Flat palms, a woman’s gentle press, sent sensual Morse code into his shoulders down the valley of his spine and finally over the ridge of his ass . . . oh, God . . . Roger that. He understood and deepened the kiss. Her body replied with a gasp and an arch. The crystal pins had to come out of her hair; he removed one and she began removing the rest.
Held captive by her touch, by her kiss, he remained her hostage as she slowly sucked on his bottom lip until her hair finally fell into his palms and then through his fingers in silky waves. Deftly managing his buttons, she opened his shirt and began tracing his chest through his T-shirt, her fingertips having some extrasensory perception about whether or not they should proceed. The only way he could reassure her was to take away his kiss from her warm, delicious mouth to spill it over her shoulders as he slowly lifted her tank top.
Hot hands slid up her back and made a tender sweep around her torso to cherish her breasts. Anita let her head drop back. Everything that she’d daydreamed of was fulfilled in his kiss as his warm mouth pressed against an angry nipple, suckling it softly, the wet sounds as erotic as the actual touch. Friction begat more friction which begat instant heat. Her Venus pushed hungrily against his length, her fingers gliding over an indomitable eight-pack, trying to wrest him free as he sought the other neglected nipple in a way that made her breath staccato.
He stepped out of his shoes; she stepped out of her yoga pants and clasped his hand. Their eyes met and he followed her lead to the sofa where she picked up her purse. There was no judgment in his gaze as he stared at her.
“I had hope,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t even dare to dream that far,” he said, capturing her mouth.
“If I had known,” she whispered, “you wouldn’t have made it out of the elevator.”
He kissed her harder, splaying his hands over the full lobes of her ass as he yanked her tighter against him. “I’ll remember that when we’re in the limo.”
She couldn’t hold onto the purse as she fumbled to get it open and collect the contents. Papers that Javier had left spilled to the floor as Zachary pulled her down on top of him. But as she picked up the condom, she froze.
“What’s the matter?” Zachary’s breathing was shallow, coming in short bursts.
She snatched up the unmarked envelope that had a smiley face on it and scrambled back from him, folding her body into a tiny ball.
“Baby, what’s the matter?” he said slowly, watching her wrap her arms tightly around her shins as the letter fell away from her hands.
He snatched up the letter and opened it. A single page with cutout letters from various magazines made him become very, very still. The message was simple but menacing: I know where you live again. You cannot hide from me. Soon you die.
“I want you to go put some clothes on, I’ll pull myself together— then we have to call the police. All right?” He picked up her purse and handed it to her, putting away the condoms.
Anita nodded but still seemed in shell shock. She hadn’t moved and had begun rocking as moisture swelled in her eyes and then flowed down her flushed cheeks in two large tears. He knelt down in front of her and kissed her face, wiping away the tears with the pads of his thumbs.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered hoarsely. “Spend the night after the police go . . . and just hold me, okay?”
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
TWO MEN IN the lobby, two in the limo, five already at the airport sweeping the private jet and at the ready for crowd control . . . Zachary ticked off the logistics of the job as he pressed the elevator button within the expansive lobby.
One of Lowell’s other men had picked up his luggage, and he’d filled the squad in about the discovery of the stalker’s latest note. Now he just needed to do one last pass through the building routes while Anita worked out logistics with her management. It was vitally important now that he remain focused. He couldn’t allow his mind to flex back to what almost happened but didn’t. Keeping ’Nita safe was his only goal. It wasn’t about taking advantage of her when she was frightened and vulnerable . . . the look on her face replayed itself over and over again in his mind. She’d snuggled into his spoon and slept like a baby while wrapped in his arms.
Memories of the fiancée he once had stabbed into his brain— and he quickly jettisoned the thoughts. Betrayed once, never again. It was probably a good thing that they found the letter when they did, this way things hadn’t gone too far, hadn’t gotten complicated. This was best. He’d be her driver, her primary bodyguard. He was never destined to be her lover; it would never work. This was situational attraction; that’s what he had to remember.
Zachary stared at the elevator doors and then ignored the shudder that the memory of Anita’s words produced. “In the elevator . . .” He could just imagine it.
No. Think about something else. Okay, mission-related: He liked being early for the flight, but hated wearing a suit and having a wire in his ear. After last night, his white, Oxford button-down shirt and rep tie felt totally confining, just like the boring lace-up wing-tip shoes did. Men in black; Zachary shook his head. Black jeans and a T-shirt would have made him feel more comfortable, even fatigues would have been okay by him. But Lowell had them all looking like a Secret Ser vice detail.
The elevator sounded and shook him out of his thoughts. He stepped into the elevator car alone and pressed the button, watching the numbers light up as he ascended. Mild adrenaline coursed through him, wondering how he was going to handle being around her for ten days, especially after tasting her kiss, her skin, feeling her against him. With any luck, things would be fairly routine; he’d do the job, his buddy would get paid, and then he’d get back to base. Simple. He had to disengage from the personal. He was just glad that he was able to convince Lowell that he was doing him a big favor, and not the other way around. His buddy was way too proud to have it any other way.
But as Zach exited on his floor, all his hopes of an easy morning following practically no sleep last night were dashed. The first thing he heard was Anita’s voice yelling expletives so loud that she might as well have had the suite door open. What the hell had happened now?
Taking his time, he approached the door and then knocked, glancing at his watch. Whatever the problem was, his only concern and responsibility at the moment was to safely get her from point A, the building, to point B, the airport, and aboard her private charter. If her family had started some drama, he’d break both her brothers’ faces.
The door swung open with a bang and for a few seconds he was at a loss for words. Today she wasn’t the scared little girl or a victim. Something had clearly pissed her off to the point where she was ready to fight even a potential stalker.
Anita Brown stood with a challenge in her stance, five-foot-seven worth of stunning gorgeous female teetering on gold stiletto heels, a graceful hand on her hip, sunglasses masking her lovely eyes but not hiding her frown. A belted, ivory linen pants suit hugged her fantastic curves, a gold bra showing in the deep plunging neckline. Chestnut brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and a glistening mouth pouted as she finally crossed her arms.
“These people get on my last nerve, Zach.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, peering around her at the man in the living room and trying to keep the personal nature of their relationship off radar.
“They’re trying to pull a contractual fast one, saying your firm is too costly, and denying me security— and I’m not having it,” she said, full of attitude then turning away and walking back to the man she’d been arguing with.
Zach stepped just inside the door and closed it, manning an observation post by the door.
“I don’t care what Jonathan said and I don’t even know why you’re here!” she shouted, pointing at the poor man who’d obviously been sent to deliver a message she didn’t like. “This could have been done over the phone and the security detail is part of my contract. Tell him to read page thirty-five, section G, paragraph five,
all right? It says that he has to pay for them when on tour for his label, and since the USO tour was booked on his label, not mine, then this is his dime.”
“You never used to go here, ’Nita,” the nervous man said, glancing at Zachary, who hadn’t moved a muscle. “This isn’t good business, it’s pure feminine spite. You used to be fine with Jon paying your brothers and your father to do your security detail. Why all the changes? Why all the drama? Don’t you want them to benefit from your success?”
“Don’t try to play me, Ron,” she said, circling him and making him turn to keep her in front of him. “The good cop/bad cop thing isn’t working this morning. You had a lot of nerve trying to get my brothers up to my temporary apartment this morning, like nothing would be wrong and I’d change my mind. You set them up to get stopped at the doorman, not me. Who told you it was all right to hire them and try to void my contract with SWAT International?”
“I can’t believe you actually did that to your own blood, girl . . . damn . . .” Ron hung his head and fingered his baseball cap. “You’re really still that mad at Jon?”
“You tell that sorry son of a bitch boss of yours that he’s done taking advantage of me. I deserve real top-notch security— and going into freaking Baghdad, that’s what I want!”
“But we could get two or three outside hires to go with your brothers and—”
“What did I say? Are you deaf? I don’t want my brothers or my father siphoning another penny off me. I’m also not going to make it easy for Jon to do anything on the cheap like he had been doing— skimming expenses because I’m his so-called woman. News flash, I’m not! So that’s what’s business, Ron. Take a memo. The cosmetics endorsements, TV appearances, new clothing line I’m launching, and every movie script I’m reviewing all come under my new label; he still owns the recording deals, and with that comes the guaranteed coverage of promotion and security.”
She smiled a beautifully wicked smile and took a breath. “Fool did that when he thought I was still in love, I suppose— and thought I’d never wise up like the others he’d run in circles. That’s not my problem. So, no, I’m not using some company he chooses— which will probably be some jackleg goons he knows from his old thug life. Tell the bastard to read the contract, and if he reneges, he can talk to my ass, and to my attorney! I am not afraid of him.”
Zachary stood at attention at the door, watching the argument, watching the beauty before him rip into the messenger. He liked her fire, but it also made him wary. He was glad she’d found her fight, but having seen the lioness in her, he was now also aware that she had claws and teeth. The transformation was both alluring and unsettling. That was the thing he was never quite sure of— a woman could be one way when she was trying to enter your heart, and then could flip and crush your heart right under her stiletto heel the way Anita was carrying on now.
“All right, ’Nita,” Ron finally said, and released a long sigh. “I’ll let Jon know . . . there’s no reasoning with you when you get like this. I’m out. But, just remember, Jonathan has a mean streak, too, and there will definitely be consequences, if you keep pushing him like this.”
“Yeah, well, life has consequences— I guess Jonathan learned that lesson, too,” she said addressing Ron’s back.
Zachary stepped aside and opened the door for the man who was leaving. He didn’t even acknowledge him with a nod, which was cool, because what was there to say? The man had been humiliated in front of a complete stranger. Zachary listened to the door close.
“My bags are in the other room,” Anita said, walking over to a small side table that held her Prada purse. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
For a moment he didn’t move, just watched her fidget with her handbag and then extract a tube of lip gloss. After she quickly applied it, she tilted her head to the side. “So, where’s the Delta Force dude . . . is that the last person we’re waiting on?”
“There has been a slight personnel change that I thought you might want to be aware of before we went down to the limo.”
“No more contract flubs today, Zach . . . c’mon. You just heard me light into Ron and company.” She shook her head. “There was supposed to be some ex-Delta Force dude with all the medals and what ever. Please tell me this isn’t some bait-and-switch bullcrap, because I know Jonathan will dig into your company’s paperwork and try to sue your company into—”
“I appreciate the concern, ’Nita, but it’s no bait and switch,” Zachary said, carefully coming closer to her. “The primary came down with influenza—”
“In May?”
“In May,” Zachary said, using his most practiced monotone military response. “It’s going to be fine.”
Anita snapped her purse shut. “Jonathan Evans believes everybody’s got game, so why not you. I just don’t want to see you take the fall if your firm isn’t completely airtight.”
She had a right to be worried; Lowell or someone from the firm should have informed her before now. But he also understood why no one had. His buddy couldn’t afford to lose this contract, and it was evident now just how complicated Anita Brown’s business relationships were. Zachary dug into his vest pocket and produced his security stats sheet as well as his passport.
“Evans can’t touch Lowell Johnson for breach of contract. Current Delta Force, still employed by the U.S. military— on leave and on assist, ma’am.”
To his surprise after a moment of reading and scrutinizing his documents, she laughed and then handed him back his papers, looking him up and down.
“You’ll do,” she said with a mischievous half-smile. “I just have one question though.”
“Ma’am?” he said, teasing her while trying to stave off the electric current that her flagrant assessment produced.
“You married?”
He gave her a quick wink. “No.”
CHAPTER 6
NO MATTER HOW one prepared oneself, there was simply no getting used to going through all the security checks and documentation required in the private charter area with the amounts of equipment and firearms they had to carry. An interminable flight was ahead of them with refueling stops in London, then Cairo, and then eventually they’d get to Baghdad some seventeen-plus hours later. From there, they’d practically be living on a plane and moving around the Middle East.
The small talk with staff was wearing her nerves thin— right now she didn’t want to talk to the band members or backup singers, didn’t want to chitchat with the stylists, or dish the dirt with her personal assistant, Megan. In all, she had a full crew of audio techs, lighting techs, dancers, set designers, photogs, plus a band that, when adding everyone together and not including security, amounted to a forty-person entourage . . . and all she could think about was Zachary Mitchell.
Her mind wouldn’t turn off; there were so many things about him that she wanted to know. She’d just learned that he was Delta Force, which completely explained how he handled himself in the parking lot. It also explained the way he used the words “sir” and “ma’am” as though the words themselves were sentence punctuation. From his outburst she’d learned that he was also from the ‘hood and wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth, which she now understood was that indefinable thing that gave him a little swagger that was oh so sexy.
After last night, she knew she needed to know more, experience more; she wanted the whole package and was looking forward to unwrapping it a little bit at a time. There were things to learn like what was his family like, what did he believe in . . . he wasn’t married, but were there kids or someone special?
Right now she felt like being lost in her own thoughts, lost in the conversation they’d begun last night before everything went wrong, lost in his arms that had brought her a little comfort and a little piece of home . . . but Zachary Mitchell was seated with the other security guys— so she sat alone.
The huge, comfortable leather seat threatened to swallow her up as she kicked off her shoes and allowed the deep pile carpet
to massage her feet. Megan brought her a chilled glass of champagne and a legal pad.
“You look like you’re in an artistic frame of mind,” Megan said with a wink, her corkscrew rust-colored locks bouncing as she spoke.
“You know me,” Anita said with a smile, accepting both offered items with deep appreciation.
“There’s some fruit, good stuff for lunch and dinner . . . shrimp, the works. They stowed everything you like— just signal when you want some company or something to eat.”
“Thanks, lady,” Anita said, allowing her gaze to inadvertently drift toward Zachary Mitchell.
Megan glanced at him from the corner of her eye and then leaned in. “Who the heck is he?”
Anita smiled and shrugged. “He came with the security contract.”
Megan slid into the seat next to Anita and leaned in to whisper. Her melodious island accent was filled with mischief. “Are you serious? The stylists have been buzzing ever since he did the walk-through, and if you’ve laid claim on him, you’re gonna have to stab every woman in your backup section— maybe even a few of the guys.”
“Tell ‘em I’ll cut ‘em,” Anita said, laughing.
“And I so don’t blame you,” Megan said, her gaze now riveted to Zachary. “Want me to tell him to come over?”
“No, no,” Anita said quickly. “I don’t want him to think . . . uhm . . .”
“Listen to you,” Megan said giggling quietly. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you sound like this over some man, not even Jonathan.”
The mention of Jonathan stole Anita’s smile.
“I didn’t mean to go there,” Megan whispered, her smile quickly vanishing. “Aw, lady— sore spot, I’m so sorry . . . I was just glad to see that somebody sparked your interest.”
“I’m just being silly,” Anita said. “Lemme work it out on paper.”
Megan nodded, kissed her forehead, and stood. “Call me if you want anything, all right?”