Avenging Angel (6 page)

It wasn’t a pleasant sexual awareness. Quite the contrary, it was particularly unpleasant and heavily laden with guilt. She was aware of every breath he was taking in the small room, every movement he made, and exactly where all those moves were taking him—naked into the shower.

The awful thing was that she’d imagined him naked at least a dozen times during her last weeks at Bridgeman, Inc. He had the kind of body that did that to a woman, made her imagine all sorts of things. None of the other female attorneys or secretaries had seemed to notice, at least not to the same degree, or so they’d said whenever Johanna had gotten up the nerve and nonchalance to mention Austin’s newest bodyguard. A couple of the less observant women hadn’t even known who she was talking about.

He did have a chameleon’s talent for blending into his surroundings, for being inconspicuous. But Johanna had noticed him the first time he’d shown up next to her employer, and she had never been able to disconnect her awareness of him. The last time she’d seen him had been proof enough of an attraction that had gone too far.

She had analyzed the events of that night a hundred different ways and had never come up with a reason for his actions. She had come up with plenty of reasons for her own actions, and none of them showed her in a very good light.

“Desperate female attorney makes pass at willing bodyguard” was as close as she could get to the truth. Except in the end he hadn’t been willing, and she’d never been completely satisfied that the pass had been hers.

She had been working late in Austin’s office, checking a last, necessary contract for the next day, when he had walked in, as silently as always. She had often wondered how long he’d been watching her. Of course, knowing wouldn’t have made any difference to what had happened.

He’d almost kissed her . . . almost, and she hadn’t forgotten how good “almost” had felt.

She’d been exhausted from overwork and feeling too alone, too abandoned to the night. The last person she’d been prepared to deal with had been Dane Erickson. From the beginning, he had been intriguing, compelling, and too damn good looking, with his street toughness barely concealed by a veneer of sophistication, as if he’d just stepped into Austin’s plush office from the wild side of town...

* * *

Johanna leaned back in Austin’s deluxe leather chair and stretched her feet up to rest on a corner of the teak desk. A sheaf of legal documents filled her lap. Fortunately, from what she’d seen so far, the papers were in order. Austin Bridgeman had taken to playing rather fast and loose with the law. She never knew what to expect from him anymore, which was why she had decided to leave. Looking over the contracts for him on such short notice was a final thank-you on her part for the opportunities he’d given her.

She perused the papers, rubbing the nape of her neck with one hand and yawning. She needed to exercise, or get a chiropractor, or a massage. All the tension in her life seemed to settle in her neck and shoulders. The muscles there were tighter than iron bars. Her mother thought she worked too hard and needed a husband and children. Her father thought she needed to come to work for Lane, Lane, and Sullivan, or give him a son-in-law for the firm, and her sister thought all she really needed was a lover. Lovers, she explained, were where husbands came from.

And vague language is where lawsuits come from, Johanna thought, drawing a line through a paragraph and making corrective notes in the margin. After another yawn, she propped her chin on her hand and continued reading.

Working less or working for her father—as much as she loved and admired him—were out of the question. She had followed in his footsteps, but she didn’t want to step in exactly the same places. A love life didn’t seem to be much in the running either, though she’d been thinking about it more than usual lately. Unfortunately the man she’d been thinking about was out of the question.

She flipped a page, a small smile curving her lips. She was definitely out of line in that area. Too many long days and an equal number of lonely nights had gone to her head. An enigmatic bodyguard with midnight-dark eyes, blond hair, and rare but sinfully suggestive smiles would give her whole family a collective heart attack. But then, her family and acceptable suitors had been her problem all along in finding a Mr. Right. Appropriately perfect men left her cold, and when she did find a man who warmed her imagination, he was totally inappropriate.

She had talked to a therapist about it once, asking the doctor if she thought it was some residual, latent, adolescent rebellion she hadn’t worked through. Two sessions later there had been no definitive answer, but Johanna had come away from the therapy determined to put her family’s matchmaking to a halt. That had left her with little to do except ignore the whole issue of her nonexistent love life.

Then Austin had hired a new bodyguard.

Her finger paused halfway down the page. She read the paragraph again, trying to concentrate. The man had been having that effect on her since the day he’d arrived, and no one could have been more inappropriate for a Chicago Lane than Dane Erickson. Unfortunately no one had ever appealed to her so strongly.

With effort, she finished the paragraph and moved on to the next one. Another yawn and her concentration wavered, shifting to a much more pleasant subject than the contract in her hand.

Dane Erickson was so serious most of the time, and so seriously fascinating. It was more than just his looks, though he exuded a sexual magnetism she found impossible to ignore. When he walked into a room, her awareness heightened, and she invariably found herself searching him out. He’d caught her staring at him more than once, much to her embarrassment. The brief but potent smiles he’d given her on those occasions had nearly been her undoing. She was supposed to be above such knee-weakening reactions.

He was safely off limits for reasons besides his occupation. Office romances were inevitably messy, disastrous affairs, and Austin had called him dangerous. That was part of his appeal, she was sure, but it was also reason enough for her to hold tight to her common sense. There would be no passionate fling between herself and Dane Erickson—no matter how many times the idea came to mind.

Sighing with exhaustion, she put her pencil down and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She did work too hard. It was time to go home.

By touching a panel on the desk, she was able to turn out all the lights in the office except for the desk lamp. She set the papers down and swiveled around in the chair to look out over the city. The view from Austin’s office was magnificent, one of the many things she knew she would remember and sometimes miss.

She was heading to Boulder, Colorado, to a new partnership with an old friend, and Dane Erickson would remain a mystery. All for the best.

Damn, she thought. That’s the way it always worked in her life. The job came first and fascinating men came last. Resigned to the inevitable, she turned the chair back to the desk.

“Miss Lane.”

She jerked her head up, surprised to find the object of her fascination standing in the doorway. The contract papers slid out of her hand and across the desktop.

“Mr. Erickson.” She managed to speak with difficulty, then quickly looked down and busied herself with the spilled papers. “I . . . uh . . . didn’t think your work kept you at the office so late.”

“I didn’t think yours did either.”

She sensed him stepping farther into the office, and a flush of excitement coursed its way through her system. Her face grew warm. Despite all of her common sense, she felt anticipation rise along the length of her body.

“I saw the lights,” he continued. “I thought I should come up and check things out. I didn’t expect to find you.”

“I didn’t expect to be found,” she admitted with a slight laugh. “I should have been finished hours ago.”

He was still coming closer, and she instinctively rose to her feet. He made her nervous in a dangerous way that she didn’t dare explore. For the first time ever, they were alone in a room together, and the knowledge was having a dramatic effect on her.

She glanced up, but her gaze got no further than his mouth. She stared, overwhelmed by the possibilities of being alone with him, and as she stared he smiled. The slow curve of his mouth and the crease deepening in his cheek promised a devastating combination of mischief and thrills that she suddenly wasn’t sure she could live without.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, stopping next to the desk, closer than he’d ever been . . . close enough to touch.

“No. No,” she stammered, gathering up her papers with both hands to keep herself from doing something rash and surely regrettable. “That won’t be necessary. I’m in the executive parking garage. There’s always somebody on duty down there.”

“You’ll be safer with me,” he said. The conviction in his voice belied his smile and implied much more than a simple walk to the executive parking garage.

Her hands tightened on the papers, and against her better judgment she lifted her gaze to his and told him the truth. “I’m not so sure about that.”

In the next second she knew the truth had been a mistake. He wasn’t going to let it go as a slip of the tongue or a light flirtation. He had taken the truth to heart in all its meanings.

He stepped closer and lifted his hand to her waist, his smile fading. His touch alone would have been enough to surprise her, but he went much further than a touch. He held her gaze with his and grasped her blouse, already half-pulled from her skirt. He eased it free, both shocking and arousing her.

She’d never known a man whose initial move was to undress the woman he wanted. But then she’d never known a man like Dane Erickson. Her pulse raced when he slid his fingers under her blouse and caressed her waist. His hand was hot.

She looked down to where he touched her, seeing the darkness of his forearm against the white silk of her blouse. His shirt was white, too, neatly rolled up from the cuff, revealing a secret. A tattoo marked his skin halfway between his wrist and elbow, a pale blue star outlined in a deeper shade. She lifted her hand to his shoulder and felt the strength of his arm come alive under her fingertips as he drew her closer.

“Dane,” she said softly, lifting her gaze back to his. . . .

* * *

She’d whispered his name, Johanna remembered, which had made her humiliation complete when he’d turned and walked away.

A flush of embarrassment coursed up her cheeks. She had definitely been attracted to Austin’s enigmatic bodyguard, against all the rules of professional conduct, against every ounce of her common sense.

She heard his jeans drop to the bathroom floor, and the color in her face deepened. What common sense? she wondered. She obviously didn’t have the sense God had given a goose, if the extent of her romantic fantasies consisted of herself and a hired bodyguard with criminal tendencies.

He groaned, and her eyes flew open. She just as quickly shut them again, her heart suddenly pounding.
My God, my God
. He was hurt. She’d seen blood, lots of it, staining his briefs and dried across his belly where he’d raised his T-shirt.

He swore, sounding thoroughly disgusted with something, and she heard the shower curtain being drawn aside with a swift jerk. The swearing increased when he entered the shower. She let her breath out on a trembling sigh and slowly opened her eyes, then opened them wider. A new wave of embarrassment washed through her from her toes to the top of her head.

Her captor had sorely miscalculated the position of the tape on the shower rod. The curtain didn’t reach to the wall on her end of the bathtub. Other than closing her eyes or making herself incredibly uncomfortable by twisting her body in the other direction, there was no way for her not to see him and his struggle. He was still decently covered in his briefs and T-shirt, but she knew that condition wouldn’t last long.

She watched, mesmerized, as he inched the T-shirt up his torso, careful of whatever wound had caused all the blood. His back was smoothly muscled, well defined, a slowly revealed line of sweat-sheened skin from waist to shoulder. She had touched him there once, she remembered again uneasily, laid her hand on his shoulder and felt the muscles bunch and slide beneath her fingers as he’d moved her closer.

He swore and swore again, softly and vehemently, as he pulled the shirt over his head. When it was off, he let it fall into the bathtub with a splash and leaned forward into the spray, looping his wrists over the shower head. A low, masculine groan rumbled up from his chest as he bent his head under the water and let it sluice off his hair and face.

He suddenly looked vulnerable and in dire need of protection, this man who was paid to protect. From the amount of pink reddening the water at his feet, she guessed his underwear was as stuck to his body with blood as his T-shirt had been. Therefore, logic told her it was a mere matter of time before he took those off too.

Less time than she’d thought, she realized, when he hooked one thumb into the side of his underwear and began pushing down. She should look away now. Prudence required it. Decency insisted. She ignored both.

Dylan felt her gaze the way he’d always felt it, like a hot touch on his skin. He’d realized his mistake the first time he’d moved the shower curtain, He could have cut her free and repositioned her, but like he’d said, he wasn’t shy, and he would have bet a thousand dollars against her looking.