Hidden Heat: Hauberk Protection, Book 4

by Leah Braemel

  Scott ran his fingers through his hair. “To be honest? Settling down doesn’t sound so bad.”

  To be honest, it didn’t sound so bad to him either. Feck it all, if his life wasn’t fucked up.

  “You’re not from around here, are you, sexy lady?”

  Was it her Midwest accent that told him she wasn’t a native to D.C.? Or did she have an I’m-a-small-town-hick sign plastered to her back? “I’m from Minnesota.”

  He must have come straight from work, one that involved heavy labor, because when he lifted his arm to grab the beer he’d ordered, his body odor had Sandy holding her breath. “That’s one of the states up north, right?”

  Wow, forget trying to be a Jeopardy contestant, this guy would never qualify for Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? “Yeah. It’s west of Wisconsin.”

  “Guess we’ll have to go back to my place tonight then.” His mouth split into what he probably thought was a smile but only thinned his already-too-thin lips. And did the man not know what a toothbrush was for? Or floss? What was that stuck between his teeth? Pepperoni from the smell of it.

  Dear God, if this was the type of man this outfit attracted, she’d willingly don a wimple and nun’s habit. And she was Lutheran for Pete’s sake! All right, so she hadn’t been to church since she’d left Minnesota, and her pastor and most of the rest of the congregation would be horrified to know what she’d done since she left, but she still had standards.

  “Get lost, Ray.” Jazz muscled between her and pepperoni breath. “Hell will freeze over before I let her go home with a loser like you.”

  To Sandy’s surprise, Ray shuffled off without an argument. “You know him?”

  “Oh, honey, everyone around knows he hits on anything without a dick between its legs.” Jazz glanced at Ray’s rapidly retreating figure. “In fact, I think that may not even be part of his criteria.”

  Sandy took a sip of her virgin daiquiri then turned her attention to the rest of the bar. The two of them discussed, and discarded, half a dozen men who might be boyfriend material. More than once she let her attention return to the booth where Troy sat talking with Scott.

  Jazz followed her gaze. “I know him, don’t I? The guy on the right? He seems familiar.”

  “That’s Scott Phillips. He’s the guy who got kidnapped in Colombia last year.”

  “Oh yeah, I heard about him. Pity. I don’t do damaged guys. I’ve got enough baggage of my own. What about the other guy? He’s cute.”

  “That’s Troy McPherson, the head of the International group. I’ve told you about him before.” About a gazillion times.

  “Oh, so that’s Mr. Tall, Dark and Mysterious. Shoot, girl, why haven’t you made a move on him yet? With shoulders like his, and those smoky eyes, I’d do him in a heartbeat.”

  Jazz’s overt ogling rankled. “As I’ve told you about a hundred times before, he’s one of my bosses.”

  “So? It didn’t stop your boss from dating one of his agents, did it?”

  True. And considering the thumps, moans and groans she’d heard coming from Sam’s office when she’d locked her desk earlier, he and Rosie were doing very well. Often. And a little too loud for her comfort.

  “I don’t think I’m his type. At least he’s never given me any indication he might be interested in me. I think he may have a girlfriend over in England or something.”

  “Pity.” Jazz swung her stool to assess the rest of the crowd. “What about that blond guy? Do you know him?”

  “That’s Kris Campbell. Sorry, but yeah, he’s a CPO too. No baggage that I know of so he’s fair game for you.”

  “I’m not asking for me, dodo. Why aren’t you hitting on him?”

  Seeing that they were looking at him, Kris smiled, then ducked his head. “Kris isn’t my type. Besides, he’s younger than me by a couple years.”

  “Oh, hon, younger just means he’s more eager to learn what pleases you. Besides, they’re usually the best fun because they’re not looking for a commitment. Not that any guy is.” Jazz observed the young agent for a long moment before pointing out another potential prospect. “Oooh, there’s a good candidate. Nice suit, expensive shoes. Lawyer maybe?”

  “Yeah, he’s not bad.” The man in question placed an order with the bartender at the far end of the bar. When he noticed them watching him, he took his beer and threaded his way through the crowd toward them.

  “Don’t forget to check for his wedding ring.” Jazz jumped off her barstool.

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  “I’m going to see if I can get some action with Kris. I don’t mind robbing the cradle a bit. For a night, anyway.” With a saucy grin, she leaned in and whispered, “Let me know if you aren’t going to need a ride home,” then wound her way through the crowd.

  The potential candidate for the evening stopped beside Sandy. He leaned against the bar, lifting a foot to rest on the brass rail of her stool. “Where’d your friend go?”

  “She saw someone she wanted to talk to.” Shoot, so he wasn’t interested in her but in Jazz. Still, Sandy did a quick check for a wedding ring and found none, though he did wear a rather expensive gold link bracelet. First test passed. What about the rest of him? Height, hard to tell considering she was sitting, but she thought he was taller than her by a couple inches at least. Brown hair, trimmed shorter than she preferred, but no biggie. No body odor, always a check mark on the plus side of her list, though perhaps he’d gone a tad heavy with the aftershave. Suit, blue, single-breasted, no vest. But it had the same type of expensive look as Sam’s and Chad’s suits. Probably tailor-made.

  What else had Jazz told her to check? Shoes. His were black. Shiny. Expensive, though she couldn’t tell the brand the way Jazz would have been able.

  Damn it, she was judging him by his clothes exactly the way she never wanted to be treated herself. She lifted her gaze and met a set of arctic blue eyes watching her.

  “I’m Mitch.” He held out his hand, waiting for her to shake it. “And you are?”

  “Sa—mantha McPherson.” No harm in using her bar name. It was smarter, right? And Troy wouldn’t object that she’d borrowed his last name. Not that he’d ever know.

  “Nice to meet you, Samantha.” Mitch held up a hand to catch the bartender's attention. “Bring the lady another of whatever she’s drinking.”

  “Thanks.” She accepted the glass the girl tending bar handed her. After taking a sip, she straightened her spine and smiled at Mitch.

  “So tell me about yourself, Samantha. Do you work around here?”

  Troy’s fingers curled tighter around his glass as Sandy tugged her skirt down her thighs, rewarding that wolf in the blue suit with her beautiful innocent smile. “Hey, Scott. Do you know him? The guy staring down Sandy’s cleavage?”

  Scott shifted to get a better view of the couple. “Not by name. He started hanging out here a couple weeks ago. Heard him bragging about working for some financial firm or something. Why?”

  When Sandy placed a hand on the guy’s forearm and accompanied him to a booth at the back, Troy wanted to snarl. “Something about him sets off the alarm bells.”

  “It’s your own fault if she goes home with him, you know,” Scott said quietly. “You could have gone up there and talked to her yourself.”

  Flipping Scott the bird, Troy looked for some sign she was uncomfortable. To his disgust he found none. A half hour passed before Scott finished his drink and excused himself.

  As the night wore on, Troy’s mood darkened. He had no justifiable reason to plow his fist into the overconfident fucker’s nose and wipe his smug smile off his face. It was none of his business the number of times the bastard’s gaze dropped to Sandy’s cleavage. Or how he’d placed a hand on her hip as if staking his claim.

  Hidden in the shadows, he allowed himself to picture Sandy shrugging out of her blouse. He imagined her shimmying out of her skirt, letting the fabric puddle at her feet to stand in front of him wearing only a scanty bra and perhaps,
if he were lucky, a lacy thong. First thing he’d do would be to lick the freckles above her breasts and let the spice of her skin excite his taste buds. Then he’d suckle on her plump nipples until they were hard, maybe he’d let her feel his teeth on them. Once she was moaning her pleasure, he’d fill his palms with those full globes of her ass and part her legs, bury his cock deep inside her.

  His breath hissed through his teeth when his fingers brushed the hard-on pressing against his fly in his attempt to create more space in his trousers. Talk about a glutton for punishment, letting himself fantasize about her. Now he was in desperate need of a little hand action to ease the ache in his balls. If he didn’t get himself under control, he’d either spill in his pants or he’d be forced to seek the men’s bathroom and find his relief in a stall.

  The asshole stood. Good. He was leaving.

  Shit. Sandy was standing too. And taking the asshole’s hand. Three steps later Sandy slipped and Troy had seen enough. He slid from the booth, blocking their way before they could pass.

  “I’ll take her home.”

  Sandy huffed. “Troy, please.”

  “You know this jerk, Samantha?” Asshole’s jaw tightened.

  Now wasn’t that interesting? Sandy hadn’t given Asshole her real name. Troy sized him up. Manicured hands, not used to hard labor. The start of a pudge around the midriff. Desk jockey, at least lately. Not that it made him any less dangerous. The guy could be carrying a gun. Or a knife. Hell, he could be a former agent who’d been retired a few months too long but still retained the knowledge of how to incapacitate someone with his bare hands. “Yeah, she knows me. And I don’t know you. So why don’t you take a hike?”

  “I don’t think so.” To his credit, Asshole placed himself between Sandy and Troy and stuck out his hand. “Mitch Young. And you are?”

  Troy dropped his gaze to the outstretched hand and let it hang while he returned to meet Young’s gaze. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t a complete jerk. “McPherson. Troy McPherson.”

  Young’s demeanor completely changed. He held up both hands and side-stepped Sandy. “Sorry, man, I had no idea she was married. She never said a word.”

  Married? Why the fuck would the asshole think he was Sandy’s husband? Then again, who cared? Troy watched the man scuttle away before turning to Sandy, who glared at him. Rather than give her a chance to get away, he grabbed her wrist and hauled her out of the bar.

  “Troy, stop it. You have no right to act like this.” Despite Sandy’s protests, she didn’t struggle against his hold. “Will you slow down, please? I’m in high heels here.”

  He slowed but didn’t stop until they were beside his SUV in the parking lot. “Damn it, woman, you don’t have the sense of an overbred cocker spaniel, do you know that?” A spaniel with big blue puppy-dog eyes and soft wavy hair, lush curves and plump lips.

  “Are you calling me a dog?” She flattened her hand against his chest and shoved him. At least she tried to shove him but ended up staggering backward herself.

  “No.” He crowded her against his SUV, trying to ignore the way her breasts brushed his shirt, or the way her lipstick glistened in the moonlight. Focus, mate. “Have you ever met this Mitch guy before tonight?”

  “No, but who I decide to have a drink with is none of your business. I’ll date who I want, when I want.”

  “Then you can get together with him another day, but I won’t stand by and let you go off with a guy you don’t know when you’re drunk and not fit to make a decision.”

  “I’m not drunk. I was drinking virgin daiquiris, for Pete’s sake.”

  “Sure as hell looked like it to me from the way you were stumbling your way out of the bar. Shit, did you take your eyes off your drink? Maybe he slipped you a roofie.” He checked her eyes to see if she might be drugged only to have his hand slapped.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake. I’m not drunk and I’m not drugged. Someone must have spilled a drink, my heel slid. That’s all. Besides, have you ever tried walking on four-inch heels? Do you know how hard it is, especially if some asshole is forcing you to keep up while he runs outside?”

  He mentally took a step back, wondering if he had misjudged the situation. Then he made the mistake of looking at her again. Sparks of blue fire snapped out at him from those big puppy-dog eyes. Her chest rose and fell as she fought her anger. His body urged him to lower his head, to kiss her and capture her mouth with his, to draw some of that passion into his long-dormant soul.

  A breeze whipped around the parking lot. She shivered and her nipples beaded beneath the silk of her blouse. As much as he wanted to be the one to warm her, he stepped back.

  “You’re cold.”

  “Because you dragged me out here without giving me the time to put my coat on, asshole.”

  Unable to argue her point, he took the jacket she clutched in one hand and held it open.

  Her anger didn’t disappear precisely but it was joined by questioning bemusement as she slid her arms into the sleeves. “Thank you. I’m still ticked off with you, you know.”

  Placing his hands gently on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. “Same goes. You need to be more careful about who you trust. There are some nasty types out there who will gobble a pretty girl like you up for a snack.”

  He couldn’t resist playing with her collar as a way to cover his need to touch her hair. To touch her.

  Her expression softened. “I know about the nasty types, Troy. I have to file the reports that agents submit, as well as sit in on the initial meetings with clients, which means I know exactly why they require bodyguards. I also volunteer with the Safe and Sound program. I’ve seen what those women have experienced before they made it to the shelter.”

  When she shook her head, her hair brushed the back of his hand in a soft caress.

  All his protective instincts bristled that she could be put in danger from one of those abusers. “Tell me no one’s been harassing you from there. None of the husbands who think it’s easier to blame you than himself.”

  Her eyes closed briefly and a soft huff of exasperation escaped between her lush lips. “I’m fine. And stop trying to distract me about how you interfered back there. I’m still mad at you.”

  Smart girl. He caught a strand of hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “He wasn’t your type.”

  “And you are?”

  Not hardly. “No. I’m the big bad wolf. That’s why you need to trust me that he wasn’t right for you.”

  “What big eyes you have, Grandma?” Her lips compressed though the corners twitched as if she were trying not to smile. Then she tilted her head until her ear touched his thumb and the ground slid from beneath him. Why was it so hard to breathe from such a simple touch?

  He gave in to impulse and lowered his head. Her eyes widened briefly, then they closed as he took the kiss he’d dreamed of for so long.

  She tasted of strawberries and sugar. And everything good that must be found in heaven. Heaven became even more attainable when she slid her hands beneath his coat, around his waist and flattened them over his back, pulling him closer. He sank deeper into the kiss, her innocence a benediction, a cleansing of all his sins.

  The Honda parked beside his SUV beeped and its headlights flashed, breaking the trance he’d fallen into. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever been so reluctant to break off a kiss, but he forced himself to lift his head. To step back.

  As the owner of the Honda cleared his throat and gestured to the door Troy was blocking, he took Sandy’s hand and led her to the front of the car. She didn’t say a word as she followed, but the look of complete trust she gave him wracked him with both guilt and desire. Her tongue darted out to moisten lips swollen from his kiss. In what seemed to be an unconscious gesture, she touched a hand to smooth the hair he’d managed to further tousle. Is this what she’d look like waking up beside him?

  Stop it. She’d run screaming if she knew you killed an unarmed man this morning.

  Chapter Four<
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  Sandy shivered at the breeze swirling around the parking lot. Or maybe she felt the loss of Troy’s warmth. What had just happened? She’d been angry enough to spit railroad spikes when he’d sent Mitch packing and hauled her out like a caveman dragging his woman by the hair. Then out of the blue he’d kissed her. And, oh man, did he know how to kiss.

  She’d loved how he’d held her head in his palm, with a firm yet gentle touch. She’d loved the heat radiating from his body, making her forget they were outside and her coat open to the wind that now chilled her to the bone. She’d loved the strength she’d felt beneath her palms.

  He’d made her feel protected. Feminine. Desired.

  Troy cleared his throat. “Let’s get you home.”

  His voice matched the night, hinting of danger lurking in the shadows. A delicious thrill crawled up her back and into her psyche. Maybe this was a man she could trust with her darkest desires, the ones she’d trusted with very few people.

  He unlocked the Porsche and held open the passenger door, helping her climb into the seat before slamming the door shut. She sat in the darkness, watching as he rounded the Cayenne’s hood and opened his own door. He didn’t speak as he eased through traffic with a competency that left her no question he was in complete control. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember ever seeing him lose control. Everything about him seemed planned and guarded. Every word weighed and measured before spoken, his movements efficient.

  As the stereo serenaded them with a piano and violin sonata by Bach—or perhaps Mozart, she couldn’t tell the difference—she pondered the speculations as to his background, the questions about the trace of Irish accent that appeared at random times. Jazz had speculated that maybe he’d been raised there—

  “Shoot.”

  He glanced sharply at her. “What? Did you forget something at the bar?”

  “I forgot to tell my roommate I was leaving.” She scrambled through the contents of her purse, searching for her cell phone. “Damn it, my phone’s dead.”