, he had way too much self-restraint to let anything show. No wonder he was in charge of Liam’s security.

  “Enter Cuntzilla from the Razor Claws Clan,” she saw him bite back a smile, “who decides to go all crazy bitch—one more time . . . for reasons that are a mystery, on the innocent STG.”

  When he cocked his head and looked like he was trying to figure out what she just said, Rhiann smirked. “STG. Small town girl.”

  “Ah, I see.” Roman laughed. “Got it. Please continue.”

  “While our STG was just doing her job there was some fucked-up power play going on over her head that she DID NOT SEEK OUT OR INVITE.”

  Rhiann took a measure of satisfaction from seeing Roman flinch slightly. Ha! She was just telling it like it is.

  “As a result of this power play, her life gets flushed down the shitter after being stalked, harassed, belittled, undermined, and finally . . . attacked.”

  “I’ll say it again, Miss Wilde—you have a unique way with words.”

  “Uh-huh. Whatever. And now, as if that isn’t quite enough, she learns that even after throwing the fight, giving in, and running away—she still isn’t free. Nor is she safe. Am I on to something here or are you going to tell me that I’m crazy?”

  He didn’t say anything. The silence was her answer.

  Rising from the sofa, she went and stood by the windows, looking out at the ocean. What else was there to say?

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Bishop. I guess in some ways it’s a relief to know. For sure, I mean. Will make it easier to leave the past behind me and get on with building a new life.”

  When he still didn’t say anything, she turned back and looked him.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

  Looking at her with sympathetic eyes, he answered succinctly. “This was more than a trip to the beach, Miss Wilde. You have a choice.”

  She eyed him with growing alarm. Choice? Holy crap. What did that mean?

  “Until Mrs. Walsh is neutralized,” he murmured with a hint of malice, “you either let me put you in a safe house with round-the-clock security . . .”

  “Or?”

  “You have a new roommate. Me.”

  Rhiann froze. The rapid blinking of her eyes was the only indication that she wasn’t completely paralyzed.

  “No fucking way.”

  “Way,” he replied.

  Rhiann furiously shook her head. “Oh, my god! I’ve had enough of this. How much more can knowing Liam Ashforth fuck up my life?” she wailed miserably.

  “He wants to keep you safe, Miss Wilde. He’d be here himself if doing so wouldn’t alert Kim to your whereabouts. As it is, we suspect she’s having your apartment watched—know so, in fact. And my people here have seen things that suggest your presence here has already been compromised.”

  “Compromised?” she shouted. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “In the simplest of terms, it means that until she slips up and shows her hand, you remain in the center of her crazed bull’s-eye. Already this isn’t about you any longer. She’s holding something over Mr. Ashforth’s head as well and we feel that she’d willingly do you harm to force his hand.”

  Blanching at this bit of news, Rhiann lifted an eyebrow. “Do you think she’ll hurt him?’ she asked in a breathy whisper.

  Roman frowned. “Possibly. Crazy is as crazy does. Her agenda remains . . . unclear.”

  Whatever balls to the wall façade she had clung to faded when she thought of anything happening to Liam. She might hate his fucking guts for lying to her from the start—again—but that didn’t mean she wanted him in danger.

  “He needs to talk to you, Miss Wilde,” Roman told her gently. “Hear that you’re all right.”

  “No! I don’t care what he wants.”

  He stood and walked to her side. “I di
dn’t say wants. I said needs.”

  Shit. Was she about to start crying? Seemed that way.

  “He’s a good man, Miss Wilde. Flawed, yes. Has he made mistakes? Absolutely—as have we all. But where you are concerned—and believe me, no one is more surprised by this than I am—he needs so much more than he wants. Don’t turn your back on him now. I . . . well, I don’t think he’d survive a rejection from you and remain whole.”

  Her mouth quivered, and she swallowed before answering.

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Ah, Miss Wilde. I understand so much more than you could possibly imagine. Please,” he asked. “Trust me?”

  Crossing her arms protectively across her chest, Rhiann looked away so he wouldn’t see how close she was to tears.

  “You can take whatever bedroom you want on the middle floor.”

  With that, she spun on her bare feet and made for the privacy of the master suite. If she was going to fall to pieces, she was going to do it without a witness.

  Liam sat in his cold, impersonal penthouse—vodka martini in hand—and stared at the model kit on the coffee table. Something about Kim’s ridiculous gift didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t pinpoint what was bothering him.

  It did not help that at every turn there were even more surprises from his one-time trusted advisor. In fact, they never let up. She was like a machine churning out one too-close-for-comfort moment after another.

  For more years than was worth counting, his life had been an emotional desert. Determined not to be like the cold-hearted brute that fathered him, he shut himself away from anything that smacked of feelings. Ass fucking Kim Walsh was the perfect example of what existing in that lonely desert led to. If he’d been honest with himself, and her, at the time—maybe none of this shit would be happening. Drunkenly banging someone who worked for him was so completely out of character, but he’d just went with it.

  He didn’t feel anything for Kim. Never had and never will. Giving in to that one disgusting indiscretion had more power to ruin his life than anything Adam Ward had done.