by Lora Leigh
chapter four
It was Ilya who broke the silence.
“Forgive me, Mr. Preston.” As he turned to her father, his voice was a little rougher, a little darker, than it had been. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Emma Jane. She refused to begin a relationship with me before her divorce was final. Now, after last night’s events, I was unwilling to wait any longer to see her.”
Relationship? A relationship with him? He wasn’t just using her words to convince her father of a lie, but to convince her father of the ultimate lie.
This was so out of control now.
He released her slowly, ignoring the tightening of her body as he brushed a finger along her cheek.
“I’m sorry, Dad. Ronan.” She turned and faced her father, her brother, and that smirking buffoon of a sheriff she’d once called a friend, Erik Quade. “I hadn’t introduced him because he hadn’t been back in town. I would have…” She lifted her hand, then dropped it helplessly. “Ilya and I need to discuss this. Alone.”
Oh boy, did they need to discuss this.
She hated, hated, lying to her family this way.
But the truth would have been worse at this point.
She’d lost herself, again, in a kiss from a man she barely knew, one she’d only fantasized about for the past year. And even worse, she wanted nothing more than to have him kiss her again. And she knew better. She knew better than to think that kiss meant anything to anyone but her.
Definitely not the man who gave it.
And not for the reasons he had given it.
The kiss was no more than an illusion, and it was an illusion she had no choice but to allow for the moment.
Just for the moment.
* * *
Ilya was actually surprised at how quickly Emma Jane’s father and brother, along with the sheriff, left after the introductions. From the kitchen window he watched two pickups and one sheriff’s cruiser turn around in the driveway and drive off.
He almost grinned as he lifted the coffee cup to his lips and finished the cup of coffee he’d ended up fixing himself.
Emma Jane was a little overset, he thought, almost chuckling at the thought. She was flustered, flushed, and so damned fidgety while her family and Sheriff Quade had been there that he’d nearly allowed his amusement to escape at one point. And he hadn’t been the only one. Even her father had fought to keep an amused grin off of his face.
The sound of the door snapping closed with a smack was his cue that she was displeased, he guessed. Was it just the night before he’d bemoaned the fact that no woman dared get angry with him or show any fire? He had rather been thinking more along the lines of a personal situation. Not one where said female’s life was in danger.
Not when Emma Jane’s life was in danger. Not when a threat existed to the only woman who had ever held him breathless, nearly spellbound as he watched her through a webcam when she stopped at Sheriff Quade’s booth during that damned job fair.
Moving to the sink, he rinsed his cup, well aware Emma Jane was poised in the doorway and damned irritated. But she was cute when she was irritated. Those pretty gray eyes darkened like a snowstorm rolling in over the mountains. Her creamy cheeks reddened, her lips acquired the cutest little pout.
“If you have a better reason for my presence in your home, then now is the time to discuss it.” He turned back to her and crossed his arms over his chest.
She had to be the only woman he knew who could stare him in the eye without her gaze constantly drifting to the tattoo.
“Well, don’t you think it’s just a little late to make that offer?” Yep, she was a bit irate. “I think that would have been sometime before that staged kiss you just had to display. Thank you by the way, because that’s only going to create more problems.”
That little edge of disgust in her tone didn’t set well with him.
“Should I have told the truth then?” he asked, inserting just enough ice in his tone to ensure any normal female would take notice. “That would of course result in the contract we have with you becoming null and void.”
A frown formed between her brows and her gray eyes gleamed with anger. “Don’t use that tone with me, Dragon,” she demanded with just enough fire that for a moment he wanted nothing more than to pull her against him again and taste the heat of it. “I’m not a child and I won’t be spoken to as though I am.”
No, she wasn’t a child. But she was his far-too-innocent Emma Jane, and that innocence terrified him.
“Emma Jane, we are, you must agree, limited in excuses that would allow me to stay in your home, to both protect you as well as to learn why you were attacked,” he pointed out, keeping his tone calm, his argument logical. “Our contract demands complete secrecy where your availability to our agents is concerned, as well as your cooperation in ensuring the security of your home.”
She couldn’t argue with that. That was exactly what the agreement stated. But she wanted to. He could see the need to argue burning in her expression, in the flush in one her cheeks, and in the brilliant anger burning in her eyes.
“You could have discussed this with me first,” she argued, planting her hands firmly on her slender hips. “You ambushed me and you know it.”
And she was calling him on it. How very intriguing.
“I merely did what was needed to convince those that were here that I couldn’t be thrown from your home, or our discussion overseen by a protective father and brother.” And to give him an idea if the attraction to him that he’d sensed a year ago was still there.
“They’re my family,” she muttered, as though that explained everything.
It explained very little to him actually. He was aware some families insisted on knowing every small detail of a grown child’s life, but he hadn’t thought this woman would allow herself to be so dictated to.
But he’d been wrong about women before.
“They don’t live here, nor did they save your home as Ivan Resnova did,” he pointed out. “My connection to you needed an excuse. I realized this when I first saw your father. I gave them what they needed, and what I believed they could accept quickest.”
Her father wasn’t stupid and neither was her brother. Ronan was already suspicious, and Ilya knew that to add to that suspicion could prove troublesome.
“Oh, stop being so cool and reasonable.” The glare she flashed him was rather cute, despite her anger. “And do something about that damned tattoo if you don’t mind. God, how does someone make a tattoo seem to move?…”
He watched as she swept past him, a subtle scent of spice teasing his nostrils.
“How do you suggest I handle it?” he questioned her, hiding the amusement he felt. “And the tattoo isn’t moving, it is your imagination.”
“I don’t think so,” she muttered. “And maybe if you’d given me a chance, I would have handled this situation far better.”
“My dear, feel free to handle it however you please,” he invited, hiding his amusement.
This woman had the ability to tease all his senses and make him hunger for things he hadn’t realized his life lacked.
As he watched her rinse the coffeepot and replace it, he was taken aback by the comfort he felt here with her. In her pretty ankle-length dress with her deep brown hair falling about her shoulders, she looked tempting and innocent.
She fit here, in this house, he thought. The roomy, sun-splashed kitchen, the heavy wood table close to the window, the butterfly decorations and homey little plaques that hung on the wall.
“Well, our choices are rather limited now, aren’t they?” The caustic tone of her voice had his brows lifting in surprise.
“Is the thought of others believing we’re lovers that abhorrent to you?” He hadn’t considered that. Perhaps he should have. No good woman would want to attach her name to a reputation like his.
She swung around, her expression flushed and faintly surprised before settling back into irritation.
“You don’t understand.” Her hand
s went to her hips once more and that frown settled back on her face. “It has nothing to do with you personally.” Her blush deepened. “It has to do with the fact that my life will continue on here after you’re gone. I don’t want to have to explain a lover that wasn’t after you walk away.”
He tilted his head to the side as he regarded her for a moment. Since when did lovers or the lack thereof require an answer to others’ curiosity? She acted as though having a lover was more than just relieving the sexual needs he was certain she had.
“Why would you have to explain anything?” he finally asked her. “You’re a grown woman, Emma Jane. A very beautiful woman. No explanations should be required.”
She gave a little roll of her eyes before training her gaze on his once again.
“I don’t take lovers, Ilya,” she finally said, her discomfort more alluring than it should have been. “My divorce was final only months ago. My parents, my friends, the people who are important to me, know I don’t do casual sex, and convincing them that I’ve begun to do just that isn’t something I would have done if I could have had a choice.”
Choice.
Twice she’d pointed out that he’d taken that choice from her, and perhaps he had.
“I apologize for the necessity.” He shrugged his shoulders, remembering Calvin Preston’s protective stance. “Protecting the secrecy of the safe house is paramount, but when you signed with Brute Force you became one of our own as well. Your protection is just as important. Investigating the attempt on your life is going to be difficult enough. Don’t make it more so by denying a connection we’ll need to do our job.”
Her jaw tightened. “You and your partner could get hurt…”
“Emma Jane.” He hardened his tone. “Sawyer wasn’t targeted, you were. He’s here as backup only and to ensure we have advance notice of midnight visitors. You have no choice but to work with me and provide assistance on this. The belief that we’re lovers ensures fewer questions will be asked and overt curiosity won’t arise. Are we in agreement?”
Yes, he made it all sound very logical, and the truth of the matter? There were several different directions he could have gone to explain his presence. This one though gave him the greatest chance of getting into Emma Jane’s bed.
And on the drive from New York he decided he very much wanted to get into Emma Jane’s bed.
Though, he’d have to have Ivan keep the paparazzi away for as long as possible.
“Fine but…” She paused at a sound in the driveway.
Impatiently, she turned to the kitchen window to see a large truck entering her drive, followed by several pickups and two closed vans.
“What the hell,” she muttered.
“Ah, the construction company I called.” Ilya’s pronouncement caused her to swing back to him. “They’re here to fix your bedroom. I’d better get out there.”
* * *
Crossing her arms over her breasts, Emma watched Ilya turn and stride from the room as though they weren’t involved in a perfectly serious discussion.
He must think she was a moron. Staring back at Ilya through the window, she took in the cool expression, and the imposing strength he possessed, as he began talking to the men pouring out of the vehicles.
Even a year ago she’d been smart enough to know he was attracted to her, even before that kiss the night they signed the agreement. Just as she had been, and still was, attracted to him. She’d also learned over the course of those three days the previous summer that he was an incredibly calculating man.
If he could go around a problem and attack it from behind, then that was what he did. He never did anything directly.
Oh, he didn’t bother to lie, but neither did he bother to tell the complete truth. When he’d wanted to take her to dinner, he’d informed her they’d have to discuss her partnership with Brute Force while he ate. He was on a tight schedule. Then he’d given her three hours to get ready before he picked her up.
When she’d informed him the first time that she was married, he’d assured her he was well aware of her husband and would be happy to suggest a better attorney than the one she had at the time.
He’d already known of her separation, that she’d filed for divorce. When he’d handed her the attorney’s card, he’d already made an appointment for her. Because if she was going to be part of Brute Force, she needed to get rid of the trash first. But she’d seen something more in his eyes, something personal. Something hot and filled with intent.
Now here he was again, trying to ambush her rather than facing her with his intentions. Whatever they might be.
At least he’d taken care of getting the bedroom repaired. She hadn’t been looking forward to that at all. The fact that he planned to share that bedroom with her at some point was disconcerting though. Letting Ilya into her life was one thing. Letting him into her bed would be disastrous.
chapter five
Emma Jane was wary, Ilya acknowledged the next day as he watched her move about the house. She was also impatient, though she projected patience. If a man didn’t know better, he’d believe she missed most of what was going on around her. If she wasn’t ready to tackle a problem, then she let it brew inside her instead.
The fact that she believed she wasn’t ready to deal with him wasn’t something he missed. Unfortunately for her, Ilya was done with being patient or wary of the attraction that had flared between them the summer before.
A part of him had decided then that once her divorce was finalized he’d return. The depth of his hunger for her was uncommon, and no matter the wariness either of them felt, he knew it would be impossible to ignore.
Hell, he didn’t want to ignore it.
He wanted to lay her down and taste every delectable inch of that curvy little body. The things he wanted to do to her should be outlawed in every country. Some of them probably were.
He wanted her, more than he’d ever wanted another woman, but he wanted her safe as well. To keep her safe, he had to have a direction to go in order to uncover who was behind the attempt on her life.
A professional hit team was sent after one little female who supposedly had no enemies? According to the information coming in, even her ex-husband, for all his petty abuses, spoke highly of her.
A professional hit team sent after one untrained, unprotected woman. Such things simply did not happen in this world. Professional hit teams were fucking expensive. One didn’t waste them on someone who wasn’t a strategic threat.
As he stood next to the kitchen counter sipping at a cup of coffee, his gaze found Emma Jane once again as she polished an obviously old piece of furniture.
Kneeling before the piece of intricately carved furniture, she rubbed at the detailed loops and ridges slowly, lovingly. Dressed in cutoff jeans again that hugged her delectable ass, a tank top, and sneakers, her brown hair caught up in a clip at the top of her head, she looked more like a teenager than the woman he knew her to be.
One untrained, unprotected woman.
They hadn’t expected her to be alone.
She wouldn’t have been alone if he’d gone to her when he was in town earlier that day. He’d come in silently though; he hadn’t even told Ivan until hours later that he’d be in the area. Only one man had known, Nik Steele. And Ilya knew Nik wouldn’t have told anyone.
If he hadn’t forced himself to leave, she wouldn’t have been alone. He would have been in that bed with her.
“Did you tell anyone what happened between the two of us last summer?” He watched her closely, the way she suddenly tensed and jerked around to face him in surprise before rising slowly to her feet.
“What happened between the two of us?” Graceful hands went to her hips as she frowned back at him. “We went to dinner and you kissed me. Big deal. And it was no one’s business.”
Big deal. Just how many men did she go to dinner with and kiss anyway?
“If you hadn’t still been married, I’d have fucked you, Emma Jane,” he reminded her, an
d the thought of it had him rock hard. Hell, rock harder, he’d already been fully engorged before he ever made the statement.
A delicate flush worked over her cheeks as a flare of remembered pleasure crossed her expression.
“And that is why I told you to go back where you belonged.” The snap in her tone did nothing to help him rein in his wayward thoughts. “And why would I even mention you to anyone? The Russian Lothario? The dragon lover?” She gave a little roll of her eyes. “I don’t want to be lumped in the same category as your other conquests, if you don’t mind.”
She was nervous. He could see it in the way she tucked her hands in the pockets of those raggedy jeans, unaware of how tempting her breasts looked. Even with a bra.
Setting the cup aside, he leaned into the counter, reminding himself he was there for far more than getting into Emma Jane’s bed.
“Someone sent a four-man professional hit team after you,” he mused, ignoring the fear that flashed in her eyes for now. “No one sends four men after one tiny, untrained female who should be sleeping peacefully in her bed. Not unless they expect to find a hell of a threat there instead.”
She frowned at that. “Professionals would watch the house and make certain who they wanted was actually there. Four dumb-ass morons would just find a way in, decide to kill the homeowner, and steal whatever could be found.”
“Dumb asses couldn’t get through my security system,” he pointed out, surprised by her quick response.
Pretty, kissable lips thinned. “Maybe one of them was smart,” she fired back. “Look, as far as anyone knew, we just had dinner a year ago, and even then, that was with Nik and Mikayla. Big deal. You haven’t been back, you don’t call, I don’t call you. So why attack me thinking you’d be here? All the evil in the world doesn’t revolve around dragons.”
There was something too alone and too isolated about the way he stood watching her, so certain he was the reason she was in danger. As though he weren’t permitted to have friends or lovers. The thought of that made her hurt for him, made her soften even more and that could be disastrous.