by Dani Criss
“Katie,” he finally said when she picked up her wineglass with a shaky hand and took a drink from it. “Honey, in only two weeks, the man went from meeting you, asking you for a date you refused, to telling you to plan the wedding. That’s not the mind of a reasonable man.”
“Maybe it’s his idea of a sick joke,” she ventured, though she knew all too well that Jake was right. She just wished this whole ordeal were over.
He studied the ceiling for a long moment. Kaitlyn knew he was trying to hold on to his self-control and regretted that she was pushing him into possibly losing his temper. However, she couldn’t face the harsh realities he was painting. Not all at once. Her life was changing in ways she didn’t want to envision.
Jake ran a hand across the back of his neck, massaging the tightness. “This is sick, but it’s no joke,” he said emphatically. “Rob is having Fallon’s name run through the computers to see if anything comes up on him—”
“What do you mean?”
“He may have a history of stalking. We need to check that out to see what we’re dealing with.”
“Then there is a chance he’ll turn his attention to someone else,” she said, latching onto the glimmer of hope.
“There’s a slight possibility that someone else will catch his eye and he’ll lose interest in you soon, but we can’t bank on that. You can’t bury your head in the sand about any of this.”
Kaitlyn pressed her fingertips against her eyelids, then pinched the bridge of her nose. She had a doozy of a headache. “As usual, you’re telling me what you feel I have to hear, whether I want to hear it or not.” She sighed. “But I have to admit, you’re being unusually diplomatic about it. I didn’t expect that.”
“Yeah?” He chuckled wryly. “Once I was in business for myself, I soon discovered I had to ‘adjust’ my style of dealing with clients.”
“You mean other people resent being bullied by you as much as I do?” she asked, laughing.
“Funny,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Back to security,” he told her, opening his briefcase amid the travel magazines that cluttered the coffee table. “For the sliding patio doors, we’ll use shatterproof glass. For the basement windows, we can go with the shatterproof glass or decorative wrought-iron bars.”
“The glass. I’ll already feel like enough of a prisoner in my own house without having to look at bars.”
“You won’t be a prisoner,” he stated emphatically. “You’ll be safe.”
“And probably penniless,” she said dryly. “State of the art isn’t cheap.”
“Is money a problem?” he asked, making her smile at the way his protective instincts extended even to the financial.
“Not now, because I’m careful with my money.” Anyone in business for herself had to watch her cash flow carefully.
“I do a certain amount of pro bono work. For several battered-women’s shelters,” he added when she raised an eyebrow. “I can always—”
“That’s nice of you to offer.” And very like him to donate his time to someone who needed his protection. Jake was the knight on the white charger, rushing to the rescue. She had to remind herself she needed to do her own saving. “You should give the freebies to those who really can’t afford to pay you. How did you get into that, anyway?”
“I installed a system for a battered-women’s shelter a couple of years ago. Met some of the women, realized they were trying so hard to break out of that cycle of violence, decided I’d like to do what I could to help.” He rubbed his neck once more. “It’s some of the most emotionally draining work. having to protect these women from the men who supposedly love them. In too many of these situations, things turn really ugly. You haven’t had a previous relationship with this Fallon character, but the potential for things to become violent is there.”
“Violent.” She sighed again. “Can’t you leave me some illusion that this will turn out to be quite innocuous?”
“That’s a delusion. Now back to the money issue. We can do twelve months, zero-percent-interest financing if you need.”
“I won’t let you do that, but I will take ninety days same as cash. How much are we talking?” When he named an unbelievably low figure, she shook her head. “Get real, Jake. I pay my own way in this or it’s no deal.”
“Don’t go stubborn on me, Katie. I’ll go cost, no higher.”
Deciding from the tone of his voice that she would have to live with that, she stretched her legs out on the sofa and sipped at her wine. As long as she was on the sofa and Jake stayed many feet away in his chair, she would be safe from herself and her longings to have him hold her.
“I’ll have a crew here in the morning and they’ll stay until it’s operational,” he continued.
She frowned. “Tomorrow? It’s Saturday. Won’t you have to pay them overtime?”
“Let me worry about that.”
Wriggling farther down into the sofa cushions, she gave him a small laugh. “That’s Jake. Always ready to take on the worries of the world.”
“I’m not waiting until Monday to get the system up and running. There’s no discussion on that.”
Another ultimatum that she would have to live with. She could argue, but realistically she needed that system in as soon as possible for her own peace of mind. She would just have to make certain that Jake’s bill covered the cost of the overtime.
She studied him over the rim of her glass as he continued jotting notes in his bold, southpaw scrawl—his strong hands, the straight line of his nose, the blunt edge of his prominent jaw, his eyes intense, his high brow knit in concentration. He must have shaven before the party—shaven away the heavy five-o’clock shadow that had always given her skin that delicious scrape as he’d made love to her in the evenings and early mornings.
The remembrance nearly made her choke on her wine. She coughed.
“You all right?” he asked, glancing up at her.
She nodded, forcing her thoughts back to the reasons he was here in the first place. She drained the last swallow of wine, as if the liquor could fortify her to deal with this whole terrifying situation.
It didn’t, of course. “Fortification does not come from the bottom of a bottle.” How many times had her father shouted that to her mother? How many times had her mother pleaded with him to understand the difficulty of dealing with the rigors of their military life—the rituals she was forced to observe with senior officers’ wives, the moving from place to place, the being alone for long periods? Her mother had never mentioned the stress of trying to please a man whose standards were unattainably high, though.
Kaitlyn set her empty wineglass on the coffee table next to Jake’s briefcase. “The thing is,” she said, “seeing this Fallon, talking to him, you’d think he was perfectly normal.”
“That’s often the case,” Jake said softly. “It’s their thinking that’s skewed, not their appearance.”
“Yes, but Craig looks, well, he looks like every woman’s dream date. He’s blond, blue eyed and gorgeous. He’s clever, you know, witty. He does all those old-fashioned things like standing up when a woman enters the room, holding the door for her. He’s got this perfect manicure, for crissakes.”
“Think of it like that flashy sports car you used to say you’d have one day. The body lines are flawless, the paint and chrome shine to perfection, there’s not a speck of rust or a dent or ding anywhere. But the wiring’s shot.”
He sat back in his chair as she slid farther into the sofa, wriggling into a very comfortable position, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. The mental image of Craig Fallon’s handsome face materialized. With a shiver, Kaitlyn blinked it away and turned her gaze to Jake, his frame dwarfing the low-backed chair he slouched in.
“Whatever happened to that white Porsche you were going to have?” he challenged.
“I decided that right now I needed to go for the lower-priced luxury and dependability,” she said dryly. “With the travel industry’s ups and downs, that Porsche may have to
remain just a dream.”
She folded her arms across her abdomen and, because she couldn’t hold them open any longer, closed her eyes. She felt warm and wonderfully lazy. Liquid. Safe.
“I’m going to make some calls,” Jake told her, sounding very far away. “Get things set up for the morning.”
“Hmm,” was all she could manage.
She was dimly aware that he’d gotten up and walked into the kitchen to get the phone, and just before she slipped into sleep, she concluded that his deep voice was a very comforting, and sexy, sound.
Jake awoke with a start as someone cuffed his upper arm, hard enough to bruise.
“Katie?” he mumbled, his eyes snapping open.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” she said from very close by. “Some watchdog you are.”
She perched on the arm of the chair, very near, very wide-awake, her mood obviously not the best. She looked sexy in the morning, her hair slightly tousled, her T-shirt wrinkled, her face still soft with the remnants of sleep. Damn but he wanted her with an intensity so strong it was all he could do to control it. He wriggled out of his slouch and into an upright position, wincing at the crick in his neck from the uncomfortable chair. Elegance had its drawbacks.
“I must have fallen asleep,” he muttered, though there wasn’t the slightest chance she would buy that story.
“Right.” She snorted. “Just after you neatly folded your trousers and got blankets and pillows for both of us. You sly, shifty, sneaky snake.”
She’d had enough time to work up to a full head of steam, Jake realized. He’d figured she wouldn’t appreciate his staying overnight, but he hadn’t wanted her to be alone in the house and he hadn’t wanted to do battle over his need to be here. So he’d plied her with wine on an empty stomach, bided his time until she fell asleep, then set his mental alarm clock to awaken him with the sun, figuring he’d tell her he’d taken her key last night and had let himself in that morning. It was more dishonest than he liked to be, but the situation called for it. The problem was she’d awakened before him. How could he have slept so soundly?
He caught her wrist before she could complete another punch at his upper arm, yanked to pull her into his lap, then instantly regretted the move. With her fanny positioned over a certain part of his anatomy, she struggled to get free of his light hold on her. The wriggling was torture and pure ecstasy.
“Honey,” he began through clenched teeth, “if you have any recollections of what it was like in the mornings when we lived together, you’ll sit still.”
With a soft gasp, Kaitlyn went stock-still. Oh, she remembered, all right. And her body responded just as it always had. She wanted to run her hands through his thick hair, over the morning beard that covered his jaw. Wanted to snuggle against his unyielding chest, to experience once again the power and passion of his kisses. Wanted him to make love with her.
Some things apparently would never change. But other things had to, starting with his method of operating in secret around her.
“Let me up,” she demanded softly.
“I rather like having you here this way—on my lap and docile.”
He began to nuzzle the top of her head. Images and erotic memories trapped the breath in her lungs, made her body heat soar. She heard his muffled groan, then suddenly his arms went from cradling to caressing. He found the hem of her T-shirt and eased a hand under the material, tracing the column of her lower spine with hungry fingertips. When she felt him fumble with the back hooks of her bra, reason asserted itself.
“Stop, Jake,” she protested with the little strength she could summon as he nibbled at her earlobe, his warm breath feathering across the side of her face.
He groaned again. “I’m not sure I can,” he murmured. “I know I don’t want to.”
“Let me help you,” she told him, slamming the base of her hand into his shoulder.
“Ow! That wasn’t necessary.” He set her on her feet, then massaged the spot she’d pounded.
“Jacob Alexander Riley, you have absolutely no business spending the night here,” she rasped, glaring down at him, those deep blue eyes of hers flashing fire.
Jake resigned himself to the fact that there wouldn’t be any lovemaking this morning, and to the fact that he would have to face the consequences of her being the first to wake up. Here, guarding her, was where he’d wanted—needed—to be last night, and he would not apologize for that.
“Katie, after that last note, I felt you needed protection—” he began.
“Have you ever heard of the 911 system? Or were you afraid that in a crisis I might forget the number?”
He chose to ignore her sarcasm. “What if they couldn’t respond in time? I decided I would prefer not having that on my conscience.”
“You felt, you decided. You never once considered including me in your plans, did you?”
Because he’d feared she would fight him tooth and nail over it. “You were exhausted. You hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before and you fell asleep before I could tell you last night—”
“Fell asleep before you could tell me,” she scoffed, throwing his words back in his face. “You never intended on telling me your plans, did you? That’s why you brought the wine.”
Jake knew he would have to be honest with her. “I didn’t tell you because I figured this is what I would get—a fight—one that you wouldn’t win,” he added firmly.
Suppressing an angry growl, Kaitlyn turned away from him, snatched up the blanket he’d covered her with last night, then began folding it. Somehow she had to get her temper under control. Losing it around Jake was a kneejerk reaction she had to get over. While his methods and his prehistoric attitude might not be to her liking, he’d given up his comfortable bed to watch over her, and she imagined that on some level she’d known he would be there and so had slept peacefully. She draped the folded blanket over the low arm of the sofa, then sat down and faced him.
“Okay,” she said on a deep sigh, “maybe you would have gotten a fight. Or maybe not. I don’t know how I would have reacted had you asked to stay. You never gave me that option. I resent being treated as a brainless twit.”
He moved to sit beside her on the couch. When he spoke, his voice had softened. “Katie, that wasn’t the meaning behind my actions. Security is my field—”
“And this is my life. I demand that I be involved in all decisions concerning it,” she stated, stabbing his chest with her index finger.
“I hate it when you do that.” He pushed her hand away.
“I hate it when you try to run my life. You’re big, bold, authoritative, and damned near everyone is intimidated enough to let you have your way.”
“Everyone but you. Whenever I try that approach with you, I end up ducking for cover.”
She gave a wry laugh. “You’re the only person who ever made me angry enough to throw things.” She breathed deeply. “But, Jake, we have to change the way we deal with each other. Agreed?”
“Change in what way?” he asked warily.
“I need you to realize that I can make responsible decisions concerning my welfare. You have to be honest and up-front with me or I’ll find someone who will.”
That threat had its desired effect. His jaw clenched and his eyes darkened and narrowed. “Kaitlyn—” he began in a tightly controlled tone, using her proper name—a sure sign she was pushing him. “I will not have you going to someone else for help.”
“‘Help’ is the key word here. It implies that you will work with me, keep me informed of what’s going on, discuss your thoughts with me before you make any decisions. Before,” she stressed, “not after the fact. You abide by my terms or—”
“Don’t threaten me with finding someone else. You don’t pin your safety on a name you find in the Yellow Pages. Your safety is important to me.”
It was said without fury but with enough emphasis to give her pause. To make her wonder whether he was speaking strictly professionally or very personally. She w
asn’t certain she wanted to know the answer to that.
“And your involving me in decisions about my fate is important to me. Do we have a deal?” she asked, holding out her hand to him.
He stared at it long and hard before finally wrapping both of his around it. Not in the handshake she expected, though. Instead he traced a pattern across her knuckles with his thumb—a move designed to short-circuit her thinking. It was very nearly working, too.
“Last night you said you would defer to my judgment regarding your safety,” he reminded her very quietly.
She snatched her hand away. “I said that to get you to let Rob and Shelly have their evening together and you know it. You can’t hold me to—”
“I have to, Katie. I have to know that if,” he stressed, “if things get ugly, you will listen to me.”
“Follow your orders without question, you mean.” It was her turn to growl. “That’s playing dirty.”
“Only because you’ve made it clear you might do something foolish and dangerous.”
“Like going to someone else—”
“Which you’re not going to do because you know that if you need protection, you can depend on me. Right?” He gently tugged her arm when Kaitlyn tried to get up and walk away. “Come on, Katie,” he cajoled where she’d expected him to bully. “Give me your word on this.”
Her word was not something Kaitlyn gave easily, and when she did, she kept it. Jake knew that, damn him. Just as she knew that she could trust in his expertise. It wasn’t his skill or his willingness to go to any length necessary to protect her that annoyed her, only his methods. But perhaps there was something she could do about that.
If only she could snuggle against him.
Her breath caught again at the renewed need to do that very thing. He looked so damned tempting, clad in his V-neck undershirt and briefs, the shadow of his morning beard heavier, his hair mussed invitingly, the strong lines of his face softer and gentler. If she were to make love with him now she knew how it would be—tender, lazy, playfully passionate. It took all her strength to summon her resolve and bring her thoughts back in line.