He grinned and headed her way, ready for whatever she dished out. He was up for a good challenge, and this could certainly be an interesting one. But he decided, as he approached her, that verbal play was as far as he’d let it go.
“This seat taken?"
The redhead pivoted on her stool. When she recognized him her face lost some of its color. "What are you doing here, Trent?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” He didn’t say nice girl. She was hardly that.
“Did you think up that line yourself, or was it a line your father used?”
Nick mentally counted to ten, intent on not letting her get to him.
“I was three when my father was killed. And I don’t think he was teaching me pickup lines at the time.”
She grimaced. “Sorry. I forgot.”
“Don’t worry about it. So why are you here? Looking to score some action?” Nick watched in fascination as her face flushed a pretty pink and he assumed he was right on target.
“I came in for a drink. That a crime?”
He smiled. “Only if you’re a minor.”
She rolled her eyes and turned away, taking a sip of the amber-colored drink in her hand.
“Want me to help you find a man?” He leaned in, inhaling her sweet, flowery fragrance. The perfume made his groin twitch, which surprised him. Could it be the kind that had pheromones in it, because it sure as hell stirred him?
She elbowed him lightly. “I can find my own men, thank you. Don’t you have a beach bunny you could hop off to?”
“Cute, but no. I’m a free agent tonight. So, what type of guy you looking for? Are we talking commitment kind or a one nighter?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Go away!”
At that moment, Nick noticed she wasn’t wearing her glasses and her eyes were a beautiful light green with intriguing flecks of gold running through them.
His stomach bottomed out.
“I never noticed before but you have freckles,” he said more to himself than to her.
She blushed, then turned away.
“They’re cute, really.”
She turned back to glare at him. “Are you flirting with me?”
Nick shook his head. “Never happen. Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. You tell me?”
Time to change the subject to something less personal. “Did you get that picture analyzed and fingerprinted?”
She turned away, gulping down the remainder of her drink. Another subject she apparently didn’t plan to discuss with him.
He signaled for the bartender then turned to her. “Can I buy you another drink?”
“I can buy my own,” she snapped back.
“Okay.” Wow, director through and through.
The man behind the bar took his drink order, and Nick swung on his stool, glancing around the crowded nightclub. It was dark, but he could see two young women smiling at him beneath a neon beer sign—a clear invitation to join them. From the glimmer of interest, he could very easily get lucky if he wanted to. But did he? Hell, the way they ogled him, he could probably have both—at the same time.
But for some reason that didn’t sound as appealing as sitting with Shiloh, slinging verbal barbs. And quite frankly, that change in him worried Nick.
Of all the bars in Washington DC, how had Nicholas Trent ended up on the stool next to hers?
Annoyed, she glanced at him and noted his attention drawn to two young women sitting in a booth across the bar. The interest was mutual––both eyed him in return. A twinge of something alien hit her stomach, though she wasn’t sure what it was.
Shiloh snatched her drink, found it empty, and signaled for the bartender to refill it––which he quickly did. Nick Trent was now sideways on the stool, facing the two other women.
A deep sigh escaped her. Why hadn’t she gone straight home?
When she’d left the office, she’d felt an urge for a drink and a little male companionship instead of going back to her cold, lonely apartment. Ages had passed since she’d been held in a man’s arms and told she was beautiful. And that was a lie, of course. She knew she wasn’t pretty, but she needed some type of validation that she was a desirable woman.
An appliance could only relieve a physical need, not an emotional one. Shiloh wanted relief of her sexual tension but also a connection. Tender words. A gentle touch. Something solid, with a heartbeat.
Lifting her glass, Shiloh took a long swallow. The brandy instantly thawed her insides. Warm and fuzzy feelings washed over her. How many brandies had she had? Three? Four? Shiloh hadn’t had a drink in months and it was going straight to her head. She glanced at Nicholas and her stomach fluttered. He was one hot-looking man.
Images of his naked, tanned body floated around in her mind. All that toned, taut muscle wrapped around her body... Would he be good in the sack? Energetic? Could a guy his age go all night?
Her hands shook as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and leaned in to catch his attention.
“Go for it.” She tipped her head toward the women in the booth. “Obviously they’re interested.”
“I’m waiting for Hank,” he said, his face relaxed with amusement.
She frowned. “Are you and Hank—you know?”
“What?” He scowled. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”
“I just thought—” She shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Why would you think I was gay?”
“Aren’t a lot of pretty boys?” Shiloh slapped her hands over her mouth.
“You think I’m pretty? Thank you, I think. You’d just love it if I were gay, wouldn’t you? Sorry to disappoint.”
She was actually relieved, though really, the idea of Nicholas Trent being gay had seemed a little over the top. Especially after the kiss.
“Would you like me to prove it to you?” His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he brought his hand to her mouth and brushed his thumb across her bottom lip.
Shiloh swallowed hard, her blood pumping wildly through her veins. What did they say about a man with large hands and… She glanced down at his boots.
He winked, then grinned wickedly. “Size thirteen, if you’re interested.”
Had he known what she was thinking? Once again, her face heated with embarrassment. Why were her hands itching to touch him?
She needed to go home. “Okay. Well, I’m heading out.” Shiloh slid off the barstool and teetered forward.
“Whoa—there. How many drinks have you had?”
“Just a couple. I’m fine.” She took another step and swayed right into him, inhaling his musky maleness, an arousing woodsy scent that caused her head to swim even more.
“You’re not fine. You’ve had too much to drink.” Nick held her shoulders and stared intently into her eyes. “I’m taking you home.”
“No! I can drive.” At that instant, Shiloh wished she’d stopped to eat something before she started drinking. The alcohol was clouding her judgment.
His eyes darkened and he shook his head. “No you can’t, Shiloh.”
“That’s Ms. Templar to you,” she shot back.
“Fine, Ms. Templar. I’m driving you home.” He grabbed a napkin off the bar, took a pen out of his leather jacket and scribbled something on it. Signaling the bartender, he whispered something to the man and handed him the paper. The man nodded.
“Okay. Come on. Let’s go.”
“But…”
“But nothing. You’re in no shape to drive.”
Shiloh allowed him to usher her through the bar, her head now spinning, her mind racing wildly.
Was she going to allow him up to her apartment? Would he insist on tucking her into bed and giving her another goodnight kiss? The mere thought caused her breasts to tighten and sweat to trickle down between them.
Oh God, why did she suddenly want him in the worst way? It had to be the alcohol talking, because it was ludicrous to want N
icholas Trent in her bed when she wanted him out of her office.
Wasn’t it?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nick drove into the underground parking garage, and after finding a space, killed the engine.
Shiloh had fallen asleep in the passenger seat, her head tilted his way. Even in the car her lightly freckled complexion intoxicated him. The fullness of her peach-colored lips always seemed to be pouting, and her long, burnt auburn lashes fanned her cheeks.
In an unconventional way, Shiloh was beautiful. Not the typical blond beach-babe he was normally attracted to, but she was a real woman.
He itched to reach out and brush off the strand of hair that had fallen into her face, but he resisted.
Taking in a deep breath, he forced down the lump forming in his throat. Stop it, Trent. She’s your boss. Don’t think about her as a woman.
Still, he allowed his gaze to travel down her long, delicate neck to the simple white blouse that gaped open. He noticed the lace of her matching bra peeked out beneath, exposing some of her flesh.
“Jeez,” Nick hissed, his jeans becoming uncomfortable. He was wrong; how could he not help but think about her like this. She was definitely a woman, and he couldn’t help but gawk at her cleavage. The word amazing came to mind. She was sexy as hell, and that realization made him angry.
Abruptly, he shook her arm. “Wake up, Shiloh. We’re here.”
Her green eyes fluttered open and she looked around, squinting with confusion. “Where are we?”
“Your parking garage. I’m going to help you up to your apartment.”
“No, I’ll be fine.” She reached for the door handle, but Nick stopped her.
“I am going to walk you up.”
She didn’t look pleased, but leaned back and waited for him to come around to help her out.
As he guided her on unsteady legs, to the elevator, Nick glanced around at the walls of concrete around them. He caught a flash of something that made him uneasy. He swung around.
“What?” She stared at him questioningly.
“Did you see that flash?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No, Why?”
“Because I did.”
Nick knew he wasn’t seeing things. Someone was nearby, and from what he could gather, they were taking more pictures. The photo in Shiloh’s office came rushing back. Could the person who took the snapshot be here in this parking garage? Now?
Was Shiloh in danger?
Nick quickly grasped her arm and rushed her to the elevator. He reached inside his jacket and unsnapped his shoulder holster, readying his revolver.
The elevator doors opened and he pushed her inside, shielding her with his body until they closed.
When the doors were secure, he exhaled and glanced at her.
Her lips twitched with amusement as she pressed the eleventh-floor button.
“What? You think this is funny?”
She nodded. “What are you doing?”
“I’m protecting you… What the hell do you think I’m doing?”
“Playing Bond. James Bond,” she said in a bad British accent, then giggled.
Nick scowled. “This is not a joke, and if you weren’t so drunk, you’d see that.”
“I’m not drunk.” She backed up and tripped over her heel.
Nick caught her before she fell backwards. He pulled her up hard against him. The contact was like a jolt of electricity to his system.
Her breasts brushed his chest and sent out an SOS to his brain that he was sinking fast. Their eyes met; the lustful invitation in her gaze turned their depths an iridescent green, instantly causing his groin to stir.
Seconds ticked by.
His heart raced. His cock hardened.
He leaned in, his lips inching closer to hers and the warmth of her breath fanned his cheek. Then the elevator doors swished open, and broke the spell.
Nick mentally shook himself, grabbed her hand, and pulled her down the hallway. "What number are you?"
"This one," she said next to the door
“You have your key?” He sounded angry to his own ears, but he couldn’t help it. She completely unnerved him.
She fumbled with her purse, going through it one item at a time, pulling out a tampon, then quickly stuffing that back inside. Her cheeks reddened and heat flooded his own face.
All he needed was to see her feminine products. That only reiterated the fact she was indeed a woman—a very desirable one, at that.
Frustrated, Nick rubbed his forehead impatiently. “Shiloh, the keys?”
She glanced up. “I know. I’m looking.”
“Look faster. I’m getting old here.”
She gave an unladylike snort, then found the key and placed it in the lock. After turning the key and the knob, she frowned. Shiloh turned the key again and this time opened the door. She turned back to him. “Well, good night.”
Nick looked over her shoulder into her darkened apartment. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in and check things out?”
“Check it, for what? I don’t need you to protect me, Trent. I was CIA when you were still in school.” She flipped on the light, and Nick immediately saw her apartment had been ransacked.
Her hands flew to her mouth, and she started to shake uncontrollably.
Nick pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “It’s okay. I’ll call 9-1-1 and they’ll send a unit out.”
He unclipped his cell phone, and without releasing her, pressed the emergency number. He quickly relayed the information then hung up. “They’re on their way. I’m going to stay with you.”
Her eyes filled with tears and for some reason that caused a tightening in Nick’s chest. Why the director’s tears would stir such a reaction, he didn’t know, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to analyze his feelings now. She needed him to be strong, and he wasn’t leaving her side until she told him to. Maybe not even then.
“Who would do this?” Shiloh looked around at the destruction. Framed pictures of her father lay on the floor, shattered. Shards of glass covered the textured, beige carpet.
Nick shook his head. “I don’t know. Let’s take a quick look around… but don’t touch anything. We don’t want to disturb any evidence.”
Shiloh narrowed her eyes at him. “I know the drill, Agent Trent.”
She stepped over a pile of shredded sofa cushions and walked into her bedroom, inhaling sharply when she saw the mess. On her mirror, in red lipstick was the single word: DEAD. The top dresser drawers of her bureau were askew, her underthings tossed everywhere. A lacy pink bra dangled from the ceiling fan above her.
A black negligee lay across her bed, a large kitchen knife stuck through it, piercing the mattress.
Tears slid down her cheeks at the overwhelming scene. No mistaking it. This was a death threat. Someone planned to kill her. But who? And why? The photos had been a little scary, but this was completely terrifying. Someone had actually broken into her apartment and destroyed everything she owned.
“Are you okay?” Nick asked from behind her.
She turned around in shock. “Would you be?”
Sirens bellowed in the distance, alerting them that the police were on their way. Shiloh shook her head, and in a daze walked back into the living room. Everything she’d worked so hard for, lay in shambles.
In a matter of seconds she’d gone from tipsy and contemplating whether she should sleep with Nicholas or not, to completely sober and fearful of any guy within a ten-mile radius. A crazed man did this to her apartment––she knew that––and until she found out which one had done this, she planned to take it out on the lot of them.
When the last of the police and forensics team had left, Nick closed the door and locked it securely. Shiloh hadn’t said more than a few words since the cops had shown up and searched the apartment.
A fingerprint team had lifted a partial print off a bottle of perfume on her bedroom dresser, a print instantly checked against her own––not to match. The in
truder, without thinking, had picked the bottle up without gloves. It was the only other print that wasn’t hers.
Nick walked over to where she stood looking out her living room window, a forlorn expression on her face. “Maybe you should try and get some sleep, Shiloh.”
“Just go home, Nicholas. I’ll be alright,” she whispered.
“I don’t want to leave you like this. Let me stay. I’ll sleep on…” He looked at the couch, then back to her. “The floor.”
She scowled at him. “I can take care of myself, Trent.”
“I never said you couldn’t. I’d just feel better if I stayed.”
“Fine. But don’t get any ideas.”
He frowned. “Ideas about what?”
She tilted her head, looking annoyed. “You know.”
“Are you telling me not to try anything with you?”
She nodded. “The man can be taught.”
Nick grinned. “Cute. Don’t worry. You’re not my type. I like California beach bunnies, remember?”
Her eyes darkened. “Right. How totally bitchin’. Good night”
Nick mentally counted to ten as she closed the bedroom door. The woman was driving him crazy. He should have just left. She was tough as nails and could take care of herself. But once again gallantry had kicked in and he’d insisted on staying. Now he was stuck, sleeping on the floor, with the Ice Princess in the next room wreaking havoc on his sanity.
Grabbing a sofa pillow and an afghan off the floor, he found an area free of glass and dropped to the carpet. He removed his shirt and boots, wondering what the old Iron Maiden slept in. Did she really wear a chastity belt? And, was it lined in barbed wire?
He remembered the pink lacy bra hanging from the fan and wondered if she had a pair of matching panties to go with it. A pink thong maybe. And what about that negligee he’d seen on the bed? The one taken away in an evidence bag.
Damn. Why was he doing this to himself?
He punched at the pillow, and slammed his head down. Shiloh Templar in a pink bra and panty set? More like a black leather dominatrix outfit.
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