Cat 'N Mouse (7 page)

Who was he kidding anyway with his little speech in the elevator? He’d wanted to kiss that stuck up look off her face. The problem was with him and his raging hormones but he was determined that he wasn’t gonna go there—not with Little-Miss-Sunshine.

Before he crumpled the sheets with anyone, he made sure the ground rules were set in stone, that way there were no expectations and no strings attached. Falling for Princess would have repercussions. This was a job, that’s all. When it was over he would go back to his life and Little-Miss-Sunshine would go back to her castle.

A castle fit for a Princess. That was his final assessment when he’d taken the grand tour of Alexandria’s palace. Everything from the sofa to the bookshelves was white and the legs of the furnishings chrome.

There were accents of red splashed everywhere from the pillows to the picture frames. The double doors from the living room led out into a glassed enclosed solarium that had to be about four hundred square feet. That also was decked out in white wicker furnishings with red pillows.

Sam grabbed his bag and started toward the second bedroom across from the kitchen. White marble counter tops and stainless steel appliances, did he expect anything less? He became acutely aware of the financial differences between Princess and himself.

Nothing was going to happen between them, he reminded himself. It was something he’d let creep into the back of his mind when he had his arm around her in the lobby and had felt the heat of her body against his.

He had three hours to kill before the dinner and decided to call Matt to ask about the doorman. There was just something about the man that didn’t sit well with him. Picking up the cordless phone, he dialed Matt’s number staring toward her bedroom, waiting for his friend to pick up.

After he bended Matt’s ear about the Princess and the dinner, Matt laughed and told him to have a good time. A full report on Cain would be sent to him the following day via email, which meant he had to borrow Alexandria’s laptop.

Matt also told him the Andersons were upstanding citizens that meant he was going to a dinner party. Sitting around with a bunch of rich snobs who would look down on him was not his idea of having a good time, but he would make the most of it. He was a professional.

It wasn’t a formal dinner. Just a couple of friends she’d said. He opted to wear a black shirt, black slacks and a tanned sport jacket, that way he could conceal his shoulder holster.

Sam was dressed and waiting by the door at five-thirty for Princess. When she opened the bedroom door and strolled out with her shoes dangling from her fingers, he shook his head and cursed under his breath. Her back was bare again, smooth. This time it was a white all-in-one jumpsuit outfit with a white collar around her neck. It also had a wide sequenced silver belt and a plunging neckline.

He wondered what it would feel like to touch—off limits he told himself before his thoughts drifted further into dangerous territory.

Which part of
informal
did that red carpet get up fit into? And the bling she sported, diamonds hanging from her ears and around her wrists, probably cost more money than he would ever see in his lifetime. She stopped by the door that led into the kitchen, held on to the wall while she slipped into the shoes, a strappy number that matched the silver belt.

Anger mingled with desire bubbled up inside him. It was no contest. Anger won over.

“I’m against this,” he said and didn’t even bother to mask his anger. She had started the war and chosen the weapon. And there would be casualties.

“Noted,” Alexandria replied, without looking at him then started digging into her purse. She had replaced the suitcase purse with something the size of a small paper back novel. It appeared she didn’t find what she was searching for and hurried back into the bedroom, heels scraping against the hardwood floor. She returned with her cellphone glued to her ear.

“…yes, Dennis, not a problem.” She laughed, throwing her head back. “I can pick up another bottle of wine. What kind? Okay. See you soon.”

Princess was flirting with Dennis Anderson. He had assumed the Anderson’s were married, but the way she was carrying on, he had to wonder if something was going on between her and Dennis.

The same feelings he felt when he’d thought she was involved with Matt assaulted him again.

Possession.

Jealousy.

Dennis was probably a clone of Prescott. Why should he care?

She ended the call with Dennis. “We need to stop and get—”

“No,” Sam cut her off. He made the rules and he wasn’t going to let her bulldoze over him. “We had an agreement,” he reminded her and she rolled her eyes. “I need to know where you’re going in advance or you don’t go.”

“You are supposed to adapt to my schedule. Not the other way around.”

“For me to do that you need to follow my rules.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m not a child.”

“Then stop acting like one. If we leave this apartment tonight, we go to the dinner and that’s it. Your choice. I couldn’t care less one way or the other,
Princess
.”

She stood staring at him, eyes blazing with anger. Her right hand balled in a fist at her side and she wound up and went for his chin. He caught her fisted hand in mid air and felt a sharp stab in his palm. Disappointment registered in her eyes when her fist didn’t connect to its intended target.

“You want to try again?”

“Awwww!” She turned on her heels, marched toward her bedroom and slammed the door. He figured at the rate they were going, she would probably level the building in a couple of days.

•  •  •

“She took a swing at you?” Matt howled with laughter into his ear. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s not funny.” Sam looked down at the puncture wound in his right palm where the diamond of her ring had left a red mark. His male pride was bruised. If he hadn’t caught her fist he would be picking his teeth up off the floor instead of contending with a bloody hand.

He headed for the washroom to wash his hand, not wanting to mess up her pristine white counter. The washroom like the rest of the condo was white with red accents from the picture frames; to the glass bottles filled with soap shaped in seashells. There was a sit down vanity with an oval mirror and a sitting area in washroom. Oh yeah, that made perfect sense. Why wouldn’t you bring the party into the washroom?

“Are you finished?” Matt was still laughing.

Turning on the tap, Sam ran his hand under the warm water. He didn’t want to use her white towel. Surely she had to have paper towel. That’s what he used in his washroom. He bent to open the cupboard under the sink and there he found cotton balls in a crystal bowl. Cotton balls in a crystal bowl, why not. He balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder. In the absence of paper towel toilet paper would do just fine. Tearing off several sheets, he wrapped it around his palm.

“You probably deserved it too,” Matt said laughter in his voice.

Maybe he did, but did she have to draw blood? Initially he’d wanted to sit down with Princess to go over her schedule for tomorrow. Most of the day was blocked off for something called Gala Org. Since that event was at some swanky hotel then maybe they could get the time to sit down and talk about his plans, which would also include self-defense. It didn’t look like it was going to happen tonight. When she slammed the door, a mirror on the wall in the hallway fell off the wall and shattered. Not a good sign.

“She rubs me the wrong way,” he grumbled.

“Is that all?”

No, that’s not all. But what was he supposed to say? He had the hots for Princess and to take the edge off, he kept goading her. If he got her mad enough then she would tick him off and so on and so on. Therefore, since he was mad he wouldn’t have time to be attracted to her. It made perfect sense to him—if he lived on Mars maybe.

“What’s this Gala Org thing she has all over her calendar?”

“A fundraising event she’s organizing. It’s at that hotel on Central Park Drive. They have it there every year. Talk to Ralph Hanes. He’s head of security at the hotel.” Matt rambled off a telephone number.

“Wait, let me get a pen.” Sam hurried to the living room to grab pen and paper to write down the number. Before he did that, he detoured to the kitchen and ripped two sheets of paper towel, wrapping it around his hand.

“Try not to kill each other,” Matt laughed and hung up.

Sam left the phone and the number on the kitchen counter. He picked up the roll of paper towel and returned to the washroom.

“I didn’t mean to do that.”

He looked up and through the mirror, he saw Princess standing at the washroom door. The red carpet out fit was replaced with a white velour tracksuit covering her soft curves. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup and her hair hung in ringlets around her face. She stood there staring at him, all innocent, as if she hadn’t tried to take his head off earlier.

“Is that an apology?”

“I meant to hit you.” Her lip curled into a smile, gloating. “It wasn’t my intention to draw blood.” She looked at the sheet of paper towel dotted with blood on the sink. He thought he saw a flicker of concern in her eyes. Nope, no concern—just gloating.

“Oh, that’s okay then. Was there something you wanted?” Sam went back to tending his wound…a wound that should have stopped bleeding five minutes ago, but for some bizarre reason didn’t want to. Having Princess standing there gloating was like adding salt to the wound.

“I wanted to talk about tomorrow so we’re on the same page.”

He turned off the tap, flashing the water from his hands. She moved into the washroom and picked up the roll of paper towel. She graciously ripped a sheet of paper towel and handed it to him.

“What page would that be,
Princess
?”

She pursed her lips, but didn’t rise to his bait. “I chair the fundraising committee for Robyn’s Nest Foundation.”

“
Rich
people raising money for
rich
people. How
rich
?” He mocked.

His pride was hurt while he bled like a stuck pig. Having her in the bathroom next to a loveseat across from the bathtub, with visions of them doing the love dance in his head and knowing that it would never happen, got under his skin. He had to take it out on someone and since she’d thrown the first punch, she got the honors.

She drew in a sharp intake of breath ignoring his comment. “I’ve a million things to do tomorrow at the hotel with the committee. How am I going to do it with you tagging along behind me like a dog?”

“I have it covered. As long as you do as I say we won’t have a problem. And, I promise, I won’t bite.”

After another sharp intake of breathe she asked, “What do I say when people ask who you are?”

“Tell them I’m the hired help or the spurned lover. Take your pick. I’m here to do a job and if it inconveniences you, so be it. Your life is worth saving, isn’t it?”

She abruptly turned to leave the washroom then stopped as if she’d forgotten something and turned to face him once again.

“Sam?”

“Yes?” He looked down at her and she had a smile on her face, a sexy smile. You know—that smile a woman gave to a man when she wanted to fulfill all his fantasies.

She moved into the washroom slowly. He actually stopped breathing when she stood on the tips of her toes to reach his ear. She reached up and snaked her arm around his neck. Her was breath hot on his cheek and he closed his eyes. Waiting.

“I lied,” she whispered. “I meant to draw blood.”

A
lexandria yawned and pushed herself up out of the bed. The bedroom was her oasis. The calming blues and tans created a peaceful atmosphere. Her father had purchased the condo, but she had chosen the colors and decorated it herself.

The wood of the bed and the night tables complimented the warm tones of the room to create a perfect hide away. When she didn’t want to watch TV in the living room, the separate seating area in the bedroom made it more than just a place to sleep.

It was a beautiful sunny day and Sam’s laughter broke into her peaceful oasis. He must be on the phone. So much for a beautiful day, she mumbled as she made her way to the connecting washroom.

The score was tied. Last night Sam had asserted his authority and she’d missed dinner with Robyn. She drew blood. It wasn’t something she was proud of but he had it coming.

An apology was in order this morning and she had to find it in herself to give it even if she choked on it. Violence was not in her nature, but the man had a habit of getting her all riled up. He did it on purpose.

Today was a new day. It was Sam O’Malley’s last day to torment her. She had been ditching bodyguards since the tender age of twelve, and she knew how to handle Sam. Perhaps she should make her apology when she said her goodbyes.

After a long shower and a tour through her walk-in closet, she found the perfect outfit to begin her torment. It was a one shoulder white dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. When she stepped in high-heeled red sandals she was ready for round two and had no intention of losing.

She opened her bedroom door and walked out with confidence. Sam was at the counter in the kitchen looking at her laptop. Whatever it was that was on the screen had caught his eyes. The look on his face was intense. He didn’t even know she was standing there watching him, but she noticed him all right. Black T-shirt that hugged his torso, and jeans, even though they weren’t the designer brand name, they put the designer brand name to shame. In his case, it wasn’t the clothes that made the man. It was the man that made the clothes.

“Are you ready to leave?” She asked annoyed.

Sam glanced up from the computer as if she appeared out of nowhere and with a deep dark scowl on his face. He gave her a once over and not even so much as a muscle twitch came from him that’s of course if you didn’t count the scowl. Perhaps she should have said good morning first. Her whole ‘getting-even-routine’ thing was wasted on him.

“Have a look at this. It’s the specs for the hotel I requested. Ralph Hanes, head of security for the hotel sent it to me. I had your meeting moved into one of the smaller boardrooms. Here’s the floor plan.”