Some Like It Deadly (7 page)

“Bossy.” He grinned. “I like bossy. You like being the bossy of me.”

Her lips twitched in spite of herself and she cut a sideways glance at him. Instead of drinking, he stared at her. It was hard to make out his features in the low light when she had to keep the majority of her attention on the road. “You pay me to be the boss of you.”

“No, I pay you to be my assistant. Miranda made assistant mean the boss of my schedule.”

“You live by your schedule,” she countered. “Drink.”

He opened the bottle and took a long swallow obediently. “I do live by my schedule. Lots of things to keep track of.” Traffic leaving the city thinned and the follow car was only one behind them.

“You could pare your schedule down.” After the last few weeks, she’d seen plenty of cases he could hand off to junior associates in his firm. Cases like the Johnson one—he didn’t need to hand hold so many cases personally or put in so many billable hours above and beyond the work he did for the grand duke, his extended family and the multi-billion dollar corporations they operated.

“If I fired Armand as a client, he would be pretty pissed.” Richard laughed. “And I like working with him.”

“You have other clients.” Like the files he kept in his locked drawer. Cases he worked on that she knew nothing about.

Richard sighed. “That’s good work and I won’t give them up. I had to let too many go to others while I was recuperating.”

Curiosity swiped at her. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

He shifted in his seat, turning his head so he just stared at her. “I’m near to sloppy drunk in your car and I think I was trying to feel you up a minute ago. That definitely earns a question.”

Another smile tugged her mouth wide. He made an adorable drunk, a lot like he’d made an adorable pit bull about the actor on the golf course. The quiet fury in his eyes had stunned her. She was more than capable of taking care of herself and the little nuisance was easily ignored, still—he’d wanted to defend her and that counted a lot in her books. “Why do you take all those pro bono cases? I get giving back, but you’re on at least a dozen different non-profit boards that have nothing to do with the Dagmar Foundation in addition to the work you do for the Foundation. You write checks monthly to several inner-city organizations and the LAPD fund for fallen officers.” Pressing him for more information in his current state didn’t seem ethical, but she was curious. “What are you trying to make up for?”

He went quiet for so long, she thought he might have fallen asleep. It might be for the best, considering the dangerous line between professional and personal she teetered on. The information focused on him, the man, instead of him, the protectee. Yet, she wanted to know. He was a bit of a marvelous find, generous to a fault, and in possession of a work ethic that didn’t quit.

And angry? Angry he went from handsome good boy to sexy bad boy.

“When I was seven years old, the FBI came to my door and arrested my father. My sister Barbara was four, she didn’t understand what was going on. My mother was in the kitchen, the doorbell rang and these men in black suits poured inside. They had a warrant, so they took my father into custody and then went through our house. My sister and I had to sit on the floor in the living room while my mother answered questions she really didn’t want to answer.” His words didn’t slur, but his tone managed to sound faraway. “What I didn’t understand was what my father had done wrong. After they tore up our house, they took a lot of boxes with them. A week later, my dad still wasn’t home and a notice was served on the house—a legal seize order.”

Kate frowned, because while the man sitting next to her was strong, capable and fierce—he’d been seven years old. What an impossible situation for a child.

“You see, my father had gotten involved in a scheme with a couple of other men. They thought it would help them make some money. At first it was a few hundred here and a few hundred there. Nothing big, but one of the men took it larger and he’d bilked some retirees out of about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. My father—knowingly or not—helped him do it and he profited by it. They froze his bank accounts, took the house—took everything—and we had to live in a woman’s shelter downtown for ten weeks.”

“Christine’s Center.” She knew the name. That name had been on one of the folders he’d locked away, but he also represented the center in several legal matters and the documentation she’d dropped off earlier had also been related to the center.

“Yes. Mom got a job pretty much right away and started saving, but we stayed there free and, during the day, the staff looked after Barbara and me. Eventually Mom had enough to move us into a tidy little apartment and things seemed to go back to normal. Dad came home when I was eight.” Another long silence. They’d reached the exit and traveled up on the long winding road to his house. Fortunately, she had his address programmed into her GPS and she’d been there before during daylight hours. “He moved back in, went back to work, and it all seemed like something out of a bad dream. We got a new house. Barb and I got a new school...normal. We’d gone back to normal.”

Her stomach clenched.

“But another year goes by and the men are back at our door. Same story, only this time, Dad went to jail for five years. Mom lost her job and no one would hire her because it was all over the papers. I was old enough to understand that my father screwed a lot more people out of their money—retirees, single moms, families—and he hid the money this time. So when they came and took everything from us, they still couldn’t find the money, but neither could my mom.” Anger, old and sullen, crept into his voice. “So we were back at Christine’s Center and Mom had to take every menial job she could get her hands on. We got lucky. One of the center’s benefactors thought enough of Mom to hire her, then sent her to school to get a degree. When Dad got out that time, she didn’t take him back.”

She pulled up to the gate and opened the window to type in the code. The external floodlights had come on upon their arrival and his expression was so dark and sad, her heart twisted.

“Anyway.” Richard exhaled, sobering. “Places like that? They saved our lives twice. The people I help, those cases, they’re usually getting screwed by someone like my father.”

Pulling up and following the circular drive to stop in front of his house, Kate put the car in park. “Richard, you didn’t do any of those things. You don’t have to make amends for your father.”

“Yes, I do, because he sure as hell never will.” Clearing his throat, Richard unlocked his seat belt and looked at his house. “You shouldn’t have to drive all the way back. I have a guest room and plenty of spare clothes here.”

Driving back wouldn’t be a problem. The gates were locked and the security watching the house was already in place, but the loneliness in his voice tugged at her. Shutting off the car, she glanced at him. “Is your sofa comfortable?”

“Probably.” He had the smallest of smiles, pleased with her question. “But I’ll tell you another secret.”

“And that is?”

“I have a ton of extra bedrooms.” He waggled his eyebrows and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “You can test every bed and pick the one that’s just right.”

Laughing in spite of the bad joke, she shook her head. “Do I look like Goldilocks to you?” Climbing out, she met him at the passenger door. When he swayed on his feet, she slid an arm around him and he braced his weight on her shoulder.

“Alyx is right. You deserve a raise.”

“Hmm, if you remember this in the morning, I’ll let you give me one.” Between the two of them, they got the door open and he gave her the passcode for the alarm system. She disarmed then rearmed it again before guiding him toward the stairs. His staggering steps worried her, but she could handle the extra weight.

When he directed her toward his bedroom, she helped him inside and seated him on the bed. He gave her another lopsided grin and flopped onto his back.

“Hmm, no more alcohol for you, Mr. Prentiss.” She tugged his shoes off, then pulled the cover from the end of the bed up over his suit. No way she would undress him.

His hand closed over hers on the duvet. “Kate?”

“Yes, Richard?”

A broad yawn stretched his mouth and he blinked slowly. “You should wear your hair down more often. It’s much prettier down.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” she replied drily. “Go to sleep.” But his eyes were already closed and a low snore echoed back at her. After returning to the kitchen, she found bottled water in his fridge, then hunted through the cabinets to find some aspirin and his prescriptions. Both were on a shelf near the coffee pot. Back in his room, she set the items on the nightstand and paused to loosen and remove his tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons on his dress shirt.

It wouldn’t do to let him strangle himself in his sleep and fell under the protectee code. But looking after him didn’t require her to brush that lock of hair off his forehead.

No, that she did for herself and, thankfully, he was sound asleep and missed her slip.

She almost wished she’d gotten to know him when she’d been working for Anna—at least then she could have indulged her interest.
And let’s just cut that thought off right there.

Protectees were beyond off limits. Especially when she had to lie to this one.

Chapter Five

The pounding inside his skull hammered Richard awake. Prone, he peeled his eyelids open with a wince. Too much sunshine glowed around the white sheer of the curtains—somehow he’d forgotten to close the blackout curtains when he’d gone to bed.

When the hell
did
I
go to bed?

Sitting slowly, the marching band in his head turned into a drum line and his stomach lurched. Half-blinded by the brutal headache, he squinted at the nightstand. A bottle of water and aspirin sat waiting for him. He dry swallowed the pills, then drained half the water from the bottle. His mouth tasted like ass and that, he decided, was the only reason he would get up.

Shoving the blanket off, he gave his disheveled suit a baleful look. He hadn’t fallen into bed fully clothed since... His aching head refused to cooperate. At least he’d made it home. With a care for the pulse thrumming from his brain to his roiling gut and back up again, he made his way to the bathroom. Stripping off his suit, he turned on the shower then paused at the sink to brush his teeth while the water heated.

Twenty minutes of scalding hot water and soap later, he began to believe he might resemble human. After shaving more from habit than desire, he toweled off, finger combed his damp hair, and checked the scars on his side. Three laparoscopic incisions had saved his life. They would fade over time, but he knew they were there. Gathering up his discarded clothes, he carried them back into the bedroom and dropped them on a stack he had to send to the cleaners and pulled out a pair of slacks from the closet.

The clock said it was after eight, which meant not only was he hungover, he was also late to get to the office. His cell phone wasn’t in his pants pocket or on the nightstand plugged into the charger where he usually left it. It was probably in his suit jacket with his wallet. Hopefully, he’d dropped both downstairs. Shirtless, he headed straight to the kitchen.

He needed coffee—to hell with the rules. Then he’d call Kate and let her know he would be late. An image of his hand on Kate’s thigh flickered through his brain and he frowned. The sight of a folded blanket and pillow parked on the corner of his sofa stopped him in his tracks. Coffee scented the air, combined with a hint of vanilla, spice and something distinctly feminine.

Following the scents, he pushed open the door to the kitchen and stared at his assistant leaning against the counter, a cup of coffee in hand. She wore the same shirt as the day before, although it was untucked and wrinkled as though she’d slept in it, and her narrow skirt hugged her legs. Her hair hung down, brushed to gleaming and draped over one shoulder. Like the day on the golf course, the sunlight played over the strands and seemed to glint off the gold amidst the soft brown.

“Good morning,” he managed around the jerk of surprise. He had been touching her thigh—petting it—while she drove him home. Curiosity and embarrassment made for a potent cocktail on his already overtaxed system. Another spate of memories detached from the fog in his brain. He’d also spilled his guts about his father—and he
never
talked about that son of a bitch if he could help it.

Blaming it on the wine would be a mistake, he’d overindulged because finding Kate in the bar had thrown him. He’d asked her out to the musical and had been disappointed when she declined, even more so because she’d pointed out that he had a date. A date that wasn’t an actual date—Diane Fowler was a reminder to check in with the center, but since he wasn’t supposed to cross the professional line to the personal, he’d let Kate off the hook.

Then she’d been at the bar.

And damned if he hadn’t wanted to cross the line. So what did he do instead? He got drunk like some stupid college student.

Way to go.
He congratulated himself. He’d been trying to maintain a veneer of professionalism with the woman, no matter how much she fascinated him.

“Good morning.” Her smile eased the kidney punch from his morals and she pointed to the mug of coffee on the counter. “I heard you in the shower and started a fresh pot. You can get away with more than one cup today. How’s the head?”

“I think I owe you an apology.” Talking actually increased the thunder of his headache. He picked up the mug.

“Drink your coffee.” She chuckled and the soft husky sound did more for his headache than the aspirin and shower combined. “You should probably eat too. However, I draw the line at cooking breakfast.”

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She’d chosen to stand in the one spot the morning sun spilled in the window and she seemed to be soaking it up like a cat. Taking advantage of the moment, his gaze skated over her—from bare toes to rumpled shirt. Putting that together with the blanket and pillow on the sofa, he frowned. “You slept on the couch.”

“Hmm-hmm.” She nodded, but didn’t open her eyes. “I wasn’t going to poke around in your house after you went to sleep. Besides, the sofa was more than comfortable enough.” Despite her words, she tipped her head from side to side in a motion he knew helped stretch out tired and stiff muscles. It drew his attention to the slender column of her throat and the smooth expanse of skin visible between the open three buttons of her shirt.

The innocent, tired gesture turned utterly provocative and his body hummed in response. Scowling, he glared down at his coffee.
Off limits
,
dumbass.
She works for you.
His body didn’t seem to give a damn about blurring the line between professional and personal. “Kate...?”

“Sorry.” She blinked and shifted to move out of the sunbeam. “I think I’m a little bit cat. Give me a beam of sunshine and I’ll sleep there all day.”

Wrapping his mind around the image of her sprawled in front of him—long and lean, draped only in sunshine—sent a violent wave of heat surging through his lower body. “I have a pool,” he found himself offering. Once the words were out, he didn’t want to take them back. “And plenty of guest suits if you want to make yourself comfortable.” In fact, the more he thought about spending down time with Kate, the more he liked the idea. “We have no meetings this morning and since you’re here—and if you don’t object—we could just work out of the house.”

Surprise flickered in her gaze, but she didn’t immediately reject the idea. “Are you proposing that we take the day off?”

Together.
He managed to bite off that word before blurting it out like some idiot high school jock faced with the prospect that the girl might say yes. “A half-day at least.” It sounded a lot better. “No morning meetings, remember?” Of course, he’d barely recalled his name when he woke.

“Anything for this afternoon, I can rearrange.” She pursed her lips, and uncertainty skated across her expression. So composed and utterly in control most of the time, the vulnerability invited him to firm their plans. Make her choose to be here. “No one is going to die if you take a day off, Richard. You’ve been going full throttle for weeks.”

“So have you.” Decided, he drained his coffee and padded over to pour himself another cup. “I’m going to make you breakfast, we’re going to eat it by the pool, and you can drowse in the sun to your heart’s content. Unless you have somewhere else you need to be?” His gut said no. He wanted Kate to stay.

“No, not particularly.” But hesitation hitched between the words.

“Then you’ll stay.” He nodded and a spike of pleasure at the idea pushed his headache back further. “The only job I need you to do today is to make sure I don’t go to work.”

Her brows lifted. “A day off spent with your assistant is not really a day off.” When he held up the coffee pot she extended her mug and he refilled it. This close, the scent of vanilla spice he’d discovered in the living room grew stronger.

“So, I’ll spend it with my friend Kate.” He slid the pot back onto the burner and smiled. “I’d like to get to know my friend better.”
I’d like to get her naked and see just what it takes to melt that professional demeanor so I can play with that sassy woman I keep getting glimpses of—
cutting off the thought before his cock stiffened any further, he reclaimed his mug.

“Richard...” Kate glanced down at her mug and the uncertainty turned to unease. Guilt flooded through him. “I’m not sure how good that idea would be.”

“I am an excellent friend.” Not that his life had room for a lot of them, Armand took up an elephant amount of space. Getting personal with Kate was a terrible idea, they worked together—correction, she worked
for
him. Dammit, he wanted her to stay. Not wanting to get personal didn’t mean they hadn’t been. He knew all the cons and he didn’t care. “But I’m not going to leverage our working relationship to demand anything more than a down day for both of us.” If she headed out that door, then so be it.

“I didn’t think you were.” She looked from her coffee to him and he could feel the weight of her gaze like a caress on bare skin. Her attention was on his chest and he felt like puffing it out a bit, but smothered the urge. “It actually sounds great to just hang out and
be
for the day.”

“But?” He eased a little closer, then leaned against the counter. “I heard the distinct
but
in there.”

Their gazes locked and for a split-second, he read heat in her gorgeous eyes. Then her lashes dipped, hiding it before he could see anything more and her mouth twisted into a smile. “But I don’t think you know how to relax.”

He knew a challenge when he heard one. “Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“Oh, I know you.” She grinned. “We’re keeping score, remember?”

Delighted by the play, he pushed away from the counter and pulled open the fridge. He’d promised her breakfast. “I do remember. So how about a wager?” Unfortunately, his fridge only had bottles of water, a couple of sandwiches in takeout boxes, and creamer for the coffee. He didn’t remember the last time he’d stocked food—or did he? Miranda usually arranged for a grocery delivery, but she’d left weeks before and he’d eaten out or at the office since then.

“Depends, what are we wagering on exactly?”

“Well we’re not wagering on breakfast because I would lose.” He glanced at his bare wrist and scowled. His watch was upstairs and he hadn’t tracked down his cell phone yet. “What time is it?”

“Nine,” she answered. She set her coffee cup on the counter and padded out of the kitchen. He followed behind her and when she bent at the waist, reaching over the back of a chair, he fixed on her bottom—the skirt shaped it perfectly. By the time she’d turned back to him, with his jacket in hand, he’d gotten his wandering gaze back to safer territory. “You left this in the car last night.”

“Thank you and thank you for driving me home.” He fished into his pockets for his cell phone. He had a dozen urgent emails and a couple of messages from Armand, including one asking about a racquetball game. Answering it automatically, he postponed for a couple of days, then scanned his emails.

“And that’s one point to me. Too bad we didn’t actually decide on the bet.” Her amusement curved around him like a teasing brush of her fingertips. Kate sat perched on the arm of the sofa, one golden leg crossed over the other. All sleek muscle, the woman had nothing spare on her. Her grin widened. “You’re in your email. That’s not taking the day off. So point to me.”

He grimaced and tabbed out of his inbox. “Habit. I wanted to call and get some food delivered, or we’re going to starve. There’s a great little bakery up the road, how about we break all the rules and get high on sugar while we play?”

“That’s definitely living on the edge.” Her lips twitched.

Amused by her mocking, he pointed a finger at her. “Go find yourself something comfortable to wear in the changing room. It’s right through there.” He pointed down a hall. “I’ll get the food ordered and meet you at the pool. Our day off starts right now.”

She straightened and saluted him crisply. “You should probably change too. The slacks and the pool won’t mix.” Pivoting on her heel, she headed in the direction he indicated and he glanced down.

He’d been talking to her shirtless the entire time. Nothing said sexy like pale skin and scars.

Screw it.
She’s about to see me in swimming trunks and I get to see her in a bathing suit.

It was his day off and he wanted to flex the rules a little. He called for the food delivery and paid for it with his credit card. Glancing at the pillow that still held the barest impression of where her head had rested the night before, guilt stabbed him. He’d have to give her a tour of the house so she’d feel comfortable with a bed the next time she stayed over. Yes, there would be a next time. He was enough of a realist to recognize his interest.

It took him ten minutes to return to his room, change back into swim trunks and return. Retrieving their coffee cups from the kitchen and some bottles of water, he headed out to his pool. He’d have to make it clear to her that the only reason he carried his phone as well was so he’d be alerted when breakfast was delivered.

The tiered patio and swimmer’s paradise pool were two of the reasons he’d bought his house. Perched comfortably on a hill overlooking the ocean, he also enjoyed a spectacular view and privacy from even his closest neighbor a half-mile down the beach. No one out front could see his little haven and no one on the beach below would see him unless he stood next to the railing.

Kate was at the opposite end of the pool, a deep green one-piece bathing suit hugging every curve. He forgot to think when she executed a clean dive into the water. Her long arms flexed with each slice as she swam from the deep end toward him. The moment she touched the wall, she arced away, perfectly graceful to swim back the way she’d come.

Sinking onto a chair, he set the mugs, phone and water bottles on the table and just watched her swim. Back and forth, she performed the laps like a professional—he could see where she’d gotten her trim physique. By the time she completed ten laps and came up for air, he had most of his hormones under a tight leash.

“All right.” She drifted over to rest against the side of the pool and grin at him. “This is definitely a perk.”