by Marie Harte
Rafe shook his head. “I can’t do that. I have some loose ends to tie up on the Higgins matter. It’s nothing dangerous. I need to verify some contact information in person.”
Jurek didn’t look happy. “Fine, but you’ll take J.D. with you. I’m also assigning a watch to patrol your place at night.”
“But Jurek—”
“No buts. Buck me on this and I’ll assign a protective detail. Don’t think I won’t. That was no accidental shooting this morning. And if you think Storm Buchanan’s in danger as well, we have a situation we need to deal with before it deals with us.”
“Fine. I’ll be in my office. I’ll take J.D. with me when I meet with Floyd.”
“You do that.” Jurek dismissed him with a nod and Rafe returned to his office, disgruntled, tired and hungry for another taste of a woman he couldn’t clear from his mind.
After taking J.D. with him to finish up with Floyd, who not surprisingly failed to show, Rafe spent the remainder of his day managing paperwork and trying to identify the mysterious black sedan. He’d seen the first two digits of the license plate but couldn’t remember the state or exact make of the car. He had narrowed it down to a few models and sat impatiently waiting for some answers. When the phone rang he picked it up, thankful for the small distraction.
“Savage here.”
“Mr. Savage? It’s Security Officer Michaels. I’ve got a Storm Buchanan in the lobby for you.”
Rafe hadn’t expected to see her again so soon, and he damned his hormones for firing up at the mention of her name. “I’ll be right down.” He tucked away several files he didn’t want a Buchanan to see, cleared his computer and righted his already neat office. Then he hurried downstairs.
He saw her standing by a large sculpture in the lobby. She wore her hair swept up in a ponytail to complement her business casual outfit—loose-fitting khakis and a dark blue sweater that gave mystery to the gray depths of her eyes.
“Storm, what a pleasant surprise.” He grasped the hand she offered, amazed at the energy that seemed to flow through their connection. She must have felt it as well because she quickly pulled her hand away.
He liked the fact that he bothered her. She’d preyed on his mind since he’d first seen her. Around her he lost control, and he didn’t like it. He’d show this woman who was in charge. If he could only convince his body of the same. He inwardly cursed his growing erection and escorted her to the elevator. Allowing himself to feel anything deeper for a Buchanan was less than smart and more than dangerous.
“Rafe.” Storm tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help it. Damn, he looked just as sexy today as he had Saturday. She tried not to flinch at the jolt to her system when he placed his large hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the elevator. They stepped inside and he deliberately stared down at her from his formidable height.
Trying to intimidate her, maybe? “Something the matter?” she asked in a haughty tone, sure to set his teeth on edge.
Instead, he smiled. “You look beautiful, as always.” His gaze traveled down her body with thorough scrutiny. “I wouldn’t know you had a bruise on your leg the size of my hand if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
Or touched with your own hands. She counted to five before she spoke, scared she’d sound as breathless as she felt. “That bruise is why I’m here. I wanted to know—”
“Here we are,” he interrupted when they reached his floor.
He guided her into the hallway and down the corridor, past the curious gazes of several Westlake employees. Storm gathered they didn’t often entertain clients on this level. They entered an office at the end of the hall. He shut the door behind them and stood with his back against it.
A glance around the room showed her he kept his office very neat, as opposed to her own happy mess. The guy even had a tidy trashcan. She had a hoop fashioned on the wall above hers. A random assortment of balled up paper often littered her floor.
She moved around his office, looking hopefully on his desk for a word or two that might clue her into anything Westlake currently worked.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I cleaned up when I heard you were in the area.” Rafe crossed his arms over his chest and watched her through hooded eyes.
“Gee, so thoughtful.” Knowing she wouldn’t learn anything he didn’t want her to know, she sat down on a leather sofa that looked as if it had been used often. She could envision Rafe sleeping on it while working a tough case. Dedication ran strong in all of Westlake’s agents. Even the crazy ones, she thought with a frown.
She propped her feet on his table, amused when he scowled.
“By all means, make yourself at home,” he muttered.
“Let’s get right down to it, Rafe. Or would you prefer I call you Savage?” She didn’t think his last name suited him very well. Rafe had a controlled presence at odds with the name Savage. Even when he’d had her tied up in Miles’s study, when he’d seduced her in her own bedroom, he’d been the epitome of control.
His lips twitched. “I imagine Rafe is one of the nicer names you’ve called me. Let’s stick with that.” He sat down next to her, his sexuality almost palpable. A couch, blinds over the windows, Rafe so close…
She cleared her throat and sat up. “I did some digging of my own today. I couldn’t find anything on the car that hit me and have nowhere else to go with the incident. There was no mention of it in any newspaper, and unless you were behind the wheel, you couldn’t possibly know what happened to me.”
“Your point?”
She smiled sweetly at him. “Like all the freaky agents in your bumbling, bureaucratic firm, you’re psychic. So if you weren’t there and you didn’t read about this, you either have someone watching me—which I don’t believe because my brothers and I would have seen an agent by now—or you had a premonition.”
“Clever.” His eyes blazed. With anger or arousal? “I had a vision of the accident. Speaking of which, you never did tell me what you know about Hank. Have you checked him out? Maybe he set you up?”
“Hank? No way. We were out on a date. Plowing into a woman with a car is no way to get into her bedroom. Besides, Hank’s my neighbor. And I checked into his background before we went out. He’s as bland on paper as he is in real life.” At his smug smile, she frowned. “He’s a nice man. Very normal.”
“Right.”
Storm continued, not sure why she needed Rafe to know Hank wasn’t a total loser. “Yeah. Hank’s a real keeper. He wined and dined me. Trust me, the last thing on his mind was having me run down with a car.”
His smugness faded. “So sorry you had your evening ruined.”
Remembering how disappointed and bored she’d been, as opposed to how exciting her Saturday morning had been, she changed the subject. “Did you come up with anything today?”
“Why would I be checking into anything? I only showed at your place to make sure you were okay. You are. End of story.”
What she knew of the man told her otherwise. Even the files she’d borrowed from Remy, their IT guru, described him as determined, dangerous and dogged. “Right. So what did you find?”
He sighed. “I’m still waiting for a rundown on the car. What do your uncle and brothers think of the incident?”
“I didn’t want them to worry until I knew more. If it’s a drunk driver, what can they do but fuss over a bruised leg? I have work to do, and two brothers hovering over me isn’t conducive to getting anything done.”
“I’m surprised you can’t tell them, then persuade them with your mind control to leave you alone.”
“I wish. And it’s not mind control, exactly. Just an ability to suggest things. Besides, my mojo doesn’t work on family.” Or on you, not the way it should. Now why is that? “So how do you know what I can do, anyway? It’s not exactly common knowledge.”
“We have a file on everyone in your organization. Just as you have one on all of us. I’m surprised you didn’t know about my visions.”
“We speculated, but you confirmed it. I mean, we know who you Westlake agents are, but sometimes we’re not quite sure what you can do.” This was the perfect opportunity to put her ability to the test. “And I know you want to tell me everything you know about me and my family. Everything.” She directed a burst of energy at him and stared directly into his eyes.
He maintained eye contact but said nothing.
“Rafe?”
“Hmm?” He seemed distracted.
Relieved he was like all the others, she waited.
“Storm…”
“Yes?” Having some control over this man would definitely place him in the forgettable category, right next to Hank.
“You have beautiful eyes. So gray, stormy, like your name. Nice try.” He winked at her and glanced at his watch. “You know, it’s getting late. Want to go to dinner? I told J.D. to call me if he gets anything on the car.”
She scowled, annoyed the handsome jerk didn’t respond the way he should. “Sure, not like I have anything better to do.”
He looked like he was biting back a grin as he escorted her out the door. J.D. bumped into them on the way out. He glanced from her to Rafe and waggled his eyebrows at her.
Rafe glared. “Tell Jurek I’m leaving for the night, would you? I’d let him know but I don’t want a security escort home.”
“Sure thing, buddy.” J.D. smiled. “Have a terrific evening, kids. And remember to name your firstborn after me.”
Storm huffed. “Jackass. By the way, you still owe me twenty bucks for that Braves bet.”
J.D. quickly turned away, suddenly busy again.
“What’s that about?”
Storm grinned. “He bet me twenty on a baseball game. I won. He lost and refuses to pay.”
“Maybe because you cheated?”
“Now why would you say that?” Luc had given her details on the game accidentally. Her brother hated his gift, especially when it ruined the anticipation of big league play.
Rafe shrugged. “Instinct. Something I’ve learned to rely on.” They entered the elevator and didn’t talk as they descended to the lobby.
“Just let me clear something at the front desk,” Rafe said and walked to the guards sitting in the lobby. Dressed in his work clothes, he seemed more formidable than the casual guy who’d shown up on her doorstep Saturday morning. That guy had seduced her with little effort. This man looked like he could ease a yes out of her without even a thank you, ma’am.
The notion bothered the crap out of Storm.
She resolved to remain strong. Lust was a physical response, after all. So what if he was hot, psychic and didn’t respond to her abilities? So what that Rafe Savage could have been her dream man all wrapped up in a neat, Westlake bow?
He returned to her with a disturbed look on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
He cleared his expression. “Ah, could we do dinner at your place? Mine seems to be out of sorts at the moment, and I’m not in the mood to go out.”
The opportunity to grill him over dinner presented itself, and she refused to pass it up. Storm told herself she did this for Buchanan Investigations. The more she knew about the enemy, the better her chances to protect her family. Yeah, right. “Sure. But you’re buying. I’m suddenly in the mood for steak.”
“So long as you’re cooking it, I’m game.”
She paused at her car, not looking forward to scooting into the low-slung sports car with her bum leg.
“I’ll drive, you sit.”
“But how will you get home after dinner?” she asked stupidly, not able to think of anything past the loud thundering of her heart.
“I’ll figure it out. Now let’s get out of here.”
Once they were both seated inside her car, he leaned close and kissed her until she couldn’t think of anything but Rafe inside her.
He pulled away, breathing hard. “I’m suddenly very, very hungry.”
Chapter Five
The woman’s vehicle pulled into the driveway. She wasn’t alone. Savage got out of the driver’s seat, grabbed a paper bag from the back seat, and then helped Storm Buchanan from the car. The woman looked like someone Lewis would willingly fuck for hours, and he could feel the pull of something more within her. No wonder the boss wanted to get his hands on her. That weird energy that sparked in the boss swirled in the woman as well. Lewis could see the vague outline of power around her. And over Savage as well. The other day at Emmet Park hadn’t been a trick of the light after all. Damn. The guy wore danger like a second skin.
Savage walked her to the door, waited while she unlocked it and then went inside with her.
After ten minutes, when neither Savage nor the woman emerged, Lewis made a call.
“I didn’t mention it before, but you’ve got a nice place here.” Rafe stood in the living room while Storm prepared their dinner in the kitchen. He’d offered to help, but since he’d admitted he could barely boil water, she’d shooed him away.
“Thanks. Since you already had an uninvited view of the place, make yourself comfortable.”
“I will.” He studied her friendly, if disorganized, living space. The kitchen was small but looked larger due to the open breakfast bar. Penciled sketches of a variety of places, from Venice, Italy to New Orleans, Louisiana decorated the cream-colored walls. Most of the pictures looked as though they’d been done by local artists. He wondered if she had acquired them from the places she’d been.
A dark blue sofa and two chairs flanked the gas log fireplace. She didn’t have many knickknacks, but books and magazines overflowed her bookcases and stacks sat everywhere. He shook his head. How could she live like this?
“Problem?” Storm had returned.
“Ever think of hiring a maid?”
She surprised him by grinning. “Really gets under your skin, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a neat freak until I saw your office.”
He plopped down onto one of her chairs, opened up an entertainment magazine and began to read.
“You’re really not going to help with dinner?”
“You ordered me out of your kitchen.” He turned a page. “Do you actually like this stuff?” He lifted the magazine to show her the picture of an alien zombie ripping apart a corpse.
“That’s one of my favorites, but it’s a back issue.” Her voice turned defensive. “I like Horror Monthly. Someone like you probably reads nonfiction.”
“Wow. I must be making progress. I was sure you didn’t think I knew how to read,” he said to her back as she walked into the kitchen.
She turned on some classic rock music while she worked and he read. The domesticity of the arrangement comforted Rafe, which surprised him because he’d never considered himself a wife and two point five kids kind of guy. The one time he’d made a play for permanence had backfired in his face. And he hadn’t felt a tenth of the attraction for Lydia that he felt for Storm.
“Okay, Rafe, dinner’s up.”
He joined her at the dining table and inhaled the pleasant aroma of a home-cooked meal. “You really can cook.” He took a bite of food and hummed with pleasure. “You’re close to being the perfect woman.”
She didn’t respond, seemingly engrossed in her meal. She’d cooked a tender porterhouse, complete with baked potato and salad. Rafe didn’t think he’d ever eaten anything tastier.
Minutes later, Storm laid down her fork. “Okay, I’ll bite. I’m close to perfect, but…?”
“If you could just learn to keep your mouth shut, I’m sure you’d have guys all over you. Of course, that didn’t seem to bother Hank.” He’d told himself to forget about her meaningless date, but he couldn’t put a lid on his jealousy.
Storm scowled. “Mouth shut? Jerk. And just what have you got against Hank?”
“Other than the fact the guy let you take the hit from that car, and that Hank is a name you give to your dog, not a thing.” He felt his cheeks turn red when she just stared at him. “Look, this is a terrifi
c meal. Let’s not spoil it with a fight.”
Her lips twitched, and he had the uneasy feeling she was laughing at him. “Fine.”
They finished the meal with banal conversation. The weather, Southern living, her car versus his. Nothing about work or family. Not that he’d tried hard for the information. She really had outdone herself with dinner.
“Storm, I have to say, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
She bristled. “I can cook.”
“You sure the hell can.” He patted his stuffed belly. “You cooked, I clean up.”
“Now that I can agree to.” She stood and walked to the couch, where she sat back and put her hands behind her head. “Someone to clean my mess.”
“Someone needs to,” he muttered. He collected their plates, washed the dishes, and had just finished drying the last plate when his cell phone rang.
J.D. didn’t have much to share, though he laughed his ass off when he heard where Rafe had eaten dinner.
Rafe joined Storm in the living room. “That was J.D. Seems your black sedan was stolen three nights ago. There’s a valid police report to back that up. We’re at a dead end on this one.”
Storm shrugged, and from his position behind the couch, he had a perfect view down her shirt. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate the effort.”
Rafe licked his lips, suddenly hungry for dessert. “Just how far does that appreciation extend”
“What do you mean?” she asked in a breathless voice and turned to face him.
It took all his concentration to refrain from joining her on that couch, stripping her, then surging inside her with one smooth, hard thrust.
He forced a smile, determined to be smart about involving himself with a Buchanan. He refused to be ruled by his dick. Once in a lifetime was enough. “How about dessert?”
“Dessert?”
He took a step closer. What if distance wasn’t the answer? Maybe if he slept with her, he’d purge her from his system. That, or make him more addicted to the aggravating woman.