by Judy Teel
"I don't understand this enough to explain it any better," he said, his voice low and husky. "I don't know why I want to protect you. Why I'm afraid to touch you. Or why I can't stop wanting to."
He kissed her and she couldn't bring herself to push him away. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him into her, letting her passion flow through her blood like music. She opened her mouth to his questing tongue, sighing when he finally pulled out of the kiss.
His eyes, smoky with desire, swept over her face. "We come from different worlds. This really is impossible."
He was right. They were from different worlds. In his the superficial was king. In hers character ruled.
She reluctantly stepped out of his arms, her heart beating loudly in her ears. Despite everything she wanted him. There wasn't love, there wasn't even friendship. And still she wanted him. Had she really become so shallow or was there more to it than that?
Did some part of her sense depths to him that he kept carefully hidden? Or was he really the man he appeared to be--a man who used and discarded people for his own purpose without a second thought?
A man like her father.
"Why did you agree to do this job?" Dakota asked, softly.
Pulling in a deep breath, his focus shifted beyond her to things only he could see. "He has something I need. So I agreed to get something he needs."
"Some thing." She swallowed, her pain deepening. "Dad would see me that way."
His attention came back to her. "He can't sell the Dakota Nights line without you."
She remembered how successful the leather lingerie line became after the tape of her and Jack hit the internet. Disbelief pushed through the ache in her chest. "I thought Dakota Nights was a big money maker for Jamison Enterprises. Why would he sell it?"
"I don't know."
"And why drag me into it?"
Something flickered across Treys' face. Guilt? Disapproval? "To the public, you are the line. His buyer won't sign unless you come with it."
"Like a prize mare."
He tensed. "Like a valuable company asset."
"Which is still a thing, not a person." She crossed her arms, hoping to contain her rising anger. This wasn't about Trey. Not really. It was about her relationship with her father. If you could call it a relationship. "I won't be used by him anymore, Trey. Going back to that world is like saying I'm okay with being treated as a chess piece. I'm not okay with that."
Trey stared down at her for a moment, his green eyes shadowed with secrets. "I promised I wouldn't force you back, Dakota, and I won't. But I'm also not giving up. You could do a lot of good in that world if you wanted to. More good than you can do here selling cinnamon rolls and soup."
Indignation spiraled up inside her. "You condescending jerk," she sputtered. "Doing good doesn't only mean grand gestures and large donations. It can also mean giving a job to someone who's disabled. Cooking for a homeless shelter. Taking food to a single mom and her kids when she's twisted her ankle and has to stay in bed for three days."
Dakota took a deep breath, her resentment deepening as she remembered the years under her father's regime. "Being a good person does not entail playing the whore for clients to soften them up for the kill."
An angry line cut between the two dark slashes of his eyebrows. "You mean like what I do?"
"Yes."
The simple, razor-sharp word hung between them.
Trey stepped closer, crowding her, radiating fury. She held her ground, determined to discover how much of him was front and how much was real.
Even as they scowled at each other, the familiar stirring of sexual awareness flared between them, mixing with the antagonism.
A muscle flexed along his jaw. "If you're pregnant you know where to find me." He strode past her and disappeared around the corner of the building.
* * *
Trey crushed the note from Dakota that the morning desk clerk had just handed him in his fist. I was right, had been scrawled across it. What kind of a message was that?
"Thanks," he said to the clerk as he jammed the note into his pocket. Crossing the lobby, he shoved the door open and stepped out into the wind-swept tundra of the nearly empty hotel parking lot.
Was she saying she was right, that she wasn't pregnant? Or was she telling him she was right about him being a whore for Jamison? Irritation dug between his shoulders. Hell, as mad as she was at him most of the time, she might have come up with some other dig he couldn't fathom. Either way, he had to be sure.
He'd never had such a hard time talking someone into doing what he wanted them to do.
The woman was incomprehensible and a complete aggravation. If he wasn't desperate to knock loose a break on his sister's case, he would have packed his bags days ago. Being around Dakota was like getting hit by a cyclone. An unmitigated disaster and you never knew which end was up.
Money hadn't worked. Reminding her of the luxury she'd given up had backfired. She hadn't even negotiated a good deal for herself when he told her Jamison desperately needed her back. Instead, she'd given him a puritan-like lecture about what it meant to be a good person.
He was not Jamison's boy, or anyone else's, he told himself angrily. All jobs had aspects to them that were less than palatable. It was the price you paid for security.
If Dakota wanted to throw a life of ease and luxury away for principles and a marginal existence in a dying town, that was her choice. It sure as hell wasn't his and he didn't see how that made him a bad person.
There were plenty of personal actions he'd taken that could qualify him as that. One of them had resulted in a cryptic note that needed an explanation.
He was about to get into his Jag to head for Dakota's restaurant when his cell phone rang. He put the device to his ear, impatience riding him. "Trey here."
"Saw the picture on the news," a low, rough voice said.
Trey's muscles tensed. "Mr. Jamison."
"Why isn't she standing in my office right now, Peters?"
Trey ignored the hard edge in the older man's voice. "She still needs some convincing."
"My buyer's getting impatient."
"It's a delicate situation."
Jamison pulled in a deep breath. "Tell me where she is. I'll get her home."
Intense dislike for his boss swept over Trey. He reflexively ground down on the feelings and focused on staying calm. "Sic your battalion of lawyers and security people on her and she'll run. Are you willing to risk another five months to find her?"
"Are you threatening me, Peters?"
"Just stating facts."
"I've released another fifty K into your account," Jamison said, switching tracks smoothly back to his power base. "Get her something nice. Tell her it's from me and that I miss her."
"Do you?"
"What do you think?"
Trey thought he was a cold-hearted bastard, but he kept his opinion to himself.
"Make this happen," Jamison continued. "I'm having lunch with the governor in two weeks. You wouldn't want to blow that opportunity, would you?" The line disconnected.
The need to have the report on his sister filled Trey with a powerless anger. He squeezed his phone, wishing it were Jamison's neck.
He wondered if Jamison was actually going to keep his end of their bargain or if he'd hold Trey's desperate need to find Rosie over his head, using it to get what he wanted for as long as he could. All because Trey was willing to do anything to find her.
A taint of dishonor slid over his soul like a fine coating of garbage. He'd done a lot of things he wasn't proud of, some for worse reasons, most for better.
His motivations were always justified--survival, protecting those he loved, building the resources he needed to find his family. He shouldn't regret them. He didn't.
But was he willing to lure Dakota back into the hell from which she'd run? A hell they should all be so luck to have. His throat tightened. But for her, was the security of wealth and luxury too poor a reward for
the misery of living under a tyrant's rule?
His conscience pricked him, but he pushed it away. He had to do whatever it took to get the job done. When you lived in the real world, sometimes you got your hands dirty.
You didn't have to like it.
A muffled pop jolted him from his thoughts. Opening his hand, Trey stared in bemusement at the cracked phone lying in his palm.
His stomach turned cold as the truth seeped into his awareness.
He was losing control. Control of Jamison, the situation, himself...
And his feelings for Dakota.
* * *
There had to be a way to get Trey out of Harts Creek for good, Dakota concluded. He was on her mind entirely too much.
Balancing her groceries on one hip, Dakota unlocked the foyer door to her apartment building, glad to be home.
Weariness sat on her shoulders like a ton of rocks. It seemed half the town was reporting to her on the progress of Mr. Lambert as he traveled around interviewing people. The other half was trooping through speculating on how Trey had "rescued" her, or lamenting the fact that he was two-timing her with the Jamison heiress--an irony that would be cracking her up if she didn't feel so guilty about the added deception.
She released a sigh. To top it all off she had cramps.
Maneuvering herself into the foyer, she pushed the door shut with her foot and turned to go up the stairs.
"Let me help you with that."
She let out a little screech and spun around. Trey jumped back to avoid being clobbered by her grocery bag.
"How did you get in my building?" Dakota sputtered, struggling to catch her breath.
"Your neighbor let me in on her way out." He took hold of her grocery bag and she started to fight him for it. Dignity won out and she let go. "We need to talk."
"No, we don't." Turning her back on him, she tramped up the stairs.
He followed her. "For starters, your note wasn't very clear."
"Pardon me for not feeling obligated to share with the hotel clerk the fact that I'm not pregnant."
He let out a breath and she could almost feel the wave of relief coming off him. Good. Maybe now he'd go away and leave her alone.
"I'd forgotten what small towns could be like."
His admission startled her. Reaching the landing, Dakota turned to look at him. "You've lived in a small town, before?" He didn't seem the type.
His mouth lifted into a half smile that seemed genuine. "For a while when I was a kid. With my grandfather."
She wasn't sure how to take that information, not after she'd concluded he would never open up to her or let down the barricade he kept so tightly around himself. Thinking of Trey as a child with a family made her feel like she'd stepped onto the deck of a sinking ship--off balance and in eminent danger.
No, no, no, she told herself firmly. She would not go there. There lay the path to pain and misery. She unlocked her door and Trey handed her the groceries.
Horror filled her as she watched his expression turn serious. "Dakota, I--"
"I'm sorry, I have to go." She ducked into her apartment and closed the door.
Her heart rate didn't return to normal until she heard him walk away.
* * *
Trey parallel parked behind the white rental car he'd spotted on his way back from Dakota's. The only person in town who would have a rental was the AENC Inspector. Seeing what the intrepid inspector was up to was just the distraction he needed.
Especially after the total crash and burn at Dakota's.
He stepped onto the sidewalk in front of a place called Look the Part. The small blue building didn't look like part of anything wedged as it was between a bank and a gift shop, but if it was significant to the inspector, it was significant to Trey.
The building had once been a small house, by the look of it. The room he entered had been converted into a modest reception area including an unoccupied secretary's desk sitting to one side. There were also a few chairs plus a table with magazines scattered on it. Behind the desk was a hallway.
The AENC Inspector was nowhere to be seen.
Wandering over to the desk, Trey picked up a flyer from a stack on the corner. Look the Part – Image Consulting and Training was superimposed on a picture of a fancy cocktail party that could have easily been one of Jamison Enterprises customer schmoozefests.
A floor board creaked and he looked up to see Chelsea standing in the hall glaring at him.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered, glancing at one of the closed doors behind her.
He held up the flyer. "What kind of classes do you have?"
"Shhh. Do you want him to hear you?" She hurried forward. "You're the last person who needs training in how to dress for success or have confidence with the opposite sex." She snatched the flyer out of his hand.
"I don't know. I haven't been doing too well with Dakota."
She tossed the flyer onto the desk. "Why are you really here?"
He leaned toward her. "Where's George?" he stage-whispered.
"Inspector Lambert?" Chelsea narrowed her eyes at him. "Why?"
Trey stepped back and half sat on the empty corner of the desk. "He's a wild card that needs constant managing, wouldn't you say?"
"Shhh. He's in Lori's office getting the full treatment. He thinks he's interviewing her, but she's actually interviewing him. He's exactly the kind of clientele we're marketing to."
"Who's Lori?"
"My business partner. We own Look the Part."
His respect for Dakota's friend raised a notch. "Successful?"
"We're getting there. Now get out before Mr. Lambert catches you. He'll think you're stalking him. It'll look bad for Dakota."
"What's he trying to find out, anyway?"
"Everything. And he keeps mentioning that she looks familiar. He's determined to get to the bottom of it."
Apprehension skated across his shoulders. He'd been right to stop in. The inspector posed an unanticipated threat to his plans.
Chelsea shoved her thumb in the direction of the street. "If you really want to help Dakota, stay out of this."
Trey leveraged off the desk. "I wish that were possible."
"Anything's possible if you want it badly enough. The problem with you is you don't know what you want."
He knew exactly what he wanted. The problem was he was starting to hate the way he had to go about getting it.
Trey opened the door and a gust of cool air slipped in, ruffling the flyers on the desk. Chelsea made a grab for them. "She has friends now. Friends who are willing to stick up for her."
He paused, the subtle threat in her words putting his instincts on alert.
She turned toward him, flyers bunched in her hands like colorful fans. "Don't break her heart, Trey. Figure out what you want."
CHAPTER TEN
Dakota curled up in her favorite chair with a hot cup of tea and wondered what she was going to do about Trey. She wasn't going back. He wasn't leaving. They didn't exactly hate each other, but they weren't exactly friends. They couldn't seem to be near each other for more than five minutes without wanting to fall into bed.
How was she supposed to deal with a guy like that?
From the front of the building shouts rose up, interrupting her brooding. From the sound of it, their landlord, Mr. Castella, was yelling at someone on the sidewalk. Dakota took a sip of tea and wondered who the unlucky victim was this time. Garbage man? The long-haired artist guy who lived below her? Some stranger walking his dog?
Undeniably curious, she went to her front window and looked down.
Alarm clenched her stomach. She couldn't believe it. Her weasel of a landlord was nose-to-nose with Suzette Harold, Dakota's sweet elderly neighbor. Miss Suzette was holding her own, but even from the second story, Dakota could see the death grip she had on her walking cane. She looked on the brink of losing her temper and clobbering Mr. Castella and the man was definitely greedy and vindictive enough to take a great deal
of satisfaction in suing her.
She had to do something.
Dakota tore from of her apartment at top speed and burst out of the building. Hurrying to Miss Suzette, she laid a restraining hand on the woman's batting arm, just in case.
"This...dreadful person refuses to allow me out of my lease, Dakota. I agreed to pay an extra month's rent to cancel it and he was more than happy to take it. Now he wants two month's rent before he'll let me go." Her arm trembled under Dakota's hand.
"We'll get something figured out," Dakota soothed, even though she was itching to knock a hole in Mr. Castella's head herself.
"My nephew is in town to help me move. Everything was arranged." Miss Suzette pressed her mouth into a thin line, anger radiating from her eyes like lightning bolts. "Shame on you," she said to Mr. Castella, her voice cracking with emotion.
The landlord smirked at her and Dakota was sorely tempted to help her clonk him a good one. "Take a deep breath, Miss Suzette," she said, instead. "I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding."
"The only misunderstanding is this bitch thinking she can renege on a contract," Mr. Castella snarled.
"What did you call her?"
"You heard me," he smirked.
Outrage incinerated every crumb of common sense from her mind. Dakota shifted her grip from holding Miss Suzette back to helping her raise the cane.
A large, warm hand wrapped around her wrist. "Steady, ladies," Trey's smooth baritone said calmly from just above her.
Miss Suzette looked past Dakota's shoulder in surprise. She blinked a couple times, then the startled look in her pale eyes cleared and she shifted her attention back to Mr. Castella.
Dakota didn't even jump. She was too angry. "What are you doing back, Peters?" she said, still glaring at the landlord.
"I heard from Tony at the gas station that you were in trouble."
"How would Tony know?"
"He heard it from Blaire who saw you when she drove by."
"Well all of you can stay out of this. I have it under control."
"Yes, don't try to stop us, young man," Miss Suzette added. "He has it coming to him."