Hot Pursuit

by Julie Ann Walker

  “Becky, your cat has atrocious manners.” Christian’s accent tickled Emily’s ears and made the last word sound more like mannahs.

  Becky snorted. “Like you wouldn’t spend half the day licking your own balls if you could reach them.”

  Because his arm was still around her, Emily felt Christian’s chuckle before she heard it. It rumbled through him and warmed her heart in ways it shouldn’t, considering she was trying with all her might to ignore the fact that she was, for the time being anyway, head over heels for him.

  “It’ll be dangerous,” Boss said, getting them all back on track. “Especially if Sonya recognizes you.”

  Angel leaned back in his chair. “She knew me before I was Angel. Before I looked like this.” He flicked a finger toward his gorgeous face. “She will not recognize me.”

  Boss nodded, then dragged in a deep breath. “It’s definitely something to consider then.” He slapped the table, indicating the meeting had come to an end. “But I don’t want to make any decisions until the whole team has had a chance to weigh in on all the pros and cons. Let’s reconvene at the regular time tomorrow morning.”

  Emily could tell Angel wanted to press his case. But he was smart enough to know that Boss had made a decision, and that once that happened, the man was implacable.

  Ozzie and Samantha were the first to rise from the table and disappear upstairs. Rusty and Ace followed, sniping at each other the entire way. Angel, never one to be part of the crowd, headed downstairs. And Becky stood with Boss, pulling a root-beer-flavored Dum Dum from her pocket. “Here, Frank.” She passed the treat to her husband. She was the only one of them who dared call Boss by his first name. “Eat this. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “I had something else in mind.” Boss snaked a hugely muscular arm around Becky’s waist and pulled her forward for a kiss.

  Becky giggled, burying her hands in Boss’s hair.

  “Get a room!” Emily yelled at them. Considering all the times she’d had to holler that very phrase at one BKI couple or another, she considered getting it stamped on her forehead.

  “Good idea.” Boss grabbed Becky’s hand and led her down the stairs, presumably headed outside to the foreman’s cottage they called home.

  Emily regretted telling Boss and Becky to skedaddle when she realized that meant she and Christian were alone. Suddenly, all she could see was him smiling that smile at her. All she could feel was his warmth pressed along her side. All she could smell was his earthy-sweet cologne.

  Gah! Why did he have to be so stinking tempting? So stinking sexy? So stinking…everything wonderful?

  Bottom line, the man was the stuff of romance novels. Too bad she wasn’t cut from the same cloth. Happily ever afters didn’t really exist in the Scott family.

  “Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to a stand.

  “What?” She frowned at him. “Where?”

  “Downstairs. I want you to make me an old-fashioned and then come sit with me outside. It’s a gorgeous night.”

  Emily glanced through the huge, two-story leaded-glass windows and saw that it did, indeed, look lovely outside. All that remained of the day was a soft pink smudge against the western horizon. To the east, the city lights were twinkling to life.

  Everything in her wanted to take him up on his offer, which is why she said, “I’ve got work to do. Besides, my old-fashioneds aren’t that good.”

  “Come on,” he cajoled, giving her hand a tug. “Everyone else has buggered off for the day. You can too. And you know you make the best old-fashioneds north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Don’t hide your light under a bushel.”

  When she searched his eyes, they said all kinds of things she couldn’t pin down. But the one thing she could read clearly was: This is nonnegotiable. Boss wasn’t the only one who could be implacable once he’d made a decision.

  “Fine. One drink. But then I have to get some work done. And wipe that self-satisfied look off your face”—she pointed at his grinning mouth; his tempting mouth—“or I might just change my mind.”

  Chapter 25

  Christian breathed deeply of the springtime air. It was the city, so the smells of concrete, the Chicago River, and car exhaust were there. But it was overwhelmed by the scents of budding trees, flowering window boxes, and Emily. Her exotic shampoo caught on the breeze and drifted toward him.

  He smiled from the Adirondack chair he’d pulled next to her chaise longue. The courtyard behind the big, brick warehouse was covered in gray flagstones, pocked by various outbuildings, and surrounded by a ten-foot-high brick wall. But he could still see the city gleaming on the other side of the river as day turned into night.

  Strange that for the first time in his life, and in a place thousands of miles from where he’d been born, he’d finally found somewhere that felt like home. Or rather someone who felt like home. And it was time to get her to admit that he wasn’t alone in those feelings. He’d spent a month laying the groundwork. Now, he would begin constructing the future, the forever he knew was ready and waiting for both of them.

  As soon as she admits she loves me, he thought, taking a slow drink of his old-fashioned and letting the whiskey imbue him with liquid courage. She swore she would only say the words to the man she would spend the rest of her life with. He intended for that man to be him.

  “So let’s revisit the friends-with-benefits subject,” he said, pulling a cherry from his drink and popping it into his mouth. The taste was sweet. But it was nothing compared to Emily’s candied kisses.

  Oh, how he missed her kisses.

  “Why?” She turned to him. The lights attached to the perimeter wall cast her face in a soft, golden glow. “Like I said last night, given the way you feel about me, it wouldn’t be right.”

  “That might be true except for the fact that you feel the same way about me.”

  She sucked in a startled breath, and his heart raced. This was his moment. It was do or die.

  “Do you deny it?” he asked, casually swirling the ice in his drink, which was a feat since the last thing he felt was casual.

  For a long time, she simply looked at him. Then she swallowed and glanced away. “So what if I do? That doesn’t change anything.”

  Now his heart wasn’t racing; it was thumping at light speed. So close. He was so bloody close. “How can you say that?”

  She swung back to him, anguish contorting her pretty face. “Because even if I feel that way about you now, there’s no guarantee I’ll feel that way about you two months from now or two years from now or two decades from now. I’m a bad bet. Don’t you see?” A lone tear trekked down her silky cheek, past that beauty mark that would forever drive him mad. She angrily wiped the droplet away. “And if and when things fall apart between us, where will that leave me? You’ve been with the Black Knights a lot longer than I have, so which one of us will they choose? You, not me. And then I won’t just lose my job, I’ll lose the people I’ve come to think of as family.”

  A second tear leaked from the corner of her eye, and in that moment, his heart bled for her. He considered letting the conversation lie and walking back into the shop. But no. That would be allowing her fear to win against them both.

  She might not be able to stand up to it, but he sure as shit could.

  “You know as well as I do, Emily,” he said, setting his glass aside and pushing up from the Adirondack chair to sit on the end of her chaise longue, “that in life there are no guarantees.”

  “Exactly.” She nodded emphatically. “So why risk it?”

  “Because the reward outweighs the risk.” He grabbed her drink and set it on the Adirondack’s armrest beside his. Then he took her hands and found her fingers cold and shaking. Poor chit. She really is terrified. Which meant he needed to be strong, have enough courage for the both of them. Time to swallow his pride and lay it all on the line. “B
ecause we’ve a chance at the real deal here, the golden ring, a long and happy life together filled with great love and epic sex and—”

  “Bickering and squabbles,” she interrupted.

  “Precisely.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Nothing will ever be easy between us. We’re both obstinate. We’re both bossy. We’re both used to having our way, so it’ll be a challenge. We will challenge each other, Emily. And it will be tough at times. But nothing worth having ever comes easily.”

  Her chin trembled as she searched his eyes. “But what if I’m like my parents and grandparents? What if I don’t have it in me to stick?”

  “You’re not like them,” he told her emphatically.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because you’ve spent your whole life holding the words I love you dear. If you were anything like your parents or grandparents, those words would have fallen from your lips as easily as good morning or pass the salt.”

  She shook her head. He could see she wanted to believe him, but decades of doubt—and a shitty-ass upbringing—were holding her back. “But what about Richard Neely? If I couldn’t make it last with him, what makes you so sure I can make it last with you?”

  The name alone was enough to make Christian grit his teeth. And it wasn’t that Emily had cared for the wanker; it was that Neely had been a stupid, dictatorial prat who’d made Christian’s plight harder.

  “Because Neely wasn’t the man for you. He tried to smother you. But I’ve no need to control you, Emily.” He couldn’t help his devilish smirk. “At least not anywhere besides the bedroom. I fancy your independence, your grit and courage and fire.”

  “But will you still like it ten years from now?” She gripped his hands hard, searching his eyes. “What if you’re right? What if I let myself do this with you, and then you change your mind and stop loving me?”

  “Won’t happen.” He shook his head. “I’m the forever type of bloke. What’s mine stays mine. You need to understand that. The only way out of this for me is a body bag, hopefully sixty-some years from now.”

  The skin of her face and neck was mottled red. He wanted to follow the tracks of her tears with his lips, kiss away her hurt, show her with his mouth how much he loved her and how he never intended to let her go. But first she had to say the words.

  “Emily…” He got down on one knee, still keeping her trembling hands locked inside his. “Love is about choosing a partner and then having their back. Always. Through everything. Even when you don’t agree with them. Even when you can’t find your love for them, no matter how hard you search. Love is about saying the words, making a pledge, and then sticking to it. I know if you tell me you love me, you’ll work your whole life making sure it’s true. And I kneel here and pledge to you that I will be by your side for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me. That it will be the two of us against the world. That I will protect your heart more ferociously than I protect my own.”

  Suddenly, she wasn’t only crying, she was sobbing. Emily did nothing by half measure. One of the million things he loved about her.

  “Come here.” He sat on the chair and pulled her into his lap, not caring that her tears soaked his shirt when she pressed her face into his neck, not caring that the arms she threw around his neck threatened to cut off his air.

  Gently, he rocked her, letting all he’d said, all she’d come to realize, set in. For long moments, he held her close, planting kisses against her crown, rubbing her slender back. Then, when she’d quieted, he pulled back and pinned her with a hard stare.

  “Now”—he made sure his voice gave no quarter—“say the words.”

  * * *

  Emily swallowed and opened her mouth. Don’t do it! her brain screamed. But her heart and her vocal cords didn’t listen, and a second later, the three simplest, biggest, scariest words of the English language—of any language—tumbled from her trembling lips.

  “I love you.”

  Christian shuddered and blew out a wobbly breath as if her words had physical weight behind them. And maybe they did. Because suddenly she felt as light as air. As if by giving them to him, she’d unburdened herself of their gravity.

  “I love you,” she said it again just because she could, and because it felt so damn good! She framed his dear, beloved face in her hands and pressed a kiss to the dimple in his chin.

  His hands gripped her shoulders, and his searching eyes pleaded, Say it again.

  I love you, she swore with her gaze.

  “Aloud,” he demanded.

  “I love you.”

  His arms came around her and crushed her to him. Burying his face in her neck, he rasped, “Again.”

  His breath was hot against her skin, his beard stubble tickling her. She giggled—yes, giggled; he’d definitely turned her into a giggler—and whispered, “I love you.”

  No sooner had the last word formed in her mouth than he claimed her lips in a kiss that burned away any lingering doubts. By the time he let her up for air—five minutes later? Ten? She’d lost track of time—she was aching with need and shamelessly rubbing herself against him.

  “How about you and I go upstairs and start in on making the first of those two babies you want?” His voice was rough with passion, low with persuasion.

  Once again, Emily imagined a little girl with Christian’s bright-green eyes and subtle chin dimple. Every freckle, every eyelash of the child’s face was sharp in her mind’s eye.

  In a piss-poor impersonation of him, she said, “Abso-bloody-lutely.”

  When he scooped her into his arms, heading for the back door, she threw her head back and laughed with joy, with love, with a wonder that left her teary-eyed and dizzy.

  Once inside, he set her on her feet. A second later, he had her hand and was pulling her through the shop toward the stairs. Staring at his broad back, she marveled at his strength, his courage in ripping open his chest and exposing his heart to help her be brave enough to do the same.

  It hit her then that loving, really loving, was not for the weak.

  Thank the good Lord and White Sox baseball that I have a strong man by my side!

  Order Julie Ann Walker’s next book

  in the Black Knights Inc. series

  Built to Last

  On sale July 2018

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  book in the Black Knights Inc. series

  Grafton Manor

  St. Ives, England

  Two weeks ago...

  “Everyone calls me Angel.”

  The stranger’s voice was raspy and deep. Quiet. But backed up by a sharp edge of steel.

  When he spoke those four simple words, a feeling of doom slipped through Sonya Butler’s veins. She’d just met him and yet she could sense the menace that surrounded him. It permeated the air in the office until her lungs burned with each breath. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous.

  Jamin Agassi, a.k.a. Angel, was not a man to mess with.

  Which made the fact that he was sitting across from Lord Grafton, her boss and the undisputed king of the underworld, that much more terrifying.

  “Angel, you say?” Grafton steepled his fingers under his goatee-ed chin. His eyes were beady and black. Sonya sometimes thought they looked dead. But right at that moment, they sparked with excitement.

  Grafton had something on Angel.

  Her feeling of doom increased tenfold.

  Sitting forward in his leather chair, Grafton thumbed on the tablet lying atop his desk. He pretended to read the document on the screen even though Sonya knew he’d already memorized every word. Grafton hadn’t built and maintained the largest crime syndicate the planet had ever seen by being slow on the uptake. In fact, in the six months she’d been his Girl Friday, she’d come to realize he was quite possibly the most brilliant man she’d ever known.

  And definitel
y the most ruthless.

  Case in point...

  “But according to my sources”—Grafton eyed Angel—“your real name is Majid Abass.” The spark in Grafton’s eyes turned positively incandescent. Next would come the part he loved best. The gotcha. “Or maybe you’re more accustomed to your nickname? Should I call you the Prince of Shadows?”

  To contain her gasp, Sonya bit the inside of her cheek. Her eyes raked over the stranger in disbelief. The name Majid Abass hadn’t rung any bells. Prince of Shadows set all of them clanging.

  No, she thought. He can’t be. No one has seen or heard from the Prince of Shadows since the explosion in Tehran.

  Standing beside Grafton’s desk like the good little lackey she was, she closely watched Angel’s reaction. Or should she say non-reaction? He was so still he could have been a picture, betraying nothing of what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

  “Everyone calls me Angel.” His tone was unchanged. His eyes as black as pitch and…not dead-looking. They were simply expressionless.

  Grafton laughed at Angel’s imitation of a broken record. It was a dry, snapping sound that reminded Sonya of a boots stomping atop brittle bones.

  “Come now, Angel,” Grafton scolded. “You can drop the ruse. I know all about you.”

  He swiped through documents on his tablet until he found the one he wanted. Holding the device up, he read in his urbane English accent, “Majid Abass, raised in Tehran. No brothers or sisters. Parents dead. You attended university on scholarship where you studied nuclear engineering. It was there the Iranian government recruited you into their ranks. They wanted your help in their clandestine efforts to build a bomb. The bomb.” Grafton dropped the tablet. “Does any of this sound familiar?”

  For what seemed an eternity, Angel and Grafton had themselves an old-fashioned staring contest. The strain in the air was palpable and it took every ounce of willpower Sonya possessed not to fidget. She linked her hands behind her back, squeezing her fingers together, pushing the tension in her shoulders down into her palms where it could remain hidden.