He scowled. “That doesn’t mean one of us has to make a move on her.”
Rourke gave a disgusted shake of his head. “Not one of us—you. Damn it, the woman has been lusting after you for years.”
Atticus thought back to how close Jenna had come to kissing him this morning. To how aroused she had become when she had thought about being spanked. But that didn’t mean she’d lusted after him specifically for years, only that she was intrigued by the idea of being spanked.
Rourke gave him a pitying look. “You really don’t see it, do you?”
He snorted. “Jenna just likes winding me up, lighting the blue touch paper, and standing back to watch the fireworks.”
Rourke threw his hands up in disgust. “Fine. I’ve had my say, and if you don’t want to act on it, that’s your loss.”
Atticus frowned. “Do women nowadays really like that caveman, me-man-you-woman crap?”
“Absolutely…not.” Rourke chuckled. “Not outwardly, at least But some of them like to be spanked. Hey, don’t look at me like that.” His brother held up his hands. “I’ve never spanked a woman in my life, in anger or for any other reason.” He ran a hand down the fitted vest of his designer-label suit. “I prefer to wine and dine and seduce a woman rather than bludgeon her into submission.”
Atticus eyed him mockingly. “You seem to know a lot about it for someone who’s never tried it.”
“That’s only because Logan prefers the bludgeon approach and feels no hesitation in talking about it. Although he’s been pretty quiet on the subject since meeting August,” he mused.
“I do not want to hear about any of my little brothers’ sex lives, thank you very much,” Atticus stated firmly. “Especially if it involves August, my future sister-in-law and Jenna’s friend.”
“Talking of Jenna…” Rourke reminded.
“Maybe she should come and stay with you for a couple of weeks?” Atticus challenged.
His brother snorted. “No fucking way is that little hellcat living with me. The two of you need to get on the same page and stop prowling around each other, waiting for one of you to pounce.”
“If you say so,” he dismissed noncommittally.
“I do.” Rourke straightened. “In the meantime, make sure you give those two apologies. Sooner rather than later.”
“Yes, sir,” Atticus mocked.
“Fuck off,” Rourke dismissed as he left the office.
Atticus wished he could do exactly that. When he was out of the country working for Steele Protectors he didn’t have the time to worry about Jenna and what she was doing or who she was doing it with. Being stuck here in England, sharing an apartment with and lusting after Jenna, was his idea of hell.
“There’s a man at the main desk asking to see you, Jenna.”
Jenna raised startled eyes from her computer screen. “I thought we’d agreed I wasn’t seeing any clients this week?” The bruises from the attack had mainly faded, but one or two were still visible and not exactly flattering to the bank’s image.
The receptionist gave a shrug. “He isn’t a client of the bank.”
Jenna straightened. “A reporter?” Although it would be unlikely for Ben to have allowed one of the vultures to have slipped past him.
“I’m pretty sure not.”
“Then who is he?”
“He said his name is Jon Worthington, and he asked to see you on a private matter.”
Jenna hadn’t known a Jon Worthington before the attack on her, nor was he anyone she had met since. Nor was she about to meet alone with him in her office. “Could you tell him I’m not available at the moment and ask him to make a formal appointment for next week?” Atticus would have had the man investigated by then. “If he refuses to do that, then have security escort him out of the building.”
The other woman smiled. “Will do.” She nodded. “And might I say again how good it is to have you back at work.”
The tension eased from Jenna’s shoulders. “It’s good to be back.” And it really was. She’d been going stir-crazy sitting in Atticus’s apartment for days, sharing that “ivory tower” with him.
Haydn had ensured the apartment building itself was securely protected by cameras and sensors, and there were always two men on duty on the desk in the lobby. If Atticus needed to go out for any reason, he always ensured one of the other brothers was with her. There hadn’t been a minute Jenna could call her own or time enough to think in these past few weeks. Which had perhaps been Atticus’s intention; she’d had a few nightmares the first week after being discharged from the hospital.
Who wouldn’t after being abducted and badly beaten?
But Jenna had to admit to having heaved a huge sigh of relief when the doctor gave her the all clear to return to work. Not because she wanted to be apart from Atticus. Sharing an apartment with the man she loved beyond reason was tortuous as hell, but it was also a bittersweet torture Jenna never wanted to end.
No, she needed to go back to work in order to bring some normality back into her life. To take back that life rather than continuing to hide away in Atticus’s apartment for fear of being taken again. Not by the same two men, of course, because Atticus had assured her that wasn’t ever going to happen.
Jenna hadn’t liked to enquire too deeply into how he could be so certain of that. The Steele brothers, even Haydn the computer genius, had all served time in the army before starting the family security business together five years ago. They all had skills Jenna didn’t want to think about too deeply, or how and when they used them.
Coming back to work hadn’t erased the fear that now lived inside her. Only being with Atticus did that. But Atticus had his own life, one that didn’t involve her, and the sooner Jenna got her own life back in order and moved out, the better.
Even if leaving Atticus was the absolute last thing she wanted to do.
“Miss Riley?”
It had been a long day, and Jenna had been so relieved to see Atticus’s black SUV parked beside the pavement when she stepped out of the bank at the end of her working day, just as Atticus had promised it would be, that she hadn’t noticed anything or anyone else until someone called her name.
“Step back, sir,” Ben bit out.
“Miss Riley—”
“I said step the fuck back!”
By the time Jenna had gathered her scattered wits enough to turn round, Ben had his hand about the throat of an older man and was holding him pinned up against the outside wall of the bank.
A middle-aged man with red hair tinged with gray at his temples.
A man Jenna was pretty sure she had never seen before.
“Who the hell are you?” Ben demanded.
“I just want a few minutes’ private conversation with Miss Riley—”
“Not happening,” Ben growled.
“But—”
“He said it’s not happening,” Atticus bit out as he took a firm grasp of Jenna’s arm to push her behind him. “Go wait for me in the car, Jenna,” he instructed, his narrowed gaze fixed on the restrained man.
A month ago, he knew Jenna would have argued against his autocratic tone. But as the abduction had obviously shaken her more than she cared to admit, she went to sit in the SUV without a single word of protest.
Atticus waited until he heard the passenger door of his SUV open and then close before approaching the man held securely in Ben’s grasp. “What do you want with Jenna?”
The man was clawing against Ben’s steely grip about his throat. “It’s a private matter,” he choked.
“Not anymore,” Atticus stated firmly. “So I advise you start talking.”
The man was possibly six feet tall, aged in his fifties, with a slight body that spoke of an aesthetic lifestyle rather than a physical one.
But the fact that his hair was as red as Jenna’s among the streaks of gray was cause for alarm. Not that Atticus thought this was Seamus O’Malley himself.
Photographs of the man twenty-three years ago
showed the Irishman had a thick head of red hair and was built like a brick shithouse. Although those same years in prison might have softened the Irishman’s appearance slightly, there was no getting away from the fact the man in front of him was five inches too short and at least a hundred and fifty pounds underweight to be O’Malley. Besides, Atticus had seen more recent photographs of Seamus O’Malley, and this wasn’t him. Their father had also arranged for the family to be informed if Seamus O’Malley was ever let out of prison. So far, that hadn’t happened.
But that didn’t mean this red-haired man wasn’t related to the Irishman in some way.
Or one of the many enemies O’Malley had made during those years he had acted as enforcer for the Irish Mob with an iron fist and a sharpened blade.
“Take him to the Steele Protection offices,” Atticus instructed Ben when he realized they were attracting a lot of attention from people walking by and the other employees leaving the bank. The last two dogged reporters following Jenna had also now realized something different was happening this evening. Thank God, Atticus had got Jenna out of sight before they had. “I’ll take Jenna home, make sure she’s safe, and be with you as soon as I can.”
“You can’t just abduct someone off the street—” The man broke off his protest as Atticus shoved his face up close to his.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want when that man refused to back off when asked to do so.” A snarl twisted his lips. “So go along quietly with Ben for now, and the two of us will talk again soon.” It was both a promise and a threat.
“I— But— I’ll call the police and report this as soon as I’m free,” the man blustered.
Atticus eyed him pityingly. “That presupposes we’re going to set you free, and I really haven’t decided yet if that’s an option. I’ll let you know later.”
The man eyes were open so wide, it was possible to see all the white around the irises. “This is preposterous. I demand—”
“In case I haven’t made myself clear,” Atticus spoke in a low and threatening tone, “you aren’t in a position to demand anything, and whatever happens next will be my decision, not yours.” He straightened before turning to Ben. “Make sure he’s secured, but don’t hurt him.” The yet might not have been spoken but could nevertheless be clearly heard at the end of that statement.
The reception and front offices of Steele Protectors were like any other business or company, but they had several windowless and secure interrogation rooms at the back of the building for occasions such as this one.
“But…but…”
“You do, however, have my permission to gag him if he continues to protest,” Atticus told Ben.
“I have my rights. You can’t do this. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll have you all arrested,” the man continued to bluster as Ben led him away from the main street to the alley where his vehicle was parked.
Yep, Atticus had no doubt the guy was going to end up gagged and tied by the time he arrived at the Steele Protectors offices.
Not Atticus’s problem for now.
The only thing that mattered right now was preserving Jenna’s privacy, as the two reporters looked undecided as to whether they should follow Ben and the other man or continue to concentrate on Atticus and Jenna.
In the end, they split up, the female following Ben, the man approaching Atticus. “Mr. Steele, care to share what the altercation was all about?”
“No.” He ignored the reporter as he opened the driver’s door of the SUV and climbed inside.
“Mr. Steele—”
“Fuck off.” Atticus slammed the door in the nosey bastard’s face.
He could see Jenna clearly now. Her face was deathly pale and her shoulders were curved inwards, as if she was trying to make herself appear smaller and less noticeable.
Chapter 4
“Come over here.”
Jenna didn’t need Atticus to ask her twice before she climbed over the console that separated them. Atticus had moved his seat all the way back, which allowed Jenna to curl up on his powerful thighs. She pressed her head against his chest as he held her tightly in his strong arms.
One of his large hands lightly caressed her hair. “No one will ever hurt you again on my watch, Jenna.”
She shuddered. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know that yet. But I will,” Atticus added grimly.
Jenna burrowed even closer, as if she could actually push herself inside Atticus if she tried hard enough. “I thought it was over. That I was safe.”
“You are safe.”
She gave another shudder. “Then who is he?”
“I don’t know that either, but again, I will. August is coming over this evening, isn’t she, to discuss the arrangements for the wedding next month?”
Jenna nodded. “She and Logan are bringing Chinese food with them for an early dinner.”
He nodded. “As soon as they arrive, I’ll go to the office and ask this guy a few questions.”
“A man came into the bank earlier today asking to see me…” Jenna spoke slowly as she lifted her head. “Do you think it was the same man? I asked the girl on reception to make an appointment for him for next week. I think she said his name was Worthington—Jon Worthington.”
“Sound familiar to you?”
“No.”
“To me either.” And Atticus had made it a priority to know the name and description of everyone who had ever been associated with or pissed off by Seamus O’Malley.
Besides, the man Ben had taken away looked more like a mild-mannered librarian than a thug. But looks could be deceiving.
“Don’t worry, I’ll have all the answers we need later tonight.” By the time Atticus had finished his conversation with Mr. Worthington—if indeed that was who he was—he would know everything about him, including his shoe and collar size if Atticus decided it was important enough for him to know them.
Jenna looked at him with wide eyes, the pupils shot so that only a small ring of green was visible about that bottomless blackness. “It will never go away, will it,” she said dully. “I’ll live with this fear inside me for the rest of my life.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it. And I will.” If Atticus had to spend every minute of every day watching over Jenna to ensure no one got close enough to hurt her ever again, then he would do it.
Jenna gave a choked laugh that was contradicted by the brightness of tears glistening in her eyes. “What would I do without my hero?”
“I’m no one’s fucking hero—” Atticus broke off with a frustrated grimace. “Jenna, why can’t you get it into your head that I’m just a flesh-and-blood man?” A man who wanted this woman so fucking badly and for so long, it was slowly eating him up inside. “I’m not perfect. I fuck up.” And while Jena continued to put him up on this superhero pedestal, he was just too damned chickenshit to step over the line that separated them. An invisible line, admittedly, but it was there nonetheless, and so far, it had prevented him from taking Rourke’s advice and fucking Jenna until neither of them knew night from day or up from down.
So far.
The past eight hours were pushing him close to the edge of not giving a damn about that invisible line.
She gave a splutter of teasing laughter. “I don’t believe I’ve ever said you were perfect.”
“Good. Because I’m not.” He lifted her up and placed her back in her own seat. “Put your seat belt on,” he instructed harshly.
“Yes, Daddy.” She clicked the seat belt into place.
Atticus snorted. “I’m not into that kink either.”
“Then what kink are you into?”
As far as Atticus was aware, he didn’t have a kink. What he had was an obsession and a possessive streak a mile wide, and they were both centered on the woman seated beside him.
He glanced at Jenna once he had maneuvered the SUV into the stream of rush-hour traffic. “What makes you think I have one?”
Jenna eyed him speculatively. �
�You just seem the type.”
His brows rose. “And what type is that?”
There was no way Jenna could miss the dangerous edge beneath the softness of Atticus’s tone. Telling her she had once again stepped into the no-go area of their relationship. Not with the deliberate intention of annoying a reaction out of him this time, either. Her filter button was all over the place after the incident just now. Not only had that man known where she worked, but if it was the same man, he had waited outside for her until she left work for the day.
She looked down at her hands. “It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled.
“It fucking matters to me,” Atticus rasped. “Just because I choose to look and dress the way I do doesn’t mean I want some grown woman calling me Daddy. Or that I drag a woman off to a dungeon every opportunity I can before tying her up and spanking the hell out of her. Not that I give a shit what other people do together, in or out of the bedroom. Whatever consensual dynamic works for them,” he dismissed. “But I resent the hell out of you making those assumptions about me on looks alone.”
Jenna winced at Atticus’s obvious anger and at how accurately he had just described her earlier fantasy. “You’re right. I’m just not thinking straight. I’m sorry,” she pleaded as Atticus’s expression remained fierce. “You don’t have a kink. You aren’t the type to have a kink. Okay?”
He glowered at her from beneath lowered brows. “The count is still five.”
Jenna glared her frustration. “Exactly what is it you’re counting, Atticus?”
“I told you, originally I intended turning the internet off in my apartment for that amount of evenings.”
“Originally?”
He nodded. “Now I’m going to leave the choice up to you.”
Her eyes widened. “What are the choices?”
“Wait and see,” he drawled. “You’ve always liked surprises,” he reminded her as she grimaced.
“At Christmas and on birthdays, yes, but this is different.” She eyed him warily. “You’re different.”
Atticus (steele Protectors 2) Page 3