The Hill

by Carol Ericson

  She smoothed her hands across her father’s laptop, which Judd had placed on the coffee table. “Or destroy something in it.”

  “Back to the laptop?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t the laptop. Maybe it’s something else he thinks I have.”

  Judd rubbed his eyes. “I want to catch this guy in the act just once. All I need is five minutes alone with him. I’d get some answers.”

  She ran her hands across the muscles of his shoulders and down his corded arms. “I have no doubt about that, but until then we can do our own investigative work.”

  “There’s just one problem with that.”

  Was he going to cut her out now? She wouldn’t be able to go back to the office and be a good little CEO if he did.

  “What’s the problem?” She sipped a small breath in and out.

  “My temporary crib just got burned out. You don’t expect me to bunk next door now, do you?”

  She scooted close to him and cupped his bristly jaw with one hand. “You’re going to stay here with me.”

  “After the night we just had?” He cinched her wrist with his fingers. “For a second there, when I smelled that smoke, I thought it was coming from the bed where we’d just sparked a raging inferno.”

  “It was hot.”

  He shook his head. “I should’ve been able to control myself. We’re both too distracted. We need to be stronger.”

  “I don’t see it like that.” She flicked his cheek. “When we connected, I mean really connected, I felt invincible. You don’t distract me, Judd Brody. You don’t make me weaker. You complete me. You make me stronger.”

  He loosened his grip and pressed a warm kiss on the inside of her wrist, the pulse in his lower lip matching the beat of her own pulse.

  “Let’s go to bed and get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us.”

  * * *

  JUDD STUDIED LONDON’S face, illuminated by the late-morning sun he’d allowed to filter through the blinds.

  Her words from last night about their connection and completing each other had him rethinking everything. He couldn’t lead her on. She expected something from him, something he wasn’t capable of giving.

  He had a big, gaping hole where his heart was supposed to be. How could he ever give London what she desired? What she deserved?

  He touched the edge of her long lashes with his fingertip. They both might be better off if he backed out now and turned over this job to another professional—a true professional, one who wouldn’t allow a pair of long legs and a flash of silver hair to interfere with his work.

  She sighed in her sleep and her lush lips parted.

  He couldn’t leave her now. He’d get to the bottom of who was threatening her and why, handle it and then convince London she was better off without him.

  He could always play on her desire to be the big, important, serious CEO. No CEO worth her salt would be caught dead with a man more comfortable in jeans straddling a Harley than in a Savile Row suit commanding a boardroom.

  She had to know she couldn’t keep one high-heeled foot in both worlds. He had to convince her.

  Her fingers trailed along his bare thigh. “Breakfast in bed? The yummy kind?”

  “I’m fresh out of condoms, and we have a lot to do today. I’m going to set up some cameras around here, since the management of this building seems to be delinquent on that score. I need to bring some of my stuff over here, too, if I’m going to be your live-in bodyguard.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Her light touch turned into a caress, and he had to use every ounce of his willpower to break away from her.

  “I’m going to take a quick shower and get some errands done before the festivities tonight. Do you need to go into your office today?”

  “Yep. I’ll be there all day, and we can meet up here to get ready for the benefit.”

  “Sounds good. I may be in and out of your building today to change the locks next door and to work on the camera coverage.”

  “You first.” She snuggled back under the covers. “There are clean towels in the cabinet in the master bath.”

  He crossed the room and scooped up his jeans and T-shirt from the chair when he’d tossed them last night. He stepped into the cavernous bathroom and poked his head into the cabinet, which was stocked with thick beige towels and smelled like some kind of flower—roses or lavender. Hell, he didn’t know the difference—it smelled sweet.

  He snatched a towel and hung it on the rack outside the rectangular shower encased in glass. Cranking on the water, he stepped into the shower onto the tiles that looked like river rocks.

  The warm water hit his chest and steam rose immediately, fogging up the glass. He sluiced water through his hair and lathered it up. Then he squirted some liquid soap into his hands and ran them across his chest, the friction creating fragrant suds. He hoped he didn’t end up smelling like a rose after this shower.

  A blast of cold air hit his back and he turned right into London’s arms.

  Running her hands across his chest, she said, “Looks like I’m just in time. Turn around.”

  What could he do? She was his boss.

  He turned and wedged his palms against the tile as the water beat against his side.

  His belly tightened as her smooth hands rubbed circles on his back. When she reached his backside and skimmed her fingernails against his skin, he forgot all about professionalism. Forgot about the black hole in his chest. Forgot about leaving her.

  Several hours later and in need of another shower, Judd stepped back into the hallway of London’s floor and waved his hand at the minuscule camera in the corner. It worked on a motion sensor, so he wouldn’t have hours of blank video to stare at. If something moved in this hallway, that camera would pick it up.

  He’d crawled around the kitchen of the vacant unit in the wake of the firefighters but hadn’t found any evidence to indicate the fire had started from anything other than faulty wiring. Of course, that could be manipulated—and probably had been.

  The elevator pinged and his muscles tensed, his hand hovering over the weapon in his shoulder holster.

  London stepped off the elevator, the navy blue suit she’d donned this morning after their steamy shower still crisp and fresh.

  She dropped her briefcase and put her hands on her hips. “What a welcome sight you are after the day I just had.”

  His pulse ratcheted up a few notches. “Anything go wrong?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes widened and she took a step forward. “Not in that way. Nothing life threatening, unless you count being bored to death.”

  “More meetings?”

  “I think so. I was half-asleep.”

  “Everyone going to the ballet benefit tonight?”

  “Everyone will be there. Why don’t we just lock them up in the opera house and question them under a bright light?”

  “The ballerinas, too?”

  “Can’t hurt.” She gestured around the hallway. “Did you get all your stuff done?”

  “Cameras, check. New locks, check. Clean clothes, check.”

  “Are you going to wear the tux from the other night?”

  “Uh, let me think about that.” He wedged a finger on his chin and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, it’s the only one I have.”

  “Okay.” She picked up her briefcase and sauntered to her door, key chain ready.

  “Why? Something wrong with it?”

  “It’s fine, just a little tight through the shoulders and back.”

  “Yeah, well, if I stick out a little tonight among the moneyed set, that’s a good thing. Don’t want any of them getting too comfortable.”

  She slid her key home and laughed. “That’s how I first noticed you the night of the gala. You looked like an alie
n in that bunch.”

  He covered her hand as she closed it around the door handle. “I always will, London. I’ll never fit in.”

  The smile died on her lips as she twisted the doorknob and shoved the door open. “I don’t want you to.”

  She showered first, and he left her in peace, although visions of her sleek wet body kept him from concentrating on the TV news.

  He showered next, but this time she kept her distance. He had laid out his tux on the bed, and the room was empty when he finished his shower and dressed.

  “Are you decent?” She poked her head into the bedroom.

  “A little late for that consideration, wouldn’t you say?” He leaned into the mirror, his fingers fumbling with the bow tie.

  London stepped into the room, tightening the sash on her pink terry-cloth robe, her damp hair streaming down her back. “Let me.”

  She stood on her tiptoes between him and the mirror and took the bow tie from him as he tilted his chin toward the ceiling. The black band looped around her slim fingers as she tied it into a bow.

  “There.” She patted her handiwork with two fingers.

  “Thanks.” He tapped the base of her throat. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready, or are you always fashionably late?”

  “It doesn’t take me long to get ready. I just need to dry my hair, put on makeup and slip into—” she waved her hand at a bag hanging on the door of her closet “—that.”

  “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Do you mind if I take a look at your father’s computer?”

  Her eyes flicked. “I actually brought it back to the office today. There’s a top-notch safe in my father’s office. Really, I won’t be long. Have a drink or something. You might need it to get through tonight.”

  Shrugging, he swept his jacket from the bed. “I might just do that.”

  He draped the jacket over his arm and jogged downstairs, passing the spot where he’d taken her last night. He’d been crazy with desire and a need to possess her after exploring the unit next door. The thought of someone spying on her, watching her through that peephole, had driven him to march back over here and make her his own. As if making love to her could somehow put a force field of protection around her.

  Then someone had started that fire.

  He crossed over to the wet bar, lifted a few stoppers from some cut-crystal decanters and sniffed the contents. The stuff inside was probably more expensive than the container that held it. Just what he needed.

  He picked up two tumblers from the shelf below and filled each one about half-full with the amber liquid from the fanciest decanter. He swirled the booze in his glass and took a sip.

  The cognac felt like warm velvet against his tongue. He cupped it there for a second before swallowing it, savoring the smooth taste. His gaze wandered toward London’s briefcase on the floor by the coffee table.

  He’d thought she’d be gung ho about his suggestion of searching through her father’s laptop. She should’ve left it here for him to take a look at it. He hadn’t placed as much importance on the laptop as she had, and maybe she didn’t want him to rain on her parade. He’d have to insist they look at it together.

  A flash of green from across the room caught his attention, and his head jerked up. He clenched his jaw so it wouldn’t fall open and make him look like the village idiot. Not much he could do about the erection he sported.

  “You look amazing.”

  She twirled for him, the skirt of the green mermaid dress flaring at her ankles and the flash of green light around her neck ricocheting across the walls.

  “Are you going to be able to walk in that, or do I have to carry you around all night—not that I mind doing that?” He eyed the dress that fit tightly over her slim hips and down her thighs.

  “There’s lots of wiggle room.” She thrust her leg through a slit in the front of the dress.

  He leveled a finger at the deep, plunging neckline that almost reached her belly button. “You’d better not wiggle too much.”

  “Everything’s firmly in place.”

  She cupped her breasts through the silky material of the dress, giving him an even bigger reason not to step out from behind the wet bar.

  “And what is that rock hanging between your...uh...assets, there?”

  “This little bauble?” She slipped her finger along the chain and lifted the green stone surrounded by diamonds from her chest. “This is an emerald. It has some significance for tonight—a Russian prince gave this emerald to a prima ballerina. One of the ballet dancers tonight is reportedly a descendant of that Russian prince.”

  “Are you going to give it back to him?”

  “Ah, no.” She dropped the emerald back against her chest, where it could’ve cracked her breastbone.

  “You’re just going to dangle it in front of him?” He’d rather feast his eyes on the creamy breasts cradling the emerald than that cold stone.

  Cold. He couldn’t believe he’d once figured London Breck for a cold ice princess.

  He cleared his throat and tapped the glass. “Cognac?”

  “Drop a few ice cubes in there and I’ll take a sip.” She tilted her head and her hair fanned out over one shoulder. “I thought you were strictly a beer man?”

  “Did I say that?” He rolled the glass between his hands. “I prefer it, but hell, if I’m going to hobnob with the fabulously wealthy, I might as well drink like them. Where’s the ice?”

  “I’ll get it from the freezer in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll get it.” He stepped around her with the glass in his hand and went into the kitchen. He stuck the cognac beneath the ice dispenser and pressed the lever. Two ice cubes splashed into the liquid and a few droplets hit his wrist.

  He sucked it off and handed her the glass. He returned to the wet bar and raised his own. “Here’s to getting some answers tonight—either at the soiree or after it.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” She tipped her tumbler toward him.

  Before they could finish their drinks, a low buzzing sound came from her intercom. She pushed the button and the security guard’s voice came through the box. “Ms. Breck, your car’s here.”

  “Thank you. We’ll be right down.”

  Judd said, “Too bad Theodore’s not in the driver’s seat tonight.”

  “You got that right. I just hired a service.”

  “Coat?” He jerked his thumb toward the closet in the foyer.

  “I don’t have anything that matches this. You’ll just have to keep me warm.” She winked at him as she swept past him out the door.

  Watching her swaying hips, he said, “It didn’t stop you from pairing a sparkly black dress with a leather motorcycle jacket before.”

  “I didn’t have you to keep me warm then.”

  The acrid smell from the fire still lingered in the hallway—a bleak reminder that he could keep London warm, but he’d better keep her safe.

  The driver was waiting by the limo and jumped to open the door when he and London stepped onto the sidewalk.

  London plucked up the skirt of her dress, fell onto the seat and shimmied to the middle.

  Judd ducked into the car and joined her. “I think you’d be more comfortable in the water in that dress than on land.”

  “I do look like a mermaid, don’t I?” She smoothed the material across her lap.

  “That was the first thing that came to my mind, except you’d lose that emerald in the ocean.”

  She plucked it off her chest and cradled it in the palm of her hand. “It belonged to my mother. But let’s not dwell on the past.”

  “I like your past. It’s colorful. It’s you. Beats mine.”

  She brushed the back of her hand across his cheek. “I can’t imagine. Kids need stability. They need both of their parents.”r />
  Her voice quavered in the darkness and he looked at her sharply. She didn’t seem as though she would be overly fond of children in general. Did she pity the child he’d been?

  He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “Don’t feel bad for me. My brothers were all right—not exactly a substitute for a mom and a dad, but Sean did the best he could. Eric, too. From all accounts, my old man was strict. With him around, I probably would’ve turned out completely different.”

  “So you believe nurture has as much to do with our personalities as nature?”

  “I guess so. Look at you.”

  “Me?”

  “You lost your mom at an early age. Maybe with a mother’s influence, you wouldn’t have been such a hell-raiser, but then, it could just be in your genes.” He tugged on a lock of her silky hair. He preferred it like this rather than up in some bun on top of her head.

  “People can change.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know that, Ms. CEO.”

  The limo rolled to a stop and seconds later, the driver opened the door for them. “Will you text your departure, Ms. Breck, or do you want me to be here at a specific time?”

  “Plan for around midnight, but if you’re not here, Mr. Brody will text you.”

  Other limos and town cars jammed the street in front of the opera house, depositing passengers who glittered from head to toe with jewels.

  Not one woman could compare with London.

  She took his arm as they ascended the steps, more date than bodyguard. How would Roger react to his presence?

  Her cousin Niles greeted them first at the top of the steps. “London, you’ve outdone yourself. That necklace is the perfect touch. Is that that Kaparov emerald?”

  “It is.” She squeezed Judd’s arm. “Niles knows my mother’s jewelry better than I do.”

  Did he know it and covet it?

  “I don’t know why you keep insisting on referring to those jewels as your mother’s. She left them all to you when she died. They’re yours, London.”

  “Can we talk about this another time, like never?” She waved to a couple, her scowl morphing to a smile. “Are the dancers here yet?”

  “I have no clue. I just arrived.” Niles arched a brow. “Do you enjoy the ballet, Judd?”