by Lora Leigh
"Sir, the question remains, will she cooperate?" Reno asked again.
"One thing about Emily Paige is the fact that she has the heart of an adventurer," he growled. "She'll go along with it and try to twist your man into so many knots he won't know if he's coming or going. For a girl who refuses to find a husband or a lover, she sure has a way of making tough men melt in a puddle at her little feet." He glared at Kell.
Kell refused to flinch. He respected the senator, he was damned wary of the power the man held, but he had never agreed with him where Emily was concerned, and he hadn't hesitated to inform him of that fact several times.
"You think you're tough enough to handle her, don't you, Kell?" The senator's smile was understanding, if disdainful. "You're sitting there telling yourself you're tough enough. You're hard enough and you're cold enough. I give you a week before you're panting after her like every other male I put in her vicinity. And like all the others, she'll wave with a smile when you walk out the door."
No, he was smart enough. That was the difference.
Kell allowed the corner of his lips to quirk at the senator's words.
The senator shook his head pityingly in reply. "I'm going to do you a favor, son, simply because I hate to see a good man go down too fast and because I like you. Do whatever it takes to keep her safe. I don't care if you have to lock her in her own damned closet, because God help you if you let anything happen to my daughter. Do you understand me?"
"No interference," Kell said then, ignoring his commander's warning look. "If she calls crying, you don't pull back. If she gets pissed because she doesn't like my rules, you don't change them."
Stanton's gray eyes narrowed at the challenge in Kell's voice. He stared back for long moments, his expression thoughtful.
"No rough stuff," he finally stated. "I won't have her mistreated."
"You know better than that, Richard. She won't be mistreated." He was a lot of things but Kell didn't hurt women.
Stanton watched him a moment longer before nodding slowly. "Agreed. You have control."
Something Stanton had never given any of her bodyguards. Kell restrained his feeling of triumph but he had to admit to a twinge of wariness at the satisfaction that filled the senator's gaze.
Stanton sat back in his seat then, turned to Reno, and began discussing the protective detail Reno would be leading. Not that it appeared Reno was going to have much control over it. The senator had definite ideas on how to run the show, but he was willing to listen to Reno's suggestions. As the limo made its way through Atlanta toward Emily Stanton's condo, the plans were argued into a viable operation.
Laying the groundwork to catch Fuentes's spy within the committee the senator chaired would be handled by Reno, Clint, and Macey, while Kell and Ian had the responsibility of protecting his daughter.
"Emily has various functions, charity and political, that she attends throughout the year; a couple are scheduled during the next few weeks," he informed Kell. "She can't miss those. No matter what. They're too important. And Emily isn't to know that Ian is involved in this. She's to know nothing more than that he's her new neighbor."
"Why?" Kell asked. "Knowing the full extent of the danger could help her in determining how far to push her own safety."
Stanton's eyes flashed with rebuke.
"Emily's different," the senator snapped. "A writer. A dreamer. She'll never understand how much her life is in danger so there's no sense in trying to explain it, and it could endanger Ian's cover if she pulls one of her tricks and tries to slip away from you. Let's not give her more to worry about than we need to. You just keep her out of the strip clubs and off strange men's laps, if you don't mind."
Kell omitted the fact that the lap dance had been for him. But as he listened to the finalization of the plans, he began to draw his own conclusions about the senator and Emily's relationship. He was betting money the coming meeting wasn't going to go smoothly.
Emily had a strong dislike of control, and Senator Stanton, formerly Captain Richard Stanton of the Navy SEALs, was all about control. It was there in the thin line of his mouth, the frosty hue of his gaze.
And he wanted his daughter controlled. No matter what it took. No matter how much fire burned inside her at the action. No matter how little of the woman she was would remain. As far as the senator was concerned, nothing mattered but restraining the life inside her. A fire Kell intended to stoke in far different ways than Miss Emily Paige Stanton could ever imagine. Ways her father would likely kill him over.
Chapter Four
A cold shower didn't help. Pacing the floor didn't help. Changing from the sexy underwear to her normal loose cotton pants and overly large T-shirt didn't help. And listening to Chet Dyson pack, and watching him load his car, sure as hell hadn't helped.
Because she couldn't forget one man, a breath of air, and a fear unlike anything she had ever known in her life.
She was more aroused than she could ever remember being. All she could remember was the feel of warm breath between her thighs a millisecond before pleasure pierced her clit and sent vibrations of ecstasy racing through her body.
The Pudgy Prude, as one of her boyfriends once dubbed her, wasn't entirely without sexual desire. She masturbated, she thought fiercely. She knew how to get off, she knew how to want to be touched, how to imagine being touched, she knew how to touch herself. She just hadn't particularly cared if any of the men she actually knew got close enough to touch her. But she had always been smart enough to maintain a distance between herself and the type of man that she knew would completely run her over.
Men like her father. Strong, determined, dominant men who enforced their control, supposedly for a woman's own good. Daughter or wife. For their own peace of mind, such men made certain that the women they loved were smothered beyond hope.
The exact type of man that turned her on the most. Especially the type whose glance assured a woman that he had the soul of a bad boy. A man who could turn the bedroom into an adventure. Men like Kell Kreiger and the stranger in the strip joint.
Why was she thinking about Kreiger now? It had been so many years since she had seen him that she wondered if she would even recognize him now. She knew her father met with him fairly often and still counted him as a friend. But Kell was the one man her father had never suggested as one of her bodyguards.
Of course, Kell hadn't been like other men. She had no doubt in her mind he might be more adventurous to a woman than her father deemed necessary.
Unfortunately, Emily craved adventure. And not just in the bedroom. But outside of it. She craved a challenge and she hungered to live. If a man couldn't provide both, then what good was he?
The men her father sent as potential candidates, aka bodyguards, had never really tempted her. They whined too much. They were too scared of her father to even suggest a little fun, and all they wanted to do was call and ask his permission for the least little bit of adventure.
She rolled her eyes at the thought of it. Sometimes, she wondered if what she craved even existed. A man who was strong inside and out. A man who knew the world wasn't fair, and knew he had to take responsibility for his part in it. A man who knew there was more to sex than simply the act and that there was more to a woman than breasts and thighs and what lay beyond. A man who accepted the fact that a woman might need adventure as well.
That was what she craved. A man she could trust enough not just to give in to her desires with, but to accept her need to live. A man who, even if he wasn't there forever, was at least there long enough to care about fulfilling not just the physical desires, but the adventurous ones as well.
Until now, whenever she thought of the perfect lover, Kell's face had always filled her imagination when she fantasized. Now, a stranger had taken his place.
She was definitely fantasizing now. Much to her own dissatisfaction, because masturbation hadn't helped. She had tried that the moment she was naked. Despite the orgasm that had rippled through her at the
club, her body was still simmering with need when she returned home. Unfamiliar, desperate need.
She knew how to hurt for sex now; unfortunately, Emily knew she was doomed to disappointment. There wasn't a chance in hell the object of her lust could be allowed into her life. She doubted he would even want to be.
Men like that did not "do" chubby little schoolteachers with no intentions of entering the darker side of life.
Emily didn't do drugs and had no intentions of trying them. She wasn't a part of the criminal element, as he surely was, and she had no desire to dance on the fringes of it by becoming involved with someone like that. The need for adventure only went so far.
Now, if she could just convince her body of that, because it wasn't listening very well. It was definitely interested, even now, hours later.
She paced her living room, following the path of the thick throw rugs that lay between the overstuffed furniture and heavy walnut coffee table. The evening sun glinted off the hardwood floor, and sent warmth blazing through the room as Atlanta's heat shimmered beyond the patio doors.
Outside, her small courtyard, which was surrounded by a heavy brick wall, looked cool and inviting, but not as peaceful as it had once been. The shade of the ornamental trees and the blooms of summer's splendor couldn't quench the lust that filled her. Finally. She couldn't shake her reaction to today's events, no more than she could shake her arousal.
For as long as she could remember, her ultimate fantasy image had been the leather-wearing, motorcycle-riding bad boy. That was her weakness. When she was in high school she had watched them from afar, lusted, dreamed of them, but she had known them too well to ever be drawn in by them.
But today, she had almost succumbed.
She twisted her fingers together as she paused at the sliding glass doors that led to the courtyard and frowned at her own blurred image there.
She wasn't really pretty. She was sort of plain and not the type of girl that the bad boys had ever noticed. Which had suited her fine until now. With her shoulder-length auburn hair, plain blue eyes, and less than slender build, she didn't exactly draw men to her. There were too many women much prettier than she, and much more exotic. Women who knew their own sexuality and how to please a man. Women who didn't freak out when a man blew on the sensitive flesh between their thighs.
She had come for a stranger.
When his face had flushed and the heavy lust in his expression had hit her, a second before his breath had rushed over her sex, she had known she had made a horrible mistake. She should have never risked herself that way, her identity, her safety, her father's reputation.
Her own peace of mind.
She dropped her head against the cool glass of the door, her lips tipping into a grimace of regret. It would have been nice. To touch that hard body, to feel his muscles tensing beneath her fingertips, to feel his hands sliding over her.
He had smelled so clean, so masculine. There hadn't been a scent of drunkenness or sloth, just clean male. No heavy aftershave or cologne. Just hard, primal male. The type of male that never gave women like her a second look.
It was the lace underwear, the sexy dance, the overwhelmingly sexual nature of the atmosphere that had surrounded him. He hadn't really been aroused by mousy, pudgy, quiet Emily Stanton. And it was better that way, wasn't it?
The harsh ringing of her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. Turning to the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room, Emily snatched up the phone, checked the caller ID and answered it quickly, knowing what was coming.
"Hi, Daddy." She pushed the thought of bad boys to the back of her mind for the man who had cared for her, cherished her. And fought to restrain her.
"Emily, how are you doing, sweetheart?" Affection filled her father's voice as it came over the line. "Are you busy?"
"Not hardly," she answered, pushing back her regret that she wasn't. Hell, it was Friday, she should have a date at least.
"Can you make time for your old man then?" His voice was too serious; the normal good humor and gentle teasing were absent.
Emily frowned. "Are you going to yell at me?"
She hated it when he succumbed to frustration and actually yelled at her. Not that it happened often, but it had happened enough times for her to dread it.
"No yelling," he promised quietly. "I'm about five minutes from the house. I'm bringing some friends with me. I'll see you then."
Friends. That meant bodyguards and more than the one " that normally traveled with him.
Emily breathed in carefully. "Are you okay, Daddy?"
"I'm fine, sweetheart." But her heart clenched at the gentling of his voice. "Just be watching for us. We'll be there soon."
Emily disconnected the phone seconds later, staring down at it with a frown as she bit at her lower lip. Thoughts of bad boys and arousal dissipated as worry began to fill her. Her father was worried, worried enough that he wasn't hiding it from her.
Something was wrong, very wrong.
Five minutes later, barely enough time to change from the slouchy clothes into a pair of white Capris and a dove-gray cotton tank, Emily heard a vehicle pulling into the front drive.
Pushing her feet into comfortable sandals, she moved to the door, checking the peephole quickly before opening it for her father.
"Hi, Daddy." Moving back, she watched as he entered and gave her a quick hug.
He was followed by three tall, hard-bodied men, handsome enough to make a girl pant if she hadn't been distracted by the fierce frown on her father's face.
She glanced over the three quickly before closing the door and moving slowly into the living room behind them.
One of the men moved to her sliding door and whipped the heavy shades closed over it before moving to the windows and closing the plastic-backed curtains over them as well.
"Why is he closing my curtains?" She stared at his back. A very fine back. Broad and heavily muscled beneath the white cotton shirt he wore. The broad back tapered to snug jeans. Jeans that did nothing to hide a luscious butt.
"I'm sorry, baby," her father said softly as she turned to him, seeing the heavy lines in his face, the concern in his light blue eyes.
At fifty-five her father was still a fit, handsome man. He had never remarried after her mother's death nearly twenty years before, though she was aware he had certain "friendships."
"What's wrong?" She kept her attention on him as the other three men began moving through the house. "Look, I know Dyson is pissed. And I know you probably are too. But it was just a little research—"
"Emily, this isn't about the strip club." He shook his head, but she could see the flat line of his mouth, and knew she had disappointed him again.
"It wasn't that big of a deal," she said. "Dyson just gets really intense over things, ya know?"
"Men have a way of doing that." He nodded. "Speeding. Flirting your way out of a ticket while he sat beside you. The strip club, the attempted attack at that dance club a few weeks ago. Sweetheart, I have gray hairs from the report Dyson sent me before I landed."
And why had she ever imagined Dyson wouldn't do it? They all did it when they finally managed to cave to their fear.
"I was safe." She shrugged. "The bodyguards are like ticks. They suck the fun out of everything."
She heard a snort of laughter from one of the men behind her but didn't turn away from her father to glare at whichever one it was.
"Emily. Sit down with me." He took one of her hands and led her to the couch while her heart began to race in terror.
He wasn't angry. He wasn't yelling at her. And that was scary. He had the same expression on his face that he'd had the night he awakened her to tell her that her mother wasn't coming back home. That she would never come home again.
"What's wrong?" She pushed back the instinctive aggression she felt whenever she knew something she didn't like was about to happen. She knew this expression, knew the look in his eyes.
He sat beside her. "Emily," he
said. "Fuentes is back, sweetheart, and the information we've received is that he's going to attempt to kidnap you again."
For a moment, darkness nearly overwhelmed her. The scent of rotting vegetation and the stink of unwashed male bodies filled her senses. She had to swallow back the bile and fear, had to force back the overwhelming panic. Shifting memories that weren't quite memories shadowed her mind. Whimpers of pain, betrayal.
As she stared at her father, fighting back that fear, she wondered where the knowledge of betrayal had come from. How did she know they had been betrayed? What had she seen or heard that she couldn't remember once the drugs they had pumped into her had worn off.