by Beth Rhodes
She stood in the doorway, watched him take off his jacket and hang it on an old hook. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing that screamed well-off or wealthy. She hadn’t known what to expect. But this. This down-to-earth, vibrant existence? No.
He put her apartment to shame…
She stepped back into the living room and began a slow perusal of his home.
Off to the right, dark, walnut shelves lined the wall. Cabinets at floor level, shelves to the ceiling. And ornate carvings at each joint. Obviously quality, yet nothing pretentious about it either.
She went back to the front door and then followed the hallway straight back to a set of open double doors. He’d come around from the back, and she found him in his bedroom. The large bed, sitting dead center stopped her, making her step back again. Aside from the bed, there was an old wood bench along the wall with a small pile of clothes on top and a pair of shoes underneath.
The colors, the lived-in feel. A home. At work, he was neat as a pin, orderly in his tasks and focus. On the walls were tributes and mementos to a past life. The military. Plaques, awards, ribbons—memorabilia. But still, despite the warmth, it seemed impersonal…no photos of family. Not like at the gym where pictures of Hawk Elite agents and friends covered the walls. Two worlds. Two different characters.
Isolated here, yet…she thought, maybe this rougher side of him was more at his center.
When he came out, almost running her over, her grabbed her shoulders and turned with her in the narrow hallway. “I’ll be right back,” he said and disappeared through a passageway off to the left. His footsteps went up, surprising her. She hadn’t thought his apartment went up in the old brick building. Her intrigue of the place—and of him—grew.
When he came back, he had a pile of clothes in his hands. “To sleep in.”
She peered over her shoulder, her curiosity getting the better of her. “What’s up there?”
“My harem. They’re more than happy to share clothes.” His pursed lips and lifted brow dared her not to laugh. “Nosy?”
Her pulse skipped, thudding against her sternum. “Curious, I guess.”
“I have access to a closet at the top of the steps. Through the years, I’ve been able to fill it with stuff for the team—extra clothes, gear, extra shoes. We never know when we might need to leave quickly or dress a client—”
“Are they often undressed?”
His gaze held a spark of humor. “No, but sometimes they aren’t dressed appropriately—either for the weather or for where we might have to send them.”
She loosened the grip on the clothes and looked down at them. Sweats, a good size too big but not too far off. After a day in the hospital, she needed a shower. She needed to clean the stink and the misery off her body. “Bathroom?”
He pointed down the hall. “Last door before the foyer. I’ll make you some tea, get you some ibuprofen.”
She had officially crossed a line, agreeing to come here. Janice would be so proud of her and would be the first to ask if she was going to…tap that thing. Liz sometimes wondered if her friend wasn’t a man in a previous life. A short nervous laugh escaped as she closed the door. Liz stepped up to the mirror and frowned as she touched the bit of bruising on her jaw.
She’d promised this would never happen again. Become a victim. She’d failed herself.
Of her own stupidity and carelessness, she’d let some lousy tramp run her down in the stinkin’ public bathroom. If only she’d been paying closer attention, maybe she could identify the person. If only she’d stayed home. Anger simmered, at the reminder on her face of how much her life was still out of her control.
A sharp knock sounded on the door.
“What?” she spoke as sharply, letting the anger wash through her and escape through her words.
Tan peeked around the door. “Easy, killer.”
She scowled, her good mood fled. “What do you want?” She turned the water on, leaned over, and cupped her hands under the flow. She splashed her face with warm water before washing her hands.
Tan placed a tumbler on the sink and set one large white pill next to it.
“I don’t do drugs.”
“It’s ibuprofen.”
“Prescription?”
“It’s a leftover, 800 mg. If that bothers you, I have two-hundreds up in my room as well. Over-the-counter.” He caught her gaze in the mirror.
She expected distance, like he’d maintained all day.
But the look in his eye at this minute was far from distant.
Concerned. Worried.
…Heated?
She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you trying to make me feel better after…after yesterday’s pre-game debacle?”
“What?” His expression had gone blank, like he had no idea what she was talking about.
“You rejected the idea of my kiss.” She pulled the soft, light blue towel from the rack over the toilet and dabbed at her face. “You made me feel like a complete idiot. And you implied—somewhat egotistically—you weren’t surprised I was attracted to you, that it was normal because I was a client.
“Well, Tancredo Byrnes. Let me tell you something—”
“Blah, blah, blah.” He even used his hand in that chatty motion.
“Are you serious?”
Then he put his hands on her shoulders and set her up on the counter. He spread his legs and braced himself in front of her. “No one comes here.” He lifted a brow. “It’s my safe place. Except for Hawk, Malcolm, and my immediate family, no one knows about it. And—”
“How—”
He stopped her words with a look. “And I would appreciate it if it stayed that way.”
“Okay,” she whispered. In a way, he put her in her place. “I won’t tell. I promise.”
Tan reached out and ran his hand through her hair. The air stilled around her and her lungs froze on a breath.
“I’ve been wanting to touch it.”
She swallowed.
“To see if it’s as soft as it looks.”
“Is it?” Liz asked as her brain raced through a myriad of confusing emotions.
Tan shrugged. “Softer.” He brushed the length of her hair flat against her shoulder, removed his hands from her person, and looked directly into her eyes. “I’m sorry about my comment before the game. I didn’t mean it as a personal affront.”
“Affront,” she repeated, but hell if she could get her voice to work at a normal level. It was still a whispered breath, and filled with anticipation. “You’re using fancy words now. Do you have multiple personality disorder or something?”
He smiled, and it reached his warm hazel eyes. “Something.”
But then the warmth shut down. His secret side. She’d reached in, and he’d cut her off. Again.
Liz sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “You have a nice place here,” she finished. “It’s not what I expected. But that’s probably more to do with the fact I don’t really know you. Maybe you are the ritzy, high rise type and this is merely a disguise.”
Now he avoided her gaze, and she cursed her curiosity.
“Sorry. Just—” She lifted her rear from the counter and dropped to the floor. “I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable.”
Tan stopped her from leaving and held a fist out toward her, fingers down. “Hey.”
She lifted her hand under his, and he dropped the pill into it. She followed him into the kitchen. It had a vintage gas stove in the countertop along the brick wall. Dark, rough-edged wood cabinets on two of the walls. Obviously renovated, though, the countertops were granite and a small island sat at the center. An old wrought iron rack hung over the counter and copper-bottom pots hung from it. Can-lighting in the ceiling shed a glow of warmth over the room.
“Oh, Tan.” She caught her breath. The personality in this room hugged her like a fricking best friend. It was the best of old and new. It had been cared for with great love. This was no Mcmansion, no store-inspired catalog kitchen, and it made h
er feel like she was seeing Tan for the first time. “I can’t believe it. You have a little patio out here.”
He opened a cabinet and pulled down a glass. “I like a back door. Otherwise, I never would have been able to buy the place. I’ve done a few renovations in the last year as well.”
“You?” Another surprise. A little factoid she never would have known if he hadn’t let her in here.
Just a client. But perhaps not as typical as he liked her to believe so far. She shoved the warm feeling back down where it came from. Hope was not always a good thing.
“Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping.”
Liz swallowed the medicine and set the glass into the clean sink.
Going back into the main hallway, he opened the door next to the bathroom. “You’re here.” He pointed back down to the double doors at the end of the hall. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
She nodded her head yet procrastinated going into her room. “What’s going to happen tomorrow?”
When he rubbed his fingers deep into his eye sockets, guilt rode her conscience. “Have you slept in the last twenty-four hours?”
He kept going, always on guard, always working. She should have seen it sooner.
“I think we could both use a good night’s sleep,” he admitted.
“And you think, here, that will be more likely to happen than at my place.”
“Definitely.”
She nodded, watching him. “I’ve made your life difficult. I’m sorry.”
Her guilt grew at the surprise on his face, as if he hadn’t thought her capable of an apology.
The look was gone as he tried to reassure her. “No. It’s my job to be where you are—where the client is—usually.”
“What makes me different?”
“I don’t know, Liz. But for the first time, a client’s safety has been compromised twice on my watch. I don’t know why. But if it means we do things a little differently from here on out, we do things differently. And that means inviting you into my safe zone.”
Liz took the few steps to stand in front of him. She rose on her tip toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”
But what she really meant was, I’m sorry—for disrupting his life, for forcing him to share his secrets…
Mostly, she was sorry for falling for him.
~ 17 ~
In the dark, early hours of the morning, Tan rolled over in bed then stilled. A noise? He reached for the lockbox on his nightstand, fingered in the code, and heard the little snick as the lid popped open.
The Glock fit perfectly in his hand.
Peering through the door and into the hallway, he took in the shed of light coming out of the bathroom. Liz’s door was still cracked open a hair, enough for the light to get into her room, too. He stepped into the hall, weapon at this side, and stalked down the hallway.
Familiar quiet surrounded him. When he reached her door, he pushed it open a fraction.
But all was quiet.
Beep. Beep. The noise. Her phone.
In the kitchen, he found her purse on the counter near his pile of bills, and right next to it sat her smartphone. He set the gun down, picked it up, and found a text notification, a number not on her list of contacts…and the start of the message.
You stupid bitch. You can’t get away from me…
“Fuck.” He swiped at the screen but needed a passcode to get into it. Disregarding all the phone etiquette, he picked up her phone and tried her birthday year as he walked toward her bedroom. He went right in, although he did so slowly so as not scare her. At the side of his guest bed, he stopped. The light coming in shone on her light brown, almost blonde, hair.
She looked so peaceful.
He put a rein on the rage driving him and took a deep breath.
“Hey, Liz,” he said quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder and gently shaking her. He crouched down to be level with her face and found himself staring into the smoothest profile, skin that looked like a soft, velvety cotton. His hand came up to brush the strand of hair from her cheek. “Hey.”
She stirred, stretching like a damn cat.
His gut tightened. Well, shit. One way or another, this woman was going to drive him mad. When he wasn’t yelling at her to freaking follow orders, he was wanting her like a love-starved, restless man.
Client.
Vulnerable client.
Daughter of the man he’d promised his honorability to…
“Tan?” she whispered. “Is everything okay?” She moved to sit up, putting space between them, and he sat next to her.
“Your phone was beeping. It woke me.” The quiet tone implied intimacy, but he couldn’t seem to speak at a normal level. The darkness, her presence next to him, the early hour…he didn’t want to break the spell. “I need you to unlock your phone so I can get to the messages.”
Without a word, she took her phone from his hand. She sat up straighter and her chin lifted. “I apologize the phone woke you. But I do believe my phone is still private property.” She hugged it to her chest.
“Then, please, read your texts for me,” he requested. The quiet had fled with her upturned nose, and he knew she had every right to be annoyed with him. “I think you received a message from your attacker.”
After a sharp look at him, Liz pulled the phone back and read the notification display with a gasp. “Oh, no.”
But it wasn’t the oh, no of surprise.
She swiped the phone, unlocking it and read the full message. A moan escaped and she set the phone in her lap. “I thought it was nothing,” she stated. Her eyes were wide and filled with uncertainty. “A wrong number. The day after the store got broken into. I texted them back—”
Her hands shook now as she scrolled through the list. “I probably deleted it. It was something like…thanking me for a good time last night.” Her hand brushed through the hair around her face, and then she gripped the phone. “It’s gone.” Her fist landed in her lap with a solid whack. “I’m sorry. It didn’t even occur to me—”
Tan carefully rested a hand over hers on the phone and then slipped the device into his own hand. He forwarded the unknown’s contact info to Malcolm and wrote a short text to let him know who it was and what he needed.
Liz sat, crossed legged, with restless hands in her lap. “No wonder you think I’m so stupid—”
“No.” He stood, because what he really wanted to do was take those trembling hands in his own. He wanted to pull her into his lap and wrap those long legs around his waist. He wanted to touch the soft skin on her neck and shoulder. “I never thought you were stupid.”
Her laugh was self-deprecating, surprising him.
“You can’t possibly believe you’re stupid.”
She frowned, scoffed. “Of course not.” She rose from the bed, revealing the bed-rumpled clothing he’d handed over to her last night—sweats, a t-shirt, which fell off her shoulder on one side. Her hand, in frustration, dug into her hair and she turned away from him. And then her shoulders fell. “I might be smart, but I’ve never had any commonsense when it comes to people…or men.”
Her disappointment in herself was harder to accept, especially knowing the confident woman he’d met a couple weeks ago. She turned and held out the phone. “Here. Take it. Do whatever you need.”
When he took her phone, she glanced at the watch on her wrist. “I’d like to get to the gym this morning. Do you mind? It’s been a while, and I haven’t worked out and we haven’t done any more of our training sessions either.” Dejection was strong in her voice. “We are allowed out of here, right?”
The swing in topics made his head spin. “Uh, yes.”
She moved to cross to the door, but he side-stepped in front of her. Her gaze flew to his, her face turned up to see into his. “What?”
“You’re smart.”
She blinked.
“And you’re strong.”
She rolled her eyes.
“What hap
pened to you before was never about you. And neither is what’s happening to you now.” He cupped the delicate slope of her shoulders. “You’ve got more sense up there than any other client I’ve ever had. You’ve got great people skills. I’ve seen you charm a client and every guy on my team. You handle your brothers and family, always getting what you want—”
She opened her mouth to argue.
“But you do it with compromise and sincere compassion for what they are going through. You love them.” He ignored the caution beating through him as he brought his hands to her neck and traced his thumb down the line of her jaw. He let out a breath. “I never meant to offend you yesterday. I rejected your kiss. And even though it’s the one thing I want to do right now, I would reject it again today.”
He swallowed hard. He’d never had to talk to a client this way. He’d never, not in all his years, ever had to have a conversation about kisses because usually the client’s attention set him further from creating a bond. She drew him in like no one else ever had.
“Oh.” Her mouth made a pretty O on the sound.
Tan stepped back. “I’ve never met a harder worker, a less spoiled rich girl. I see pain in you, and I want to take it away. You have nothing to be down on yourself about. Don’t let what’s happening get to you.”
“Will you be my friend?” She asked, somewhat breathlessly, and there was a spark of life in her eyes that had been missing a few seconds ago.
Friends, ha. He wanted more than friends, but he gently took her face in his hands and then kissed her forehead. “We’re already friends. I think we’ve been friends since you kicked me in the balls.”
“Is that all a person has to do?”
“That’s all a woman has to do.”
She laughed outright and then wrapped her arms around his middle. Just a short hug, though. A friendship hug. “Will you consider kissing me when I’m no longer a client?”
He hesitated again. Life was different under stressful situations. He couldn’t promise her anything, couldn’t let himself even believe she’d still want to kiss him when this was over. Pure science, pure psychology would drive what happened to them later. “We’ll see,” he answered with a shrug.