Defenseless (Somerton Security #1)

by Elizabeth Dyer

  Shit, she actually meant it. His grin slid from his face. She could probably do it, too. The only thing worse than losing would be losing like the damsel she’d labeled him. He’d play nice . . . for now. He nodded.

  “Good.” She turned back toward the room. “Stay behind me.”

  Well, maybe not too nice. “At least the last thing I see before I die will be the toned perfection of your butt. What is it? Pilates? Tennis? Cruising the mall with the geriatric brigade?”

  “Pillow fights in high heels,” she said. “Now if you don’t mind . . .”

  Fighting the laugh that wanted to bubble out of his chest, Parker shouted, “Run sim!”

  Game on.

  “I think they’re trying to kill me,” Parker whispered against her ear. “What did I ever do to them?” Georgia shot an irritated look over her shoulder. He tried for wide-eyed innocence, missed the mark, and landed somewhere between amused at her expense and genuinely enjoying himself. Did he seriously think she’d fail? Oh, he had better think again.

  Because she could—and because, really, what was the worst that could happen?—she turned and gave Parker a solid shove. He stumbled back several feet, straight into the open. The third shooter appeared, and she loosed two rounds, watching in satisfaction as the target disintegrated.

  “Hey!” Parker complained. “I don’t think you’re supposed to use your client as bait.”

  “Says who?” Georgia grasped Parker by the wrist and hustled him toward the elevator. Part of her had expected the game to end upon dispatching the last shooter, but maybe she had to actually get Parker into the elevator.

  “Everyone on the planet?” he grumbled. At least he’d stopped humming the theme to Mission: Impossible.

  Only twenty feet to the elevator. She considered what she knew of the simulation and, more important, what she knew of Parker. Parker, who was silent and cooperating—more or less—for the first time. Though she hadn’t known him long, she was fairly certain in her assessment of him. Smart, sarcastic, and absolutely convinced he had the biggest brain in the room. Which meant he’d leveraged the game in his favor. She’d lay odds there were more than the three active shooters he’d claimed.

  Ugh. She was seriously reconsidering the merits of just shooting him and being done with it. Ultimately, he didn’t have the power to fire her, or he’d have kicked her ass out already. Which meant that while he could be as “difficult” as he wanted, he couldn’t actually get rid of her.

  Ethan can, her traitorous brain supplied. Ethan had been clear: make a personal connection or else. And while Parker might be an energetic handful, he wasn’t all that difficult. He wasn’t demanding or pretentious. He didn’t act like Georgia, with her lack of education and blue-collar roots, was beneath him or lucky to be in his employ.

  He’s different, the part of her brain that lived to torment whispered. Weren’t you just saying you wanted something different?

  Yes, yes. She’d wanted a change. A challenge. Clearly she should have been more descriptive in her wish list. Still, technology that made her swoon and a bed-rumpled geek who looked like he’d majored in seduction and minored in tactile engagement was more interesting than any of her other assignments in the last six months. And, though she’d never admit it, he kept her on her toes, constantly teetering between the impulse to laugh and the desire to maim.

  “Oh shit,” Parker gasped.

  Georgia spun, ready to fire a round or two into the target she was sure was approaching from behind. Nothing.

  “Shoe’s untied.” Parker smiled. “Wouldn’t want to trip and break my neck.” He glanced at Georgia as he dropped to one knee. “What do you think? Bunny ears or around the rabbit hole?”

  Her trigger finger itched.

  “You cried wolf a lot as a kid, didn’t you?” Georgia inched forward and began mentally cataloging all the ways Parker was going to be a handful, regardless of his promises to cooperate.

  “What for?” he asked as he double-knotted his shoelace. “Mom was an addict who invited the wolves inside. After she was gone, there were other things to cry about.” Georgia snapped her gaze back to Parker’s profile. Was he serious? He’d launched that emotional hand grenade as casually as a flower girl threw petals. Was it a tactic to keep her off balance? Emotional manipulation? She didn’t think so. There was something inherently honest about Parker. It was in the way he absentmindedly pushed his glasses up his nose. In the way he’d gasped out a “Nice shot” before he could stop himself. He was all cocksure arrogance wrapped up in subtle, playful charm, but there was no pretense. No persona crafted for the sole purpose of convincing the world he was more than the sum of his parts.

  Dammit, it made him attractive. Worse, it made her like him.

  Just shove him in the elevator, and move on already.

  The elevator. Right. She strode forward, her gun at her side. “Let’s go, Parker.” She jabbed at the elevator call button, though really she was just pushing her thumb against the wall.

  “Easy, killer. Those panels run a couple thousand a square foot.”

  Georgia glanced over her shoulder as the elevator pinged. Parker’s smug grin as the doors whooshed open only confirmed her suspicions. Without looking, she pulled up her gun and fired two shots into the fourth suspect. She let the corner of her mouth turn up as Parker’s jaw dropped open in shock.

  “That . . .” He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “That was . . .”

  She’d seen that look before. The look that said, You’re a woman; you aren’t supposed to be good at this. She hadn’t expected it now any more than she’d expected it when she’d leaped between a knife-wielding mugger and Isaac, a man she’d loved beyond reason, a man she’d been willing to die for. She’d thought the fifteen stitches beneath her rib cage had hurt, but Isaac’s admission that he wasn’t sure he could stand beside a woman who could stand in front of him had devastated her.

  “That,” Parker said, a bold, determined look settling over his face as he stepped into her space, pressing her back against the wall, “was probably the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

  As her mouth dropped open in surprise, Parker was there, shocking her into silence as his lips settled over hers and stole her breath.

  Parker had done a lot of stupid things in his life, but he hadn’t enjoyed a single one of them nearly as much as he enjoyed kissing the hell out of Georgia Bennett. When he’d challenged her to prove her skills, he’d expected her to fail—and fail miserably—within the first five minutes. Yet Georgia had stormed in, taken control, and marched across the digital landscape, wreaking havoc and mounting a body count like it was easy. Now Parker was facing down the sudden realization that the bossy, smart-mouthed bodyguard just flat-out did it for him. And, to make matters worse, now she worked for him. Well, technically he supposed she worked for Ethan, which was worse, but whatever. He had to cooperate. Something he rarely did, at least not on purpose.

  As they moved back through his lab in a frenzy of searching kisses and discarded equipment, Parker couldn’t find it in himself to care. Georgia kissed the way she did everything else—like she was absolutely certain there was no one in the world who was her equal. And as Parker slid his fingers beneath her sweater, dipping and sliding along the groove between hip and taut, sexy abs, he was inclined to agree with her.

  Nothing to lose, he pulled her back through the doorway to his loft and pressed her against the brick wall with enough force to drive a breathy little moan that aimed straight for his cock. She threw her head back the moment he left her mouth, scraping his two-day stubble across the underside of her jaw and toward the sensitive skin beneath her ear. He drew a deep, intoxicating breath. Damn, how he wished it were summer. The scent of her—fresh rain and something darker, edgier—swamped him. Were the weather warm, she’d be pressed against him in a tank top, the dangerously tempting curve of her breasts exposed and on offer. He’d never wished for the damp heat of a Baltimore summer, but God he wan
ted one now.

  He used his teeth and tongue, nipping at her earlobe, then soothing the sting. She froze, as if caught between the urge to challenge him and the desire to see what he’d do next. Sense told him this was a dangerous game—one he was poorly equipped to win. Desire insisted he play anyway. He pulled back to look at her. Her eyes dilated as he lived dangerously and trailed his hands up the outside of her breasts, skimming against curves he wanted to grip with a desperation he’d never experienced. He let his thumbs stroke and circle and allowed his mind to imagine what her skin would taste like. She didn’t move, barely breathed. What would it take to break that control? To elicit a reaction?

  Was it indecision or surprise that held her still? He dipped a thumb toward a nipple, tracing the edge of lace he couldn’t see but could oh so easily imagine. What will it take, Georgia? What button did he have to push, what switch did he need to flip, to set her alight? To strip her bare and ignite the desire he saw simmering just beneath the surface? She was holding back, unconsciously restraining the impulse to push, to flip their positions and take what she needed from him. He wanted to be the guy who brought that out in her, the guy who got to be on the receiving end of an unbridled, uninhibited Georgia Bennett.

  She leaned in, teasing his mouth with the promise of hers, then pulling away at the barest touch, the whisper of a challenge passing between them. She stared at him, her mouth inches away from delicious contact with his, her eyes sparkling with mischief and . . . confusion?

  Her gaze slid over his shoulder, and she stiffened. Playfulness fled as disbelief seized her expression. A slow whir began to filter through the white noise filling Parker’s brain.

  “Is that . . . ?”

  Parker’s arms fell away from her as she scrambled to the side.

  “Is that a cat riding a Roomba?” Georgia asked, her voice squeaking.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force blood to defy gravity and supply his brain with much-needed oxygen. He tilted his head and sent a glare across the room.

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “PITA, perfect timing, as usual.” The cat, as if lord of his empire, merely blinked as he rode the vacuum cleaner through the living room, calmly assessing Georgia and completely oblivious to the fact that he would, at the earliest opportunity, be donated to a high school biology class.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Georgia carefully skirted the Roomba-riding hallucination and moved directly to the coffee maker. Obviously she was caffeine deprived. Or drugged. Yeah, maybe she’d been drugged. How else could she explain her completely unplanned trip down the rabbit hole? A rabbit hole that led to tactical interviews, cats that rode home appliances, and nerds who coaxed her toward impulse-laced regret faster than a car salesman with a bargain-priced cherry-red convertible.

  “Oh sure, now you want my coffee,” Parker mumbled as he followed her into the kitchen, neatly dodging the cat that swiped at his legs as the Roomba whirred past. “Just ignore the animal; I do.”

  “Moment’s over.” And man, was it. What the hell had she been thinking? It was one thing to indulge the guy—taking an interest was hardly the worst way to forge a connection with a client—but she’d ended up pressed against the wall, his hands in places that were still hot and tingling. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was chalking it up to a momentary lapse of judgment induced by a lack of caffeine and an overdeveloped competitive streak. “Better yet, it never happened at all.”

  Parker nudged his cup toward her across the counter. “Promise to be my coffee wench, and I’ll never say a word.” Georgia rolled her eyes but grabbed his mug. She didn’t know much about Parker—yet—but she was certain withholding caffeine should be reserved for emergencies . . . or coercion. She slid a refreshed mug across the island to Parker, who’d climbed up on a chrome bar stool and was openly studying her. She grabbed her own mug, crossed her legs ankle over ankle, and got down to business.

  “Ethan is under the impression you need personal security. Why?”

  “This again?” A scowl tightened Parker’s features, and he extended a hand across the quartz. “He’s a drama queen. Pass the pink packets of palatability, would you? Coffee isn’t meant to be consumed black.”

  Georgia palmed a handful but didn’t pass them over. “Sure. Just as soon as you answer my question.”

  Parker dropped a forlorn gaze to his mug, then looked back up at her. “That’s blackmail.”

  “Uh-huh.” It was taking longer than she’d like, but with each passing second, the world was righting itself.

  “I already told you,” Parker huffed. “Ethan likes to saddle me with a babysitter when he finds out I’ve been hacking classified records.”

  “So you said. But that doesn’t explain how he justifies the man-hours and expense.” Georgia twirled the sweetener in her fingers while she sipped at her own cup of coffee. “I’m getting paid, which means someone, probably the government, is getting billed.”

  Parker rolled his eyes. “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that while Ethan may well be punishing you for hacking government files, someone is approving the expense reports. Which means, unbelievable as it might seem, someone considers you valuable enough to assign a bodyguard.” She waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “So spill.”

  Parker sighed. “What are the odds you give me the life-affirming pink stuff if I say please?”

  Georgia smiled. “Excellent.” He perked up, a charming smile reminding her exactly what she found so damn compelling about him. His openness, the way every thought flared across his face as bright as the morning sun. There was something intriguing about him. Something fresh and honest. Too bad she had to kill his joy. “Right after you start answering my questions.”

  “You’re evil.”

  “Thank you.” She shook a packet just to watch him squirm.

  “I could get up and help myself, you know.” He scowled at her.

  “But you won’t.” She rubbed the sweetener with her thumb and forefinger, crinkling the package. “You want to see how far you can push me? How often you can call me coffee wench? How many times I’ll let you dodge my questions? Go ahead. It’s not my coffee getting cold.”

  His gaze shot from her fingers to her face, his expression fierce. “Two hours and you think you know me. You. Don’t.”

  She stared him down. She’d been joking, more or less. It was abundantly clear, however, that she’d struck a nerve—she just wasn’t sure which one. “Hence, our conversation.” They glared at each other for a long moment. It felt juvenile, this game they were playing, but it was one she couldn’t afford to lose.

  “Hence? Who even says that?”

  “People who read books without pictures. Stop dodging.”

  Finally, Parker said, “You realize I’m not supposed to tell you any of this, right?”

  Georgia smiled. “Just think how it’ll irritate Ethan.”

  “Good point.” Parker leaned across the counter, cupping his hands around the mug. “What do you know about metadata?”

  “What does that have to do with my question?”

  “Everything. Hence,” Parker said, dragging out the word, “the explanation.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “So what do you know about it?”

  Georgia shrugged but tore open the top of a packet. “How to spell it, so start at the beginning. I’m interested.”

  Surprise filtered across his face. She wondered what he’d expected. Hadn’t any of his other bodyguards asked for a rundown? Admitted where their knowledge had gaps?

  “Okay, practical example.” Something in Parker settled, clicked into place. It was as if he transitioned from playful flirt to intelligent tech genius the second someone showed the slightest bit of interest. His eager switch struck her as sad. How often had this side of him been ignored? How often had people missed the man behind the personality? A personality she was beginning to think might be a front. Oh, she was certain her impression of Parker as an affable know-it-all wa
s accurate, but she also suspected it was a fallback, a persona he was comfortable with—and one he knew people expected of him. Georgia was beginning to believe there was a lot more to the man in front of her, too.

  Ethan’s words filtered through her brain. You want to care. She brushed away the thought.

  “You know about the Edward Snowden fiasco, right?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Convinced Parker would keep talking now that he’d started, Georgia dumped the sweetener into his coffee. “He’s the NSA employee who leaked all those classified documents.”

  “Right.” He absently snatched a spoon that may or may not have been clean off the counter and stirred as he talked. “He released thousands of documents—but the real damage is that he shined a spotlight on an agency that had—more or less—been flying under the radar of most Americans.”

  Georgia snorted. “A secret intelligence agency that’s not so secret anymore. Wonder how many heads rolled over that disaster.”

  “Yeah. And for the average American, it’s not the classified documents causing the uproar. It’s the very nature of the agency.”

  Intrigued, Georgia brought her coffee around the bar and settled onto a stool next to Parker. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the NSA has always said, ‘Look, don’t worry. We’re just gathering data. It’s information, not details.’ They want you to believe they’re no more invasive than commercial marketing practices—a whole other can of worms, by the way. You wouldn’t believe what most retailers know about you.” Parker moved aside his coffee and drummed his fingers against the counter. “What they’re really doing is collecting mountains of metadata.”

  “Okay, but that doesn’t explain what metadata is.”

  “Right. So metadata is essentially data that inform or explain other data.”

  Georgia resisted the urge to rub her temples. Barely.