Deep Cover

by Moira Reid

  “Stalker fits. He comes after you, then flees the scene. But sometime later, he returns to leave you a threatening note. It’s logical and spells stalker to me.”

  Her body grew warmer still. Body language leads power negotiation, she told herself. Straighten up and face him. Forcing bravado she did not feel, she arranged herself into the stance of power—hands on hips, feet square. “What’s his next leap in logic going to be, Mr. Spock?”

  “Mr. Spock?”

  “Sure. You know, Star Trek? Don’t you ever watch reruns on late-night television?”

  He shook his head. “I watch movies on a portable DVD device.”

  No television? That had to be a first. In this house they had five televisions, not that she had much time anymore to watch any of them. “You’ve never seen Star Trek? Butch, you haven’t lived. Anyway, what I mean is, what do you think he’ll do next?”

  “He’ll try again.”

  She shook her head, forcing herself to ignore the effect of his nearness commingled with her rising uneasiness at his words. Depending on her body language to convey power she felt slipping away, she said, “That’s a pretty big assumption. How do you know it’s not all over? That he was just pissed and wanted to get the last word in?”

  “I just don’t think so. What makes you think it’s over? Blind hope? Because that’s all you’ve got to go on.”

  She wasn’t convinced either. Butch Markham as her personal bodyguard was probably a terrible idea, but for the moment, he was who she had. If not him, it would have to be someone, but if it was going to be him, she needed to establish some ground rules.

  She would do the thinking and make the decisions; he could be the muscle—and nothing else.

  He stood straighter and closed the remaining distance between them.

  Her tired mind raced. Had this man studied proxemics? Did he know the power of spatial orientation in managing the give and take of a deal? Or was he just intuitive and saw that his nearness was bothering her?

  Either he was a better negotiator than she was, or he was just plain lucky. His glittering blue gaze tracked her every move, and she became acutely aware of her own flesh.

  What had he asked?

  She was not at her best right now. Better to fall back and live to fight another day. Tomorrow morning she had to be sharp, but rather than going to bed, she stood here half-awake trying to argue with a calm, coolheaded, and heartless warden. And she was losing.

  She turned away from those intense eyes and stared into the fire. “I’m exhausted. We’ll table this for a later time.”

  He stepped around her and rested his hand on her shoulder, the warmth of his palm seeping through her damp clothing. A sensation like warm, thick syrup pouring over her followed. “Claire, you might not have more time. That guy is out there, and he wants you.”

  The words rang through the air. The room seemed to shift around her as she looked up into his eyes.

  “He wants me.” She repeated his words involuntarily as the sound of her name from his lips echoed through her mind with electric waves of awareness.

  She had to get away from this guy. There was no way he could be her bodyguard.

  No, no she didn’t. She had to stay right here.

  She blinked to clear her thoughts. She was so tired or maybe this was leftover shock. Whatever it was, the sensation was hypnotic. With that one touch, her body had come alive just as her mind had ceased to function. His eyes were so blue…

  He suddenly released her and took a step backward. “Claire, no.”

  Her vision began to swim a little, and the room grew even warmer. “What?”

  Butch shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at the floor. “I’m staying here tonight, and I’m going with you tomorrow. Which room can I stay in?”

  She tried to regain her bearings, but the heat in the room had turned to a heavy, homemade quilt. All she wanted was to wrap them both inside it.

  “Claire.”

  His voice jarred her, and the feeling evaporated as quickly as it had come. What was he saying? Going with her tomorrow…

  “You are not going to try to convince me to stay home too?”

  “If you want to work, I’ll go with you. I’ll watch your back, Claire.”

  A moment ago, she’d imagined him on her back. She blinked again. “The guest room is upstairs, first door on the left.”

  Was she actually agreeing to this? He would follow her around, day and night, be with her every moment? No, she couldn’t be.

  He looked into her eyes again, his full of a strange new intensity. “That guy is out there, and he wants you.” She could still hear the words in her head. Instead of inspiring caution as he’d meant them to, they’d brought on something much more dangerous.

  He turned and walked away from her. She inhaled the scent of rain and sandalwood as she watched him move across the room, a warm, thick sense of indecision flooding over her. She’d needed someone, and her father had hired this man.

  Her bodyguard, who had more body than she knew what to do with.

  He turned at the door. Opening his mouth, he started to say something, obviously thought better of it, and stopped. She waited for one beat, then another; still, he didn’t move.

  What was going on behind the glittering blue eyes? She strongly suspected it was not the same thing going on behind her own. Hopefully hers weren’t giving her away.

  Sometime before tomorrow morning she had better get a grip on herself Her original intention to come on to him in order to have him fired had been more foolhardy than she’d anticipated. If anything had happened in her car, if he had kissed her, it would have been downright perilous.

  Struggling for words, she couldn’t think of what to say to break the tension, so she reverted to her mother’s favorite phrase. Many years had passed since she’d last heard her mother speak the words, but they came out of her mouth as smoothly as if she’d heard them only yesterday.

  “There are towels in the guest bathroom. Make yourself at home.”

  “Claire,” Butch began, placing both of his hands behind his back, once more standing at military rest. “Not everyone gets what they want. Whoever and whatever that guy is, he’s not going to hurt you again. I’m going to make sure of it.”

  He nodded, then turned and was gone.

  * * * * *

  He’d hated walking away, but staying was one path that wasn't going to do either of them any good. Instead he'd be the "good guy" again and spend another night in a lonely bed.

  Just once, why couldn't he be bad? Just drag her into his arms and make good on all that heat sizzling between them. He’d been tired a moment ago, but his erection jerked him wide awake at the thought.

  Great, now he was alone and hard. The night was just getting better and better.

  He paced back in forth in the guest room but just couldn't get his mind off the sexy quirk of her lips, or that way her breasts pushed out when she squared off with him. Shit. What he needed was a shower. Wasn't a cold shower what the humans used? Maybe it would work on him too.

  And if it didn't… Well, at least he'd be clean.

  Towels in the guest bathroom. The only other door in the bedroom was to a spacious closet. So where was the guest bathroom? He scouted out the hallway. First door on the right opened into a small efficient bath. Tub, sink, and a cabinet neatly packed with towels.

  Stripping and grabbing a towel took only a moment. Another to set the water. Testing it at cold changed his mind about the concept. Foolish human men must just like torture. Setting the spray to warm, he waited a moment and slid inside. He picked up the brand-new soap and rubbed it over his skin.

  And then the scent hit him and stole his breath.

  It smelled like her. Clean and pure, no nonsense. All Claire.

  He closed his eyes, but it did nothing to shut out the scent. If anything it freed his imagination. Boondan. Cold water would never get her out of his system, but maybe he could satisfy his need and
then focus on the job of keeping her safe.

  She’d wanted him to kiss her. She'd have felt so damn good. Sliding his hand down, he stroked the soap over his aching cock, then let it fall into the tub. Back and forth. The mechanical motion meant little, but with his eyes closed and her scent teasing him relentlessly, he could pretend it was Claire's hand.

  Stroking over him light and hard, alternating the grip until he ached with the building pressure—then it wouldn't be her hands. She’d kiss his chest, nibble her way downward until she knelt at his feet.

  The image was so vivid, he could damn near see her there looking up at him, so close to his cock, so close her breath would caress him softly while the water pounded over them both. Her lips would soften, the teasing in her eyes giving way to excitement. Only then with him desperate as a boy, would she relent.

  Shifting with a single motion, devouring his cock one inch at a time. She would swallow him down over and over, leaving him shaking and weak from the torment.

  The stroking rhythm changed, tightened. He would grip her hair, stealing her playtime away. She would give in to his burning need and push further, drive him over the edge. Take him to orgasm with a completeness that nearly drowned him in the pleasure.

  Her mouth, her lips, her tongue on his cock.

  Coming with a jerk, he braced one hand against the wall and continued the stroke, unwilling for the illusion to end. When the final remnants of the fantasy evaporated in the steam surrounding him, he dropped weak-kneed and tingling to the side of the tub. Resting his elbows on his knees, he closed his eyes as the shower’s spray pounded his feet Maybe now he could get some sleep. Maybe.

  * * * * *

  Claire walked downstairs the following morning, adjusting her bangs over the injury on her forehead. Before she’d showered, she’d removed the bandage and examined the cut. It wasn’t deep and was mostly hidden by her hair, but the edges of the surrounding bruise still peeked out from underneath.

  She could keep it camouflaged as long as she was careful today, and that was exactly what she intended to be. She didn’t want any discussion or speculation among her staff about what had happened. She made a mental note to discuss increasing the patrols around the parking lot with her security company, and to investigate any vehicles present without proper parking tags hanging from their rearview mirrors.

  Dressed in her best blue suit, she knew she looked presentable, but a bigger problem than her external appearance was the pounding inside her skull. She’d taken four Tylenol capsules before she fell into bed last night, but they hadn’t put a dent in the hammering headache. All the hours of tossing and turning hadn’t resulted in a great deal of rest either. Considering what she had to do today, she could certainly have been better prepared physically. The muscles in her arms were still tight, and her knees ached from the scrapes she’d sustained while dragging herself under her car. She was hiding an ugly bruise on her forehead, and her fingers still ached.

  This was not how she’d wanted to face this day.

  With about a hundred things to do to finalize the presentation to the Anthony Group, she would need every ounce of energy she could muster. Between the throbbing behind her eyes and the soreness of her muscles, she’d be lucky to make it back home this evening, much less make any real progress at work.

  She walked into the kitchen, then stopped dead in the doorway.

  “Good morning. Coffee’s made.”

  And she had forgotten about her new best friend.

  Dressed in a suit and tie, Butch leaned against the counter sipping from one of her mother’s antique china cups, the black shoes he wore polished to a high gleam. The porcelain cup looked thinner and more delicate in his large hand than it ever had from its customary position in the mahogany china cabinet. As far back as she could remember, no one had ever drunk from those coffee cups or used any of the other china in that cabinet.

  If she’d had time to really examine all her misgivings about having a bodyguard, number one on her list would be keeping her attack a secret from her employees. After seeing him yesterday in the jeans and a sweatshirt soaking wet from the rainstorm, she’d have confessed that he’d never fit in at the office, would in fact draw much unwanted attention. His good looks aside, he had not exactly been corporate material yesterday.

  Today, however, he resembled an investment banker on Wall Street. He was handsome, clean-cut, and dwarfed everything around him. It wasn’t just his hands around that cup. Something about him seemed bigger, more substantial, than anything else in the room. Actually, everything in the expansive kitchen shrank with his huge frame filling the space.

  “Good morning.” She pushed the words out and attempted a smile to accompany them. Last night he’d departed before anything irreparable had happened, but this morning, her body spoke louder and more forcefully. Would she be able to manage polite chitchat with this testosterone-oozing bodyguard until he could get his job done and she could return to her life?

  He set the cup next to the sink, disrupting the alarming train of her thoughts, and walked toward her. He lifted his hand to her face, and she stepped backward. Thankfully, her baser reflex to lean toward him had not taken over.

  “What are you doing?” The words came out as a whisper, but he didn’t hesitate. He pressed her bangs back with his fingertips.

  The tender, warm probing of his hands on her forehead spread over her. The pounding in her head subsided as she breathed in the clean scent of his body. The smell of the rain was gone now, but a wafting aroma of her soap and his unique scent remained.

  “Still a little bruised, but the cut looks good.” He dropped his hand and walked back to the coffeepot. “Cream and sugar?”

  Claire tried to recover her voice but managed only a croaked, “I’ll get it.”

  “I can pour a cup of coffee. Sit down; you’re a little pale. Cream and sugar, or not?”

  She did feel a little dizzy—her morning routine had taken longer than usual. She always took special care with her appearance. Part and parcel to earning the respect of clients and employees involved looking like the boss, but this morning she’d taken even more care and time. She couldn’t explain why, nor did she want to examine her reasons too closely. She told herself that it was not because he was going to be with her all day. In fact, she had almost forgotten about that.

  Liar.

  Whether from the morning’s extra preparations or his touch, she wasn’t quite sure, but the dizziness was a fact she could not ignore. Better not to examine the reasons too closely, she decided. Avoiding what might prove to be an argument anyway, she sat down at the small dinette.

  “Black is fine, thank you.”

  He carried two steaming cups over and set hers down on the table. Taking a drink from his, he pulled out the chair across from her and lowered himself into it. “You sure you want to do this today?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Do you ever not answer a question with a question?”

  She started to ask what that was supposed to mean and checked herself. “Of course, I do.”

  “But you’re not keen on it, are you?” He smiled at her with that crazy sideways smirk she found herself starting to like. There were a lot of things about him she was starting to like. This was not a good idea.

  “Not really keen, no.”

  He took another drink of his coffee, then set the cup down in front of him. “What time do I need to take you?”

  Take me? Wild thoughts rushed through her mind. Was she dreaming? She took a sip of the coffee to wake herself up. He means take me to work, bonehead. She swallowed the tasteless liquid.

  This was the opening. The last thing she needed was to ride in close quarters with him.

  “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll follow you in my car, and no one will have to know about any of this. Or you can follow me—whichever. I’ll go into the office and stay until lunchtime. Nothing is going to happen to me inside the building. About noon, I’ll meet you in the parking
lot and we can get some lunch together. I’ll be inside the building the whole time. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

  “That’s not happening, Claire.” His voice was flat before he took another sip of his coffee, then set the cup back on the table.

  “You don’t want to take me to lunch?”

  He stared at her while idly twisting his coffee cup in a circle, the crisp whiteness of his shirt a sharp contrast to the deep tan of his neck. “You were there; you know what almost happened to you. Don’t try to play me. It insults us both.”

  Claire took a deep breath and set her coffee cup on the table. “All right, you want it straight up, fine. I have a big day ahead, and I don’t need you in my way. Everything I have to get done today is important to the company’s future, and I won’t have anything messing with my productivity today. Plus, it’s nobody’s business what happened last night, and if you’re there, it will become abundantly obvious that something is going on.”

  He nodded slowly, his eyes glittering. “I mess with your productivity. How do I do that exactly?”

  She ignored the question. “So, you’ll meet me there? Stay out of my way?”

  “What time am I taking you?”

  She rose from her seat, almost knocking it over while sending another wave of dizziness over her. “You don’t listen, do you? You are not taking me anywhere. I am driving myself. You need to wait in the parking lot or come back for me later. I admit that I need a bodyguard, but it has to be on my terms. I can’t let you stop me from doing this my way.”

  She watched as he rose slowly from his seat, his broad shoulders a tangible force, his eyes boring into hers. “I heard every word. And you are not driving anywhere. I’ll take you, or you’ll stay right here.”

  Flashbacks of nights at this very table with her father sped across the years to this moment: nights he’d told her exactly who her friends would be, what clubs she would join, and what she should or should not eat. Control had been the one privilege she’d desired and never received from him, the elusive gold ring she’d finally seized when she was old enough to appropriate it for herself.