Leah Braemel - Personal Protection

“What happened to Max’s son?” she asked two blocks later.

“His Humvee was hit by a remote controlled IED in Iraq. Took off his left leg below the knee.”

From the sounds of it, Sam had taken care of his family-probably monetarily, but Rosie would have bet he’d arranged a lot more. Flights, daycare, housing. Anything they’d needed that they couldn’t get through the Armed Forces.

Damn, why couldn’t he be a sonovabitch she could despise?

Another block passed before Sam broke the silence. “You didn’t come to my office today.”

“There wasn’t a need.” She’d made sure to stay away from it, especially after Sandy had given her the cold shoulder.

“From the way you’re avoiding looking at me, I’d say there was. You wanna take a kick at me or something?” He glanced down at her feet. Did he realize she’d raced out and had a pedicure-something she seldom indulged in? “Those stilettos look like they’re plenty sharp enough to do some damage.”

She crossed her feet at the ankles, shifting them to the side as she told herself to ignore the silly thrill that he’d noticed her shoes. “They aren’t very practical, but my cross-trainers wouldn’t have gone with the dress.”

Sam pulled a cigar from his pocket, looked at it and then stuck it back in its place. “I wanted to apologize for my actions last night, Rosie. I can only plead temporary insanity and throw myself upon your mercy.”

“Thank you.” She tucked an errant hair behind her ear, then clasped her hands together in her lap when she remembered how Chad had said the night before about her putting out non-verbal signals.

Sam stretched his arm across the back of the seat. “But I meant what I said last night, Rosie. I would like to get to know you better.”

“Considering I’m in charge of your protection, I think it would be inappropriate for us to pursue any sort of relationship.” Damn it, why couldn’t he have said this three months ago?

His brows together in a dark slash. “You’re not the only one guarding me. Walters, Campbell and Phillips won’t drop the ball.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I promise I won’t force you to do anything, Rosie. How our relationship progresses will be entirely up to you. But you can’t deny there were sparks between us last night. Just give me a chance to prove myself.”

Should she give him a chance to fan the flames that threatened to ignite into a wildfire? But when he walked away, and he would when the fire burned out, she’d be a pile of ashes. “I’ll think about it.” Three more blocks passed before she broke the silence. “I never thanked you for arranging the loan of the jewelry.”

“It looks good on you.” He settled back in the seat and folded his arms over his chest as his eyes flicked down her, lingering on her cleavage.

It was possible he was examining the necklace, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t his main focus. That knowledge and the heat in his expression, sent a hot shiver in a slow crawl up across her breasts until they ached.

“That dress certainly highlights all your…attributes.”

The air thickened until she felt like she was six feet underwater. Her hand smoothed her skirt over her knees. “I feel like a fairy princess, though I don’t know how much use I’ll be protecting you tonight without a vest. You’re wearing one under your shirt, right?”

He leaned so close the tendril of hair that had sprung free fluttered over her ear when he spoke. “I have the feelin’ I’m gonna need to be keepin’ the men away from you tonight, Rosie. You’re so beautiful-no man in their right mind could fail to notice you. But then again, nothin’ would look beautiful on you.”

Rosie searched for some way to answer his double entendre. Eventually she gave up and settled for staring out the window, watching the lights and buildings as the car climbed the ramp onto the beltway. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore his blatant examination.

Not once the rest of the ride did he take his eyes off her. By the time the limo pulled up in front of the hotel, she felt like a bug under a microscope. Or the proverbial mouse trapped between the cat’s paws. Only this cat was a tiger. A tiger with long fingers that had caressed her with an unrivalled skill and full lips that she wanted tasting her. Everywhere. And somehow she didn’t think real tigers sported such impressive erections.

Sam waited for Rosie to get out of the limo before he moved. It wasn’t that he was trying to be gentlemanly, but he needed a few moments for his raging hard-on to deflate. His cock had been waving like a goddamned flagpole ever since he’d first seen her standing in the hallway wearing that dress. It had taken every ounce of willpower not to bury his face in her breasts.

He snuck another glance at her legs, which she’d primly crossed at the ankle for most of the ride. There should be a law against concealing legs like those in the cargo pants she normally wore. When she made a little sigh, his gaze shifted back to her face. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen her wearing makeup before but tonight she’d done something that made her eyes appear as large as a fawn’s and added a bright red lipstick to full lips that screamed fuck me.

As she shifted to get out of the car, the fabric strained over her cleavage, threatening to reveal the bounty it concealed. When she stepped out, her ass wiggled in front of him like she was a toreador with a bright red flag and he was the charging bull. Instead of relaxing, his cock hardened until he could feel every tooth in his zipper.

Once he finally emerged from the limo, he couldn’t help but notice Kris’s glance down and raised eyebrow nor Phillips’ expression of amusement. Damn it, why did his employees have to be so damned good at noticing details?

He made a mental note to cancel as many of his evening engagements as possible. There was no way he was going to be able to keep his hands off her if she insisted on accompanying him wearing anything other than the bulkiest sweaters and loose jeans. Even that probably wouldn’t keep him from getting hard, he’d probably still picture peeling them off her.

The fundraiser was a standard D.C. schmooze session of senators and congressmen. Mingling amongst them were the ubiquitous bejeweled society matrons who were there to impress others with their philanthropy but in private couldn’t care less about the charity needing their donations.

While Phillips stayed behind with the limo, Kris and Rosie kept close to his side, discreetly checking that no one approaching him was armed or meant him harm. He found himself regretting that they’d banned smoking in the building several years before because no matter where he went, a subtle scent of apricot, and some new scent she wore-L’air du Temp?-floated over him.

Glasses clinked and voices murmured, nearly drowning out the bluesy quintet entertaining that evening. He pressed through the crowd, glad-handing the occasional former client or possible future ones.

He was about to suggest he’d put in enough of an appearance when he heard someone calling him. He turned around and came face-to-face with a familiar pudgy, freckled face. Since he’d guarded the man’s father during one of his first assignments for Hauberk, the man’s hair had receded into the standard male pattern baldness horseshoe, and at least forty extra pounds now padded his short frame. But Sam knew discretion landed more contracts than honesty. “Mr. Tompkins, you’re looking good. What brings you back to D.C.?”

“A combination of love and hard work. I finally made VP of Bennett Enterprises which means they transferred me to the Head Office.” Tompkins’s chin waggled like a turkey’s wattle as his head bobbed in excitement. The man looked twenty years older than his mid-thirties, yet acted like a teenager still.