Ollie blinked in surprise, then moved from behind the desk. “I’ll be downstairs. Lock the door when you leave. And turn off the computer.”
She gave him a sweet smile. “I will, Ollie. And thanks.”
“No problem.”
When he left, Alex closed the door and stared at her. “Why the hell did you come up here with him?”
“I trusted my gut. Don’t be mad.” She dropped back into the chair and turned to the keyboard.
“I’m way past mad, Jazz. I told you not to leave that office with him.”
“He’s harmless.”
“You don’t know that.”
She continued to scroll through something on the computer. “He’s just a…Oh.” She paused for a moment, tapped a few more words out, and leaned closer to the screen. Irritation prickled over him with each click of the keys.
“He’s another guy with a wicked crush on my sister, who drinks too much to forget about it,” she said absently, her attention focused on the computer.
So she and Max had come to the same conclusion.
“I’ve known a million like him,” she added. “My shoulder’s practically broken from all the fools who’ve cried on it over the years.”
She tapped and the screen changed, and he watched her enter a password. “And you buy that?”
She shrugged, concentrating.
His gut clenched with every second he stared at the back of her head. “Damn it, turn around and look at me.”
Her fingers froze. “Excuse me?”
“Turn. Around. And look. At me.”
She deliberately tapped a key, demolishing the last shred of control he had. In three steps, he’d rounded the desk and twirled the chair with way more force than necessary. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“To you?” She shot up indignantly and he pushed her right back down. Sparks flared from her platinum eyes and her delicate nostrils puffed in fury. Taking slow, even breaths of self-control, she stood. “Don’t you ever push me back into place again, Alex.”
“Jazz—”
“I am not your little sister.” She stabbed his chest with her index finger to emphasize every word. “And you are not some macho Cuban dictator who can tell me what to do and when to do it and who to do it with.”
He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a second. “Ollie is an unknown quantity, Jazz.” He kept his voice as low and modulated as possible, willing his temper to disappear. “He could have hurt you, killed you—”
She slammed her right hand into her pocket and whipped out his pistol, holding it by the butt so he could see the safety was on. “I can take care of myself, Alex.”
He stared at the weapon, a thousand thoughts at war in his brain. But the only one he heard was the one that screamed from his heart. “I want to take care of you.”
“What?” The word mixed with a disbelieving snort. “You want to take care of me?”
Carajo. Why did he say that? “It’s my job.”
“First of all, you were fired. Second, I don’t need you to take care of me.” She searched his face, her expression intent. “And I don’t want you to take care of me. I am capable of handling that myself.”
And that, he knew, was the root of this ache in his body, this odd emotion that rocked him inside out. Of course she was capable of taking care of herself. Of course she didn’t need him. Of course she didn’t want him to step in to guard, protect, and defend her.
But he didn’t know any other way when he felt like this. When he felt so…
“Easy, boy,” she said with a light laugh, stashing the gun back in her pocket and regarding him closely. “I don’t like that look, Romero.”
“What look?” As if he didn’t know. You’re so deep into her you can’t see straight. Shit. He hated when Roper was right.
“This is…this is just sex, Alex,” Jazz said softly. “Don’t delude yourself that it’s anything more than that.”
Just sex?
He buried his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her even closer, so they touched. “I thought he hurt you.”
“I’m not stupid. I knew I could handle him.”
“I would have killed him.”
She smiled. “You’re sweet, honey.” She tipped her face toward his, and placed her lips right over his mouth, whispering, “But I’m not in the market for a hero.”
“I’m no hero,” he admitted, closing the millimeter of space between them. In an instant, he channeled all the whirling frustration and fear and fury in his head and heart into a hard, hungry kiss.
She slid her tongue between his teeth, levering her hips against an erection he didn’t even realize he had. One hand pulled her tighter, the other sought the comfort of her breast.
Her voice rang in his ears as her body filled his hands.
This is just sex.
Her every movement confirmed that. Sex. Here. Now. Why wasn’t that perfect? Why did that leave him with an empty sensation, instead of relief and the usual thrill of the conquest? Why wasn’t sex enough?
He pulled away, still tasting the remnants of café Cubano on her mouth. Under his hand, her nipple pebbled and her heart thumped.
She closed her eyes, dropped her head back and opened her throat and chest to him. Kneading the tender flesh under his palm, he pushed her onto Parrish’s desk. With one knee, he spread her legs and eased his body on top of hers, his hard-on pulsing against her.
She sucked in a raspy breath, her fingers pulling at his hair.
Just sex.
If he could just take her here, now, without care, that would prove she was right. No need to protect her or watch over her. No need for anything but lust.
Nothing like that miserable helplessness that had nearly wiped him out when she’d disappeared.
He yanked at her top, pushing it up over her bra. She dug into his pants and enclosed him in her hand. She whispered his name in a husky voice, stroking his cock furiously.
Blood hammered in his head, rushing to his loins, seeking a release. They scratched out harsh, ragged breaths as their bodies rocked in syncopated rhythm against each other. She murmured what she wanted in lusty, scorching words.
He answered the same way. Hard, fast, hot. No tenderness, no emotion.
Just sex.
He pushed her pants down, and she fumbled with his belt and shoved at his trousers. Even with a sliver of silk denying him entrance, the heat of their groins burned where he slid between her legs. Hard and full and bursting with need, he yanked her flimsy panties to the side. She lifted her hips to him, the tangy smell of an aroused woman sucker-punching him with need.
She pushed him inside her.
Sweat broke over his forehead and his hair fell into his eyes. Swiping it away, he locked on her. He had to see her, had to witness this.
“Alex, now.” She closed her fists around his cock and guided him farther into her, the lace of her panties scratching his swollen flesh. “I’m coming, Alex,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Please.”
“I don’t have any—”
She pushed him in deeper. “I’m on the pill.”
Something clunked off the desk as he thrust into her, the force of his lunge causing a little earthquake around them. Once, twice, three times he buried himself as every shred of control vanished. He came like a thunderclap at the instant she did, emptying himself with endless, mighty jerks of blinding satisfaction and a guttural groan torn from his throat.
Sweaty, dizzy, spent, he fell on top of her. But still his chest hurt, and it wasn’t from strain or heavy breathing.
Carajo. She was wrong. She was dead wrong.
This wasn’t just sex.
His heartbeat finally steadied and her warm, sweet breath had nearly returned to normal. Easing out of her, they both let out a soft moan of unwillingness to part.
He brushed his hair out of his face and pulled up his pants, unable to stop looking at her as he zipped. She was so damn beautiful, with her silver eyes all sparkly and
soulful.
Did she know? Did she know this wasn’t just sex, for him?
No. Nor would she ever. Slowly, he smoothed her shirt over her lacy bra and her stomach, his fingers traveling south to linger on the wet silk of her panties. “You couldn’t even get your clothes off before you came.”
She grinned. “And you just did it on the client’s desk.”
It shouldn’t have, but the idea made him laugh. “I already got canned.”
“I’ll talk to Parrish,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “We’ll get your job back, I promise.”
The office door suddenly whipped open, hitting the wall with a solid thwack. Alex had his gun cocked and ready before Jazz even sat up.
In the doorway, Ollie ignored the weapon pointed at him. His narrowed gaze slid over Jazz, deliberately halting at the pants that hung wide open at her hips.
“You’re right about one thing.” Revulsion trembled in his voice. “You are very different from Jessie.” Then he turned and disappeared.
Chapter
Fourteen
L ucy’s heels clicked on the polished wood of the Sastres’ home, the sound echoing through the two-story entryway. Through the leaded-glass front door, she could see the extravagant utility vehicle Alex had rented as it pulled into the circular drive.
“If you would be so kind,” she said to Alex’s sister. “I’d like to speak to him alone.” Not that their conversation hadn’t been interesting. She loved to learn about her employees’ childhoods; it helped her understand how to motivate them. Ileana had been generous with her tales of Alex’s overprotective streak, but Lucy had been more interested in the relatives remaining in Cuba. Alex had never talked about them. But of course she knew who and where they were.
“You can have privacy in the living room, Ms. Sharpe,” Ileana replied, her dark eyes reminding Lucy of Alex. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
Although the expensive cut glass broke the visual into a hundred pieces, Lucy saw Alex get out of the car and go to the woman who obviously couldn’t wait to have her door opened. Their bodies came together as though no force of nature could keep them apart.
She let out a soft sigh. Poor Alex. He was cursed.
The front door opened and Alex didn’t miss a step at the sight of her.
“Lucy,” he said, that devilish half smile tipping his lips. “Imagine finding you here.”
He made no attempt to disengage his arm from the woman he was supposed to be protecting. Of course, he was no longer obliged to follow Lucy’s rules.
“I happened to be in Miami,” she said, her attention shifting to the woman on his arm. The imposter sister was not nearly as polished-looking as the anchorwoman, with tousled spikes in her auburn hair and barely a drop of makeup to adorn her catlike eyes. Earthy, vibrant, and feminine despite the tough-girl clothes; Lucy had no doubt Alex would be attracted to her. “I’m Lucy Sharpe.”
The woman reached out her hand and offered a shake, evidently as unfazed as Alex was. “Jazz Adams. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Somehow Lucy doubted that. “The pleasure is mine.” She looked from one to the other. “Where have you two been?” She didn’t need to ask what they’d been doing. The beard burn on Jazz Adams’s creamy complexion gave that away.
“At my sister’s office.”
“None of your business.”
Their responses cancelled each other out as they spoke in unison.
Lucy smiled, her focus on Alex. “As a matter of fact, it is my business. And yours, Alex.” She indicated the formal room to her right, as comfortable in the house as if it were her own. “Could I speak to you privately?”
Lucy recognized the stubborn set of his jaw, the half-hooded look in his eyes that preceded a negative response.
“Please,” Jazz said before Alex could respond. “Talk to her. I have something I have to do.”
He looked dubious, but Jazz put her hand on his arm and added a meaningful look. “There’s nothing to be gained by being obstinate.”
Tough, sexy, and wise. Lucy hadn’t expected an ally in the girl.
Alex spoke to his sister for a moment, and Lucy strolled into the living room. She chose a straight-back chair situated in front of a wide window, leaving Alex to sink into a buttercup yellow sofa across from her with the light directly in his eyes.
But he chose to stand, crossing his arms and tilting his head enough to communicate impatience and also avoid the streaming sunlight. “I thought I was eighty-sixed this morning.”
“And yet you continued an unauthorized investigation.”
He shrugged. “Anything you hear from Max Roper is suspect.”
Someday she hoped to find out just why Max and Alex hated each other so much. Dan Gallagher chalked it up to “male pattern domination” but she believed it was more than that.
“I knew this would happen,” she said, shaking her head.
“You knew what would happen?” Irritation darkened his tone. “You knew I’d piss off Kimball Parrish, or you knew I’d keep working to find Jessica Adams after you axed me, or you knew I’d…” He glanced in the direction where Jazz had been, and let the suggestion trail into the air. “What exactly did you know, Lucy, when you ordered me to Miami and then followed me here?”
The only thing more formidable than his libido was his temper; only the truth would calm him down.
“Alex,” she said softly. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”
His expression didn’t change as he fried her with an impatient gaze.
“Kimball Parrish is not really the client in this case.”
She knew she’d have to tell him eventually, but she wished it could have been later rather than sooner. And she wished they hadn’t lost track of Jessica Adams in the meantime; that would have made everything much less complicated.
“Miles Yoder is the Bullet Catcher client, Alex. But that is absolutely confidential information. No one is to know.”
Alex dropped onto the sofa. “Then what’s the deal with Parrish?”
“Since he’s footing the bill to provide security to Jessica Adams, technically he is the client. But Miles Yoder brought the job to us, and he is also the client—on a different level.”
He said nothing.
“Miles is a married to my dearest friend, Valerie Brooks. In fact, I introduced them.”
“Really?” He leaned back and looked at her from under those thick lashes. “Then maybe you should be the one to tell her he’s screwing Jessica Adams.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “He is not involved with her. He’s interviewing Jessica for the highest job in broadcasting at his network.”
“So I’ve heard.” He locked his hands behind his head. “And where does Kimball Parrish fit into all of this and why was my impressing him so all-out important?”
Lucy pressed her lips together. After years of CIA training, she always wrestled with the same question: how much to reveal? “As you know, he’s fairly new to the Metro-Net family. The purchase of WMFL by Parrish’s company, Adroit Broadcasting, makes the station the first Metro affiliate Kimball Parrish has owned.”
“And?”
“Miles Yoder is on the board of Yellowstone, the company that owns Metropolitan Networks. He has asked me to staff the assignment with someone who could offer a reliable and objective character assessment of Kimball Parrish.”
Ileana cleared her throat, standing in the entryway with a tray. “Alex told me you like tea, Ms. Sharpe.”
What Alex told his sister, Lucy suspected, was that he needed a café Cubano. Fast. “How thoughtful; thank you.”
They waited while Ileana set up a platter of fruit-filled Cuban pastries, tea, and a container of inky coffee on the table, then left. Alex helped himself to a cup of espresso while Lucy poured her tea.
“Why don’t you start from the beginning, Luce?”
Fair enough. “Kimball mentioned to Miles at a social function that he wanted to hire p
ersonal security for one of his employees who had been harassed by a fan. Miles saw it as an opportunity to place someone trusted near Kimball to observe him and, eventually, provide an appraisal of how he conducts business and handles employees.”
“Why not just interview his employees and look at his P and L statements?” Alex asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” she argued. “He would have no reason to suspect that’s what you are doing.”
“Uh, Luce.” He laughed softly. “Neither did I. Imagine how much more effective I might have been had I known what you wanted.”
She took a sip of tea. “I wanted you to get acclimated to the assignment, then I planned to discuss it with you.” All true. “Adroit is privately held and extremely closed to outsiders. This Parrish, however vocally conservative he is in public, is also an extremely private person. Very few people get close to him.”
“What is Yoder looking for? Dirt?”
“His outspoken politics worry the network, particularly the board of Yellowstone. Miles expects to be named chairman shortly and his ability to get this kind of information is one of the reasons.”
Alex said nothing, no doubt formulating a million questions.
“This decision to have Jazz pose as Jessica has complicated matters,” she added.
He snorted. “Sure has.”
“But Miles is confident that Jessica is successfully pursuing a story that he wants to break on Metro-Net, and once she’s finished, she’ll return. In the meantime, there’s no reason for Kimball Parrish to know that Jazz isn’t Jessica, because he won’t behave as naturally around her.”
He looked skyward in disgust. “Just what I want to be. A pawn in their game.”
“I think of it as a mole. Miles needs to understand the man who has designs on a much bigger empire than he already has. Yellowstone is as vulnerable to takeover as the next company. They didn’t necessarily welcome Adroit into the family, but now they have had to accept them. They want to know what they’re dealing with.”
“Why did he stand Jazz up when she went looking for him the other night?”
“I told him who she was before they met,” Lucy said. “He wasn’t ready to trust an outsider.”