Hidden Heat: Hauberk Protection, Book 4 (11 page)

She grimaced. “I hope you don’t mind cat hair. He sheds. A lot.”

“Doesn’t bother me.” Instead of sacking out on the couch as she’d expected, he scratched the cat behind its ears, then followed her into the kitchen. “Why don’t I help you?”

“I don’t know. Are you one of those guys who uses up every pot and pan in the kitchen and then leaves the mess for someone else to clean up?”

“Mmm, don’t rightly know. I rarely cook.”

She rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out two jars of her mother’s tomato sauce, along with the spices she’d need. “Grab one of the onions from that basket, and dice it, will you?”

For a guy who rarely cooked, he sliced the onion with a speed and accuracy rivaling a Cordon Bleu chef.

“Well, for a guy who doesn’t cook, you know your way around the kitchen. Who taught you? Your mom?”

Sadness flashed over his face but he turned away as he dumped the diced onions in the pot. “No. Boarding school kid, remember?”

Shoot. Way to remind him he was an orphan, Sandy.

By the time he turned back, he’d regained control of his expression. “I have a knack with knives. It’s come in handy in my line of work.”

His line of work. Right. While Sam and Chad had often warned her about asking too many questions about any of the manager’s pasts, it didn’t stop her from wondering what they had done before they’d joined Hauberk. Troy was no different. In fact, from the lack of details in his file, he was even more mysterious. “I’m glad. Otherwise you might not be with me tonight.”

He darted a glance in her direction before focusing too hard on the red pepper on the chopping board. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“I know you worked with the Diplomatic Security Service. And of course I’ve read the reports of some of the missions you’ve been on with Hauberk.” Like the one where they’d rescued the remaining hostages. Dry reports filed long after the blood had dried. “I figure you probably had to defend yourself by any means possible.”

“I’ve done what I’ve had to.”

She’d heard enough talk in the lunchroom, along with sitting in on enough meetings in Sam’s office, to know that what really went down—the adrenaline, the fear—did not translate onto paper or pixels. “How did you end up in Diplomatic Security?”

“The State Department recruited me at college. I’m pretty sure Senator Brannally put a word in for me and since I didn’t have anywhere else to go—which may have been why they found me a good candidate—I said yes.”

“So why did you leave?”

“It was time.”

She moved closer, until their hips bumped. “You don’t owe me an answer if you don’t want to tell me, but I would like to know more about you.”

He took a deep breath and carefully set the knife down before turning to her. “The work was good at first, exciting. I got to guard some bigwigs, go places I’d only read about. But then—” he drew a deep breath, “—it got to a point where I started questioning some of my orders, and the decisions the higher-ups were making. I started wondering who the good guys were and if they were any different than the bad guys.”

“I’m sorry.” Sensing his discomfort with the topic, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her nose in his chest. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “There are some things I’m not going to talk to you about, missions and such. But considering our…situation…I think you have the right to ask me the occasional question.”

She pulled back against his arms and looked at him. “Situation.”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “You’re the one who insisted that we’re not into anything serious, that you don’t want a long-term relationship, so I’m not sure what we qualify as at the moment. Would you prefer affair?”

She frowned. For some strange reason, hearing her own words used against her annoyed her. “We’re lovers, so I guess affair works well enough.”

“So do you have any more questions for me, sunshine? Bearing in mind I have the right to ask you questions too.”

“Hey, I’m Miss Apple-Pie-and-Ice-Cream, remember? I’m an open book.”

“Are you?” His thumb swiped across her cheek. “I don’t see the regular Miss Apple-Pie-and-Ice-Cream having a threesome.”

“Maybe I’m a banana split, the ice cream nestled between two bananas.” She clapped a hand to her mouth and giggled. Her laughter died when she noticed he wasn’t smiling. “Come on, it’s funny. Haven’t you ever fantasized about having one? I thought it was something all guys fantasized about.”

“I’ve had one.” From the way he ground out the confession, he hadn’t enjoyed it.

“What happened? Was the girl your girlfriend and she decided she liked the other guy better?” Or other girl better, depending upon the threesome.

“It was part of an op I was on.” He pulled away and walked to the window, stared out as the wind lashed it with a combination of sleet and snow, their first winter storm. “I prefer to choose my partners. And what we do. But that one? I had no choice or else I would have blown my cover. And the other man—he was a bastard who got off on hurting his girlfriend in front of an audience. From everything I could tell, she got off on it too, and she sure as hell seemed willing, but I came away from it feeling like I’d been part of a rape.”

“Have you ever talked to anyone about it?” Somehow she didn’t see him sitting on a psychiatrist’s couch listening to any touchy-feely advice.

“Once the assignment ended, but…” He faced her, his expression both bleak and fierce. “Tell me the guys you were with didn’t hurt you that night.”

“They didn’t,” she whispered. “Oh, Troy.”

“Don’t get all maudlin on me, sunshine. It was a long time ago and I’m over it.”

Despite his assurances, she wasn’t so sure. The conversation between them during dinner stayed on the lighter side; Troy’s compliments of her mother’s homemade sauce, her telling him about some of Xander’s exploits. By the time they piled their dishes in the sink and retreated to the couch, the cinnamon from the apple crumble she’d baked for dessert still hung heavy in the air, giving the apartment a particularly cozy, welcoming feel to it.

Over the past two weeks they’d been together, she’d discovered they had similar viewing tastes. Legal dramas over comedies. Having Troy’s warm body cuddled up beside her on the couch, his hands toying with the side of her breast made it perfect.

He straightened, removing his hand from her breast when a key jangled in the lock and the door opened. Crap, sometimes Jazz had the worst timing.

“Hey, Jazz.”

“Hey, Sandy. Troy. You remember Mitch, don’t you?”

Troy stood and shook Mitch’s hand, giving him a once-over that had Sandy wondering. Didn’t he ever turn off that bodyguard switch?

Mitch flopped into the chair nearest Troy, grabbed Jazz and tugged her onto his lap, openly fondling her breasts. “So I hear you’re a bigwig over at Hauberk. You guard anyone famous?”

Troy’s jaw tightened as he settled back onto the couch beside Sandy. “Our clients’ identities are kept private.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. So you guys have to be trained in car chases and how to shoot and everything, right? Because the dudes you protect might have stalkers and stuff, right? Real bad guys, I hear.”

“Yup.” Troy stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle.

Sandy might have bought his attempt to project relaxation if it hadn’t been for him fiddling with his watch. She curled her legs underneath her while trying to figure out what it was about the conversation that was annoying him. Was it the conversation itself or the way Mitch was pawing Jazz right in front of them?

He removed his hand from Jazz. “Hey, baby, why don’t you go grab me a beer, huh?”

Rolling her eyes, Jazz climbed off his lap. When she returned with the longneck, she handed it to him only to have Mitch frown. “Hey, you shoulda offered my man Troy one too. You want one, Troy? Jazz, go get him a beer, will ya?”

Troy shook his head, his jaw tight. “If I wanted a beer, I’d get one myself.”

“Cool.” Mitch took a long pull on the beer.

Sandy exchanged a “what a douche” look with Jazz, who shrugged.

Mitch pulled Jazz back onto his lap and stretched out his legs, considering Troy. “So if someone comes to you saying they’re in danger, how do you know whether to give them bodyguards or to stash them away somewhere secret?”

“It depends upon what the threat is against them.” Troy’s voice turned chilly, his words clipped. So it wasn’t the way Mitch had been handling Jazz that was bugging Troy, Sandy realized, but something obviously was getting his back up.

“So what do you do with these poor saps? Put them in a hotel room? Have this big secret bunker you keep people in? What?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss it.” Though he kept his voice low, his words snapped out.

“Aw, come on, just between you and me. What type of places do you use for your safe houses? Do you actually have houses scattered in the ’burbs? Or what?”

Troy ran a finger around his collar, loosening it. “I told you, I’m not at liberty to say.”

“What’s the big deal?” Though his tone remained light, Mitch’s fingers tightened around the bottle until his nail beds were white. “Is it one of those macho bullshit ‘if you told me, you’d have to kill me’ things, big man?”

“Yeah, actually, it is.” The thigh muscles resting against Sandy’s tightened as if he were preparing to launch himself to his feet.

To Sandy’s relief, Jazz stood up and held out her hand. “Come on, Mitch. Let’s go to my room. I’m sure Troy doesn’t want to spend his time off talking shop.”

Mitch’s scowl deepened. “Aw, come on, Jazz baby. I want to get to know your friends.”

“Actually,” Sandy jumped in, “you did sort of interrupt us. I’m sure you won’t mind giving us some alone time.”

Like I gave you the other day when I walked in on the two of you fucking right here on the couch
, she wanted to say but didn’t.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Troy narrow his eyes at Mitch and give him one of the looks like Chad used when he was exceedingly pissed off at an agent, the type that cowed even the most macho operative. Mitch blanched and took Jazz’s hand and the two of them disappeared into Jazz’s bedroom.

“Sorry about that.” Sandy watched as the tension bled from Troy.

“Don’t apologize for things that are out of your control.” He shot a dark look down the hall. “I don’t like him. There’s something off about him.”

“He’s not always like that. Usually he’s friendly and nice.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “It sort of felt like watching two alpha dogs fighting over the territory.”

Her head bounced lightly as he relaxed enough to laugh. “Are you calling me a dog?”

Recognizing that he’d thrown her own line back at her, Sandy chuckled too. “No, I’m saying you’re protective of your territory.”

“Guilty as charged.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her tight against him, resting his cheek against the top of her head. “Can’t you afford to have your own place? I don’t like the idea that he’s around you the nights I’m not here.”

“This is Jazz’s place. She took me in when I first moved to D.C. and was looking for a job. And yeah, I guess I could afford my own place, but I like having her around. We keep each other grounded, you know? But if he bothers you, we could always go to your place.”

It wasn’t a completely altruistic offer. All their dates had ended up in her bed. One day she wanted to wake up in his. Then again, maybe he was a slob and was embarrassed that he only had one pair of sheets that seldom got changed.

“I’ve got a roommate too, remember?”

“Oh yeah, Scott’s staying with you, isn’t he?” Two guys in one apartment. Yeah, she bet it was messy. She jumped to her feet and held out her hand. “You’re right. We should take this to my bedroom then.”

Chapter Eight

As she entered the bedroom, she pulled off her top and dropped it on the floor. Two steps later, her bra—a sexy little scrap of black lace—hit the carpet. After he thumbed the button to lock the door, he undid his shirt and let it drop on top of her bra. By the time she stood by the side of the bed she was naked as the day she was born. And so was he.

Before she could turn to face him, he banded his arms around her waist. The skin-to-skin contact had his cock as hard as a frickin’ fence pole. She clenched her cheeks when the shaft parted them, providing a friction that caused his balls to draw tight to his body.

Yup, an angel in face, a devil in body and spirit.

“Lie down on the bed. Face up.” Damn, his voice sounded like he’d swallowed a goddamned bullfrog.

After planting a light kiss on his nose, she pulled the quilt off the bed then crawled across the sheet, leaving her ass high in the air, taunting him.

When she settled at the top end of the bed, her beatific smile was back in place. His breath stuttered in his throat when she spread her legs and displayed her glistening cleft. All she’d done was undress and she was ready for him. It shouldn’t have surprised him when her hand skimmed over that belly button ring that had been such a surprise. It shouldn’t have surprised him when her fingers parted the glistening folds and toyed with her clit.