Hard Target (5 page)

“Public displays of affection,” Ryan mumbled.

Jesus no. Just the thought of Simon touching her made the planet tilt off its axis. Only a polar shift might explain the sudden wobble in her stomach. Alex grabbed the case folder, using it as a shield against her chest as she beat a hasty retreat.

“Can I see that?” Simon asked as they walked toward the offices and the elevator.

She darted a look at him and picked up her pace. “No. It’s classified.”

“You really do want me to fly blind on this?”

“No, Dr. Jakes. I want you to do as you’re told, when you’re told.”

“Gun, go get a taxi.” Simon grabbed Alex’s upper arm and brought her up short. “Alex and I need to talk.”

Alex scanned the hall to the left and right. The early birds would be arriving soon. “Not here. Not now.”

He didn’t let her go. The heat of his hand permeated the cotton of her shirt. Warmth sank into her flesh, just as she wanted to sink into him. Everything about Simon Jakes spoke of steadfastness and honor—strong arms, capable fingers, a rock-hard torso she could lean against and rely upon. Searching his face, her attention lingering on the perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip and full swoop of the bottom, she wondered how she could have misread him so badly. He slid his palm to her shoulder and looked her in the eye. No remorse. No anger. Just Simon with a question on his lips.

“What?” She tried not to notice the spicy freshness of his soap.

“Did you really believe them?” His strained question, husky from a half decade of going unasked, hovered with all of the unrealized hope and half-lived dreams of their long-withered love.

“I saw the files on your laptop, Simon.” What else could she say? He’d never denied the accusations in her presence before tonight.

The light dimmed in his expression and he dropped his hand.

“That’s all I needed to know.” Their momentary connection snapped and Simon walked away.

Frozen, Alex watched his retreating form and wondered if she should’ve responded differently. He walked to the door with her nameplate and pushed it open. Examining her empty hands she realized he’d plucked the file from them without her noticing.

“Hey!” She stalked after him.

As she reached the door he tossed the folder on her desk and opened her bottom drawer. Grabbing her purse, he then threw it to her. She caught it one-handed.

“How did you…?”

“I remember a lot of things about you, Alexandra.” He preceded her out the door. “Not all of them bad. Some of them even useful.”

His resolute strides had her trotting to catch up with him at the elevator. She paused at the doors. He turned a hard right toward the exit stairs. She studied the numbered floor display. The car was on forty-seven. They were on six.

“I’m still in the West Village.” She practically ran to keep up with him on the stairs. “You’re uptown in the same building as David Tallis, right?”

He didn’t answer, but she knew the world-famous musician originally hired Günter, and then Simon, to see to his security needs. From those humble beginnings, one of the most highly respected personal protection agencies had formed. Catering to the rich and famous. Until last year, the firm had grossed enough to take them international. Exactly what the duo had planned until a pack of journalists allegedly caught Faust and his girlfriend dabbling in illegal drug trade last year.

Having observed Günter and Jenny up close this evening, the story didn’t fit. Of course the press bought it—the public loved a scandal. The question was, however, what this particular smoke screen had hidden. As they reached the pavement outside, Alex looked Günter over once more in an attempt to reconcile his background with his appearance.

Günter paused as he opened her cab door, apparently feeling her perusal. “What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head.

Piercing blue eyes, almost painful in their clarity and perception, took her measure and then he closed her cab door. Simon took the front passenger seat despite the driver’s protests. The ride from the government building to her apartment only took ten minutes. In the meantime, she had a view of Simon’s stiff shoulders, the curl of ginger hair at his nape, and the well-defined tendons along his neck. If she gave in to the temptation to run her fingers through his hair, she knew she’d feel the telltale hint of crisply dried gel he snuck into the strands to encourage the disarray.

She forced her attention out the window until they pulled up to the curb in front of her brownstone apartment. Simon examined the front of her building as she paid the cabbie. At the entry, she unlocked and shouldered open the glass door. Three locks secured her apartment from the tiny foyer. She set about the tedious process of finding the correct key for each one.

“You never moved?” Simon’s voice rumbled over her.

“Obviously.” She spoke over her shoulder. “Could you please back up?”

He examined the meager space behind him. “Back up to where? The potted cactus?”

“There’s a thought.” His breath hit the back of her neck and she fumbled the keys.

Warm fingers closed over hers. Simon gently pushed her aside, and to her surprise she let him. Dispatching with the other two locks with an efficient twist of his wrist, he opened the door and stepped inside. Lingering just past the threshold, he seemed to assess the space. At 450 square feet it was larger than many Village apartments she’d been in. A counter separated a tiny kitchen from the rest of the space. She’d placed a freestanding shoji screen between the bed and the living area. Bookcases lined most of the walls. It was simple, but it was home.

“Excuse me.” She brushed past him in the short hall.

He grunted. “I’d forgotten how small it was.”

Ignoring his rudeness, she dropped her bag on the couch and then removed it to place it on the floor. “You’ll sleep here. It pulls out.”

“Yeah. I remember. That time I came down with the flu.” He eyed the couch ruefully. “Have you had the mattress replaced?”

“No.” Why would she do that? Nobody had slept on it since.

“It’s lumpy as hell.” His attention moved to her bed. At his height he’d be able to see over the shoji screen.

Alex moved toward her sleeping area. “You’re not sleeping with me.”

“All right. Then you take the couch.”

“Ha ha.” She peeked around the screen as she unbuttoned her polo.

One dark-red brow raised, he asked, “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“Simon…”

He stalked around the screen and she retreated until the backs of her thighs bumped against the bed.

“You’re short. You’d fit better on the couch.”

“I’m not sleeping on the couch.” She placed her hands on her hips.

“Then I’ll go home.” He shrugged. “Your choice.”

Her chin popped up. “Leave this apartment or my sight at any time and I’ll arrest you before you get half a block.”

“Ought to be interesting when we go out to breakfast and you come to the men’s room with me.”

“Go before we leave or don’t go at all.” They both knew it was a ridiculous threat, but she refused to acknowledge the blunder.

“We could sleep together.” He studied the bed behind her. “You know it’s big enough.”

The double entendre sent a fluttering through Alex’s lower abdomen. Letting the air out of her lungs slowly, she pushed Simon away with two fingers. His skin fairly sizzled beneath her fingertips, radiating the same heat that used to warm her on chilly winter nights. She snatched her hand away. He retreated a step, but not far enough.

“The couch, Simon. Or the floor. Your choice.” With a toss of her head, she reached up and pulled the pins from her hair. Dark locks cascaded around her shoulders. Some of the pins fell to the floor, making light metallic plinks against the wood.

In the mirror, Alex saw Simon widen his eyes. “Oh thank God.”

“What?” Alex combed her fingers against her scalp.

“I thought you’d cut it.” Simon focused on her hair with an obvious appreciation she’d never thought to witness again. “That knot was so tight.”

Masking her delight, she rolled her eyes and dropped her badge and cuffs on her dresser. “Oh please.”

A quiet thrill passed through her at the exchange. It felt so natural and normal. Almost as if they’d never broken up or grown apart.
Careful there
, she reminded herself as she plucked pins from the floor. She straightened with the intent to put them in the little jar on her dresser. A wall of man pressed up against her back made her freeze. Simon was behind her and she hadn’t heard him move.

“You have the right to remain silent.” His voice was low and hot in her ear.

Alex jumped, adrenaline coursing from behind her navel to every limb. Arousal unbalancing her body and mind, she whirled to fight him but he had the advantage in position, weight and speed. Before she knew how he did it, she lay face up, both wrists cuffed to the headboard above her head.

“Clothes on or off?” Simon straddled a shocked Alexandra.

Pale skin pinked with surprise, mouth forming a little
O
, she blinked the dark fringe of her lashes several times before she spoke.

“Let me go,” she said, breathless.

“No.” He withdrew her gun from its holster and leaned over to place it in the open gun safe under her nightstand.

Breath coming harder, she tilted her chin upward and examined the cuffs. He used her distraction to run his gaze down the elegant swoop of her neck to the hills of softly rounded flesh visible at the juncture of her unbuttoned polo. Alex tugged hard at the cuffs. The headboard thudded violently against the wall.

“Let me go, Simon.” She twisted beneath him.

Worried she’d hurt herself if she pulled any harder, he leaned forward and encircled her wrists with his hands. Dark strands of her hair stuck to her pink lips.

“Shh…” He circled the pulse points at her wrists with his thumbs. “We need to get some sleep.”

“Are you crazy? Let me go!” She bucked upward, jostling him with her hip.

He hissed as pain shot through his groin. Her curves might be padded, but there was still bone underneath. Adjusting the material of his trousers where it tightened across his crotch, he put some distance between himself and her. If she cracked her skull against his they’d probably both sustain concussions.

“I’m not letting you go, Alex.” He eased off the bed and went to the other side of the shoji screen. “I’m changing and then I’m coming in there to sleep. With you.”

A string of curse words followed this revelation.

“Too bad you didn’t brush your teeth first,” he called as he peeled off his trousers and shook them out.

“I’m going to breathe on you all night. And I had onions for dinner.”

Simon pulled his pajama bottoms and toothbrush from his bag. “I know. I smelled them from eight feet away.”

He didn’t doubt the laughter in his voice told her he lied, but she threw a few more creative epithets his way. For the first time since this whole debacle began his mood truly lightened. He was in control. If he wanted to, he could even leave. Glancing over his shoulder, he quickly dismissed the idea. Where would he go?

Whether he liked being coerced or not, he relished the idea of working a mission again—of pitting his wits against and alongside other intelligent people. While babysitting the rich and famous had its perks, it really was, like Alex implied, a lackey’s job.

Pajama bottoms on, Simon wandered to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Alex’s organic fennel-flavored toothpaste rested on the rim of the pedestal sink, a study in red on white. Simon brought the uncapped tube to his nose and sniffed. Encountering the scent, his mind sprang long-forgotten memories from the depths of his subconscious.

Alex, standing next to him clad in a spaghetti-strapped pink baby doll, brushing her teeth. Foam at the corners of her mouth. Breasts jiggling with each little jerk of her arm. She flirted wordlessly with him in the mirror, her expression full of mischief. As she leaned over to spit out the toothpaste, he moved behind her. She let him gather her hair from her face while she rinsed her mouth. When she’d finished, she hadn’t straightened. Their eyes met. Held. He’d pressed his already hard cock against her ass. Through his thin pajama bottoms—the same ones he wore now—he’d luxuriated in her feminine heat and softness.

Simon
… Voice husky and soft, she’d whispered her plea.

Winding her dark hair in a thick rope around his hand, he snugged his fist against her nape. He pulled gently to arch her neck. She looked at him in the mirror, the desire on her face a stark reminder of his own arousal. With his other hand, he freed his hard-on. His fingertips brushed his cock. An inadequate prelude. Breath coming hard, fogging the glass from six inches away, Alex licked her lips. Anticipation thickened the air. Simon tugged at her lacey shorts. Then laid the length of his engorged cock against the creamy skin of her ass. Encouraged by her moan, he slid along the cleft, creating a wedge of pleasure out of the valley of her cheeks. In and out, plunge and retreat, he claimed her crack for his desire. Sweet pulses of light accompanied a flurry of thrusts. With a shout, he’d come in milky ropes over her skin.