“Then I’m sorry, Dad. But right now, it’s the best I can do. And we will talk. We’ll talk or you can take your bodyguards and shove them clear to Timbuktu for all I care. Because there won’t be a single one leaving with me otherwise. I do know how to hire my own protection.”
“Does that include Lieutenant Krieger?” His voice was smooth, but she detected the edge of mockery in it, the knowledge that her relationship with Kell went far beyond that of other bodyguards.
Kell’s lips twitched as his eyes gleamed back at her. She had a feeling he’d be right behind her no matter what she decided.
“Kell is another case entirely,” she assured her father as she turned back to him. “But I don’t think you want to push that subject. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”
She nodded to her father, turned, and forced herself to walk sedately to the door. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rage at him. She wanted to rage at herself.
It was her own fault it had come to this, and she knew it. She should have fought him sooner. She should have stood her ground years ago and made him face the fact that she couldn’t tolerate the control he wanted to place on her. That she needed adventure. She needed excitement. She needed to live, despite his fears.
And why did she have a feeling Kell wasn’t going to be as easygoing about this whole “working with her” thing as he pretended to be? She had heard his tone of voice when he demanded the party be canceled. It was rough, deep, filled with arrogant demand.
That lazy attitude hadn’t fooled her.
He was like a panther, watching, stalking, waiting. When he struck, it would be with devastating results.
She had already made up her mind that she wasn’t running. As she spoke to her father, listened to the reluctantly given information, she had begun making her own plans. Her own decisions. It would begin today. At the moment she stood outside the office and listened to her father’s and Kell’s raised voices, she had decided she was no longer allowing others to make decisions for her.
She was an adult, and she had been making decisions for herself for years. She could do it. She knew how. And she would let both men know, in no uncertain terms, that she would begin exercising her right to do just that.
More than hour later, Emily disconnected the call she had made to Wilma Dunmore. The other woman hadn’t seemed in the least put off by the fact that Emily was asking about the security around the mansion for the party. The number of security guards, the areas most heavily guarded, and the security weaknesses. Of course, Wilma Dunmore never took anything for granted. She was one of the few women Emily knew who could have run the country with little or no help.
Sitting down at her desk she made a quick sketch of the Dunmore mansion, drawing on her memories of it from the visits she had made there since she was a child, and added in the security details Wilma had given her.
As she worked, she saw several points that she outlined to discuss with the hostess later that evening. As she finished the last notes, the bedroom door opened and Kell stepped inside.
She could feel the anger pulsing from him in waves.
“I want you out of here.” His voice was dark, dangerous, as he closed the door behind him with a snap. “You don’t need to go to this party. You don’t fucking need to wave yourself at that assassin like a fresh piece of meat in front of a hungry dog.”
Emily leaned back in her chair as she stared at him, watching as he stalked toward her, his body tense as he scowled down at her furiously.
His gaze was predatory, his expression fierce. Before, she might have hesitated to argue with him. She knew this expression. The alpha-male look that said things were going to go his way or else.
In this case, it would be “or else.” Because she wasn’t backing down.
“What better way to draw him out?” she asked logically. At least, she hoped it was logical. “I can’t run forever, Kell, you know that as well as I do.”
“Running forever isn’t an option, just until we catch the bastard that put Fuentes onto you.” He plowed his fingers roughly through his hair. “Emily, be reasonable about this. There’s no way to ensure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you won’t be hurt. I can’t do that.” She saw the grimace that twisted his expression. “I can’t let you be hurt.”
“Why? I’m just a job, Kell. When it’s over, you’ll walk away to the next job, and then to the next job. You do your best—”
“Is that all you think this is?”
Before Emily could do more than gasp she found herself jerked from the desk chair. Kell’s hands were wrapped around her upper arms firmly, holding her upright as he glowered down at her.
“What else is it then?” Emily cried back, feeling her heart suddenly racing in her chest, a sensitivity clashing through her body that hadn’t been there before.
She could feel the force of his will whipping around her. It was in the fierce brightening of his eyes, the hint of Cajun accent in his tone, and the heavy sensuality that suddenly shaped his lips.
“Why don’t I show you what else it is, sugar.” His lips pulled back, revealing the line of his clenched teeth and the snarl of determination in his lips a second before his head lowered, those lips shaped themselves to hers, and his teeth parted to allow his tongue to plunge ruthlessly into her mouth.
Hard, desperate. There was no denying, no escaping, the hunger that suddenly ignited inside her.
This was a punch of emotion-fueled need, hunger, a driving quest to sate the greedy sensuality that rose between them each time their gazes met.
It had been building since that first look from across the garishly lit stage where she had stripped for him. That first look, his gaze even behind the dark glasses locking with hers and opening a part of her soul she hadn’t known existed.