by Beth Rhodes
“Don’t be,” she interrupted.
He nodded, understanding he’d injured her pride. “Do you normally have such a strong reaction to kissing men?” he teased, even as every cell in his body wanted an honest answer. Fool.
The blush grew, giving her face a pretty glow. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
A funny, possessive feeling grew deep in his chest. Those words. They were like a promise, and he loved the thought that she would kiss him and not tell a single soul because it meant something. He scowled, shoving the thoughts away, and leaned back into his seat. “We’re going to land soon.” He closed his eyes, putting the talk of kissing to rest. Just because they had chemistry, it didn’t mean he had to react.
Her quiet sigh sent a brush of air over his cheek, and then she sat back and lifted her seat into the upright position as the plane landed.
They worked together, but everyone at Hawk Elite knew there wasn’t a hard and fast rule about coworkers hooking up. John had Emily now, even if she only worked on contract. And, of course, Hawk and Stacy were the perfect example of how good could come from working together…and being together.
Malcolm wasn’t sure, though.
His sex drive wasn’t really a good gauge of how well a relationship was going to end up—obviously.
The plane touched down a few minutes later, and before it stopped, Marie was up and getting her bag out of the overhead compartment. She tossed his to him as well.
“Thanks.”
She turned to wait in line then slowly moved forward with everyone else.
He sighed, rolled his eyes, and waited for the older woman across the way to go out first.
“Women,” she said in raspy voice, a twinkle in her eye. “I bet she keeps you in line.”
“Oh.” Malcolm laughed and shrugged. “No. We’re not together.”
“Could have fooled me,” she said, nudging him in the side as they were stopped again. “Oh, well, you’re a muscly one, aren’t you?” She winked at him. “Is it true what they say?”
Wary, he looked around and found the woman’s younger companion watching him with amusement.
“What?” he asked.
“The more muscle you have, the smaller your—”
“Jackie! Hush,” the companion said, grinning sheepishly. “I’m so sorry. She’s usually better behaved.”
“Am not,” the woman said, frowning up at him. “What good would that do?”
Malcolm’s gaze found Marie ahead of him. He’d had what he thought was a well-behaved woman before, and she’d skinned him alive. Now he wanted this woman, and she was as far from well behaved as he’d known. Her secrets worried him. But with her, he felt more comfortable than he had with any woman in a long time.
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
Chapter Four
She didn’t wait for him when they deplaned.
As much as she annoyed him, he watched her walk toward the restroom and decided she had her head on straight. And when he came back out of the men’s room, she was waiting.
“Well, we’re here,” he stated as he walked up to her. “Ready?”
She nodded. “Let’s go catch a cab.”
They walked down to baggage claim and picked up her bag then went out to the curb. She was unbelievably efficient, and was probably the kind of person who never had bad luck—like losing luggage.
The wind gusted when they exited the building. The cool air blasted Malcolm’s face, reminding him he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He’d been debating how professional he needed to look to meet this Dimitru. He scratched at the scruff, waved a cab over, and opened the door for Marie.
“Thank you,” she said as she threw her bags into the open door and climbed in. When she turned and sat, her skirt twisted up and bared her leg. She lifted her rear and tugged the skirt down over her ankles. “Marriott City Center.”
The driver looked from her to him. “What she said,” Malcolm said. “Do you ever throw a pair of jeans on?”
She lifted a brow, which didn’t make him feel any better. No. It made him feel like he was transparent. He sighed. Working with her so far hadn’t included such close accommodations. He’d always been able to get away from her when necessary.
“Necessary” had grown since their trip to Qatar. Somehow in the heat of the desert sands, he’d caught the want-a-woman bug.
He hadn’t had this virus since he’d divorced Heather, since he’d come home to an empty house, empty bank accounts, a missing dog, and an ex-wife. Sounded like a country song. He hated country music. Every fucking song a love song.
“You’re thinking a lot.” Marie had her bag in her lap, and she’d pulled a length of hair around her head, twisting it and tying it behind her ear.
“Thinking about the meeting with Dimitru tomorrow.”
“I imagine a wonderful tea party. Pleasantries…”
Malcolm almost laughed and rolled his eyes. “Pompous, self-centered ass.”
“No, seriously. Tell me what you really think.”
“Sorry. A bad vibe from the guy since day one. And I don’t see why we needed to fly all the way across the country to meet with him when he has one of my best systems in place. I can give him a better rundown of what’s going on at his place than his own security team. And we could have video-conferenced if he was concerned about something.” It felt good to get those thoughts off his chest. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding them in. “We should be out of here tomorrow. And I don’t plan to cater to any ridiculousness.”
“Did you say ridiculousness?”
“Yeah, so?”
She grinned, her shoulder lifted, and then she worried her lip. His gaze caught on it for a blink before she started speaking again. “So, you think he’s crooked?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s kind of how you sound.”
“Lots of people are douches; doesn’t mean they’re crooked.”
She nodded. “Maybe.”
“What’s your history with this guy. You date him or something?”
The guy was older. He knew women to hook up with an older man, though. Plenty. And Dimitru had a GQ look, so he wouldn’t be surprised.
Marie burst out laughing. “No. No, we never dated.”
“But you know him.”
“Not really.” Her answer was pregnant with the words not spoken.
Frustration gripped him. He frowned at her. “It’s not good to keep secrets. Didn’t you learn anything working with Hawk these last months?”
“I’m serious. I swear. I never met the guy.” She hesitated. “I have heard of him, though.”
“Okay—”
The sound of crunching metal and shattering glass interrupted his thoughts. “Whoa.”
Marie leaned forward and looked over the front seat.
“Looks like a fender bender in front of us, folks.” The little man driving them turned in his seat a bit. “I’ll try to get around it, but it could be a few extra minutes.”
Malcolm checked his watch and glanced out the window. “How far are we from the hotel?”
“Not far. Not far at all. Only a few blocks up the road, then east.”
Malcolm took a minute to pull up a map app. “Not even a half a mile.”
She wore cowboy boots. A far cry from heels.
“Do you like country music?” he asked, even as he knew it wasn’t what he really wanted to know right now.
“Love it,” she answered, wiggling her foot back and forth. “What gave it away?”
With a sigh, he opened his door. “We’ll walk. You pay the driver.”
She didn’t balk at the idea, merely scooted over, dragging her bags with her.
Malcolm hefted his own bag onto his back and reached for her duffel. She strapped her messenger bag over her shoulder and dropped her backpack onto her shoulders. When she reached for her duffel, he stopped her. “I got it.”
“But—”
“I got it.”
; She rolled her eyes, opened a wallet and paid their driver, then started forward.
Hawk left an impression, Malcolm hated to admit. When he’d first joined up with Hawk Elite, he probably wouldn’t have bothered, not taking the bag or even offering to pay. Maybe it had been Stacy, who worked so damn hard without simpering or looking for a handout. Maybe he was sexist. Had he become a sexist since working with Hawk? Who the fuck knew?
Chivalry—sexist or not—wasn’t dead, not if you worked for Hawk Elite Security.
At the next corner, Marie took two steps forward and then turned to walk backward, facing him. Her skirt whipped around her ankles and a few stray hairs blew across her face. God, she was pretty. And very young looking, even though he knew they were the same age.
She lifted a hand to catch the hairs and tuck them behind her ear, and then smiled, as if glad she was there and he was there. And damn it. He didn’t need to be thinking along those lines.
A steady footfall behind him had him slowing.
Marie’s smile disappeared, her eyes widened. “Hey—”
He dropped her bag to the ground, ducked, and turned, bracing himself for an attack.
He wasn’t disappointed. The guy in black had gone high, missing him, and then swung low. Brass knuckles caught him in the side, hurting like a son of a bitch, when Marie came forward with a side kick to make Tancredo very, very proud.
The guy stumbled back with a grunt, but righted himself and hurtled forward again.
Malcolm’s world slowed, narrowing to detailed focus. Long fingers, chewed nails, and the tattoo circling the guy’s wrist and creeping out from the edge of the black long-sleeve shirt. And the curled fist took one more swing, this time aimed at Marie.
Rage like he hadn’t felt in years coursed through his veins, and he moved in, blocked the punch, which glanced off his arm, and put himself in front of her. She gripped his shirt and steadied herself behind him as he sent one blow, straight to the asshole’s face.
The guy grunted, taking a knee and a harsh breath.
“Jesus,” Marie whispered, and let out a breath.
Malcolm didn’t move, though, as his lungs finally managed to suck in air. His hands shook.
The guy shook off the daze, grappling to get up, and met Malcolm’s gaze. Fear.
Malcolm took one step forward, and the guy ran.
The world came alive around him as the ringing in his ears cleared and cars honked in the road. A few people passed by, speaking in low tones and staring at him.
Malcolm lifted her bag off the sidewalk, took her hand, and hurried down the street toward the hotel.
Chapter Five
“Room for Daniels,” Malcolm said, and dropped her bag to the floor so he could pull out his wallet.
The woman behind the counter gazed at her computer and began typing before she looked up. Her eyes went wide and she quickly studied the computer again. Malcolm frowned. What the fuck now?
“Smile,” Marie whispered against his arm, as she rubbed a hand over the small of his back.
Shit. Right. He forced himself to relax. And then he smiled.
“More nicer,” she said, and he laughed. “Sorry,” she told the lady at the desk. “We’ve had a long flight. And on our way here, some guy attacked us. On the street!”
Malcolm wanted to groan.
“He needs a nap.”
The lady’s eyes were wide as saucers.
“As a matter of fact, do you have a first-aid kit?” Marie smiled sweetly. “His hands,” she said, and he actually looked at his hands and found that, indeed, he was bleeding.
“Oh my.”
Malcolm put his hand behind his back. “It’s fine. It’s fine,” he said to Marie, and then grabbed the keys. “Thank you.”
He stopped outside the elevator. “Do you think you could not tell everyone we meet about what happened?”
“Are you embarrassed?”
“What?” He frowned. “No. I don’t want the police involved. That would mean time. Time we don’t have if we want to get out of here tomorrow afternoon. We’re fine. You’re fine. Aren’t you?”
He looked her up and down. He’d assumed she was fine. Their attacker hadn’t gotten to her. But—
“I’m fine. You’re right.” She entered the elevator and pushed a button. “Of course. Probably some junkie. Or something.” She was biting her lip again—for the love of God. “We’ll meet with the client for dinner tonight. Then drive out to run security checks tomorrow. And be home before dark.”
He eyed her suspiciously, not liking the way she sounded, as if she was humoring him. But then she sighed and stamped her booted foot. “Actually, I’m going to stay a few extra days.” She shrugged. “If we’re going to talk about the hassle that this weekend has become—for you—I might as well tell you. I’m happy to be here. I’m glad I got picked to come with you. Aside from enjoying your company—”
“You do?” he asked, a little blindsided.
“—my uncle lives on the coast not far from here, and I plan to visit him for the first time in over a year.”
“Okay,” he said.
The elevator doors opened and they exited together, him going one way, her the other. “Clear,” they both said at the same time.
“Room?”
Malcolm looked up at the sign on the wall and pointed to the right. He really hated hotel living. It wasn’t the luxury some people claimed it to be. He’d actually rather rent a dumpy bungalow or travel in an RV.
Opening the door to their room, he stepped in and made a visual assessment of their surroundings. He checked the bathroom and opened each of the closet doors. “Clear.”
Marie had dropped her bags on the desktop, toed off her boots, and crashed on one of the queen-sized beds, flat on her back. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even. He stood there, watching. Had she really fallen asleep?
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Not a sound or movement from her.
He quietly put his things on the bed and went to take a shower. Dinner was in two hours.
After their crazy experience on the way there and travelling in general, he could use a little unwinding.
***
Marie woke without moving. Her stomach growled and she listened to the soothing sounds of the television’s low volume combined with the soft clacking of Malcolm on his laptop.
She blinked her eyes open to low lighting and then stretched.
Malcolm’s laptop snapped closed. His silence had her sitting up to look at him. “Hi,” she said.
He grunted and then got up, moving around to get ready to go. “I was about to wake you up.”
Standing, she picked up her duffel and set it on the bed. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be ready.”
Before hitting the bathroom, she crossed to the windows. The sun was setting, the orange glow warming her view. “We should rent a motorcycle.”
Across the way there was a glass-top roof, an atrium of some kind, and she stood on tiptoes to get a better look. But the windows were too dark to see in.
“Dimitru’s driver is picking us up.”
“Hm.” She’d worked at playing it cool after the attack. He seemed to take it in stride, as if it was nothing new, but she was pissed. Would Dimitru know who she was? “Do you know where we’re going?”
“I assume a restaurant of some kind,” Malcolm said as he armed himself—like, to the teeth. A knife in his boot and one at his waist. And she wasn’t positive, but she could have sworn there was another knife tucked into his cargo pants pocket.
Marie frowned. “Are you worried about something? Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
“I don’t know. Is there something you aren’t telling me?” he asked.
“No,” she answered, knowing it was a lie, hoping it wouldn’t matter in the end.
Crap. She was going to kill Uncle Bert. He’d pulled her into his thieving ways for the last time. She never should have taken a job with
Hawk Elite. Her purpose had only ever been to get closer to Dimitru. Instead, she’d gotten close to everyone else. Made friends, even. This weekend, she could very well lose them all.
When the phone next to the bed rang, she buried the regret and pain and picked it up.
“Good afternoon, this is the front desk calling. Your car is here.”
“Thank you.” Turning, she found Malcolm watching her, which sent her pulse racing. “The car. I’ll just”—she sidled by him—“get ready, real quick.”
Nerves settled in her stomach. Excitement, too. Finally, she was going to be able to put an end to this missing heirloom fiasco, because she was going to get it back and then she was going to donate the thing to the nearest frickin’ museum. And she wasn’t going to let family sentiment stop her from being practical and reasonable.
She dressed to blend in, wearing a conservative pair of slacks and her boots. She humored her fashion sense with the black lace top and a colorful silk shawl, which was cinched at the waist with the leather belt her great-grandmother had brought over from the old country. The buckle had been handmade by her grandfather almost a century ago. Uncle Bert’s brother. And her earrings had been a gift from her mother, the true Bălan. The one who had passed down the truth about life.
The only piece missing from her ensemble was the gold arm wrap, which was probably a good thing—aside from the fact Dimitru had it, of course.
The family heirloom. It was more than a pretty piece with monetary value. If you asked her uncle, he’d say it held power. The part of her raised to be proud wished Dimitru would look at her and see everything he ever wanted and could never have—roots, family. Romanian blood.
She suppressed the urge, because if Malcolm knew, he’d tie her up and toss her in the closet while he took care of business.
She didn’t want to steal—not like this—so blatantly. But this time, for this piece, she was going to go back. She was going to take back what belonged to her family.
“You look beautiful.”