Jackie Manning - Tough As Nails

“If you’re trying to make me uncomfortable—”

“Nothing like that. I don’t care what you’ve got to prove, just leave me out of it.”

“You self-centered jerk. How dare you think I’m interested in you. If you believe for one minute that I’m here to…to…” She watched a muscle clench in his jaw. She was frightened and excited by the sudden change in him.

His gaze dropped to the low neckline of her jade-green sundress. She’d carefully chosen the outfit before coming to see him. She knew the color complemented her golden tan and brought out the green in her changeable eyes. She knew the cut of the bodice accentuated her high breasts and narrow waist.

She went very still as he pulled her into his strong arms. Her breath caught as his mouth, hard at first, covered hers in a hot, openmouthed kiss. She wanted to wrench free, to prove that she was outraged, but instead, her body leaped to life and she felt her outcry melt beneath the heat of his kiss. She opened for him, her body full of sharp, exciting sensations.

Her arms circled his neck as her tongue twinned with his. She’d been kissed before, many times, but nothing like this.

Beneath the thin cotton of her dress, she felt his heart hammer with hers, and she was aware of the hard bulge in his jeans pressing against her.

He wanted her. The thought thrilled and frightened her as she drew him closer.

Just as suddenly, he released her. “That’s why you came here.” His voice was husky. “And we both know it.”

He turned without looking at her and stormed toward the house.

Breathlessly, she stared after him, rigid with anger. Then she dashed to her car, never more humiliated in her life. He’d known why she’d tracked him down long before she’d known, herself. That was a trait of Mike’s that had continued to amaze and infuriate her.

But he’d been wrong about one thing—she’d been attracted to him because of who he was, not because her father would disapprove of her dating him. Yet she knew that a part of Mike believed she’d married him to prove to her dad that she had a mind of her own. If she could have convinced Mike, would it have made a difference?

Hell no. She’d never been able to tell Mike anything. Well, as his client, she wasn’t about to let him get the upper hand.

“…your reports?” Mike’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“W-what reports?”

From the seat beside her in the taxi, he’d been studying her. His blue eyes were bright with unreadable emotion. “The mountain of reports you said you have to finish. I asked if you can work at home on your reports.”

She was aware of his subtle aftershave, spruce or maybe desert sage, and she felt a jolt of feminine response. God, he was so handsome. She fought to remember what he had asked her.

“The reports. Yes. Yes, I’ll bring them with me.” Her mind felt scattered. Maybe it was a good thing she wouldn’t be working late at the office tonight.

She turned her head to glance out the taxi window and was surprised to see the cab pulling to a stop in front of her office building.

Her office was on the fourteenth floor of a professional building that looked like most any other high-rise in upper Manhattan. From the street, a set of revolving doors opened onto a glass foyer with more greenery inside than Central Park.

The crowded lobby made Mike feel uneasy. Too open and public. Serious-faced businessmen and -women, dressed in designer suits, clattered across the gray marble floor to their offices and appointments. A stalker could easily blend into the crowd, pull out a 9 mm with a silencer, fire two quick shots at Brianna and get away before anyone would be the wiser.

Mike hurried her toward the bank of elevators. Thirty bronze nameplates, framed in glass, lined the wall. He gripped the attaché case and followed her into the first available car.

“Why don’t I call you when my last patient leaves,” she whispered when he moved beside her. “I’ll be perfectly safe in my office.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

She shrugged.

When they stopped at the fourteenth floor, the doors opened and a tall, bearded man in his mid-thirties, wearing a tweed blazer, corduroy slacks and loafers, waited. Mike instantly recognized him from the photo as Larry Cunningham. He dressed more like a college professor than a psychologist. He wore no wedding band.

Cunningham’s face lit up when he saw Brianna. He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Missed you at lunch, Brianna.” His smile faded when he saw that Mike had stepped from the elevator with her.

“I took the morning off,” she explained. “I had…an appointment.” She gave Cunningham a weak smile as she strode beside Mike down the hall, rummaging in her bag.

Cunningham ambled on the other side of her, his attention back to Brianna. “I was hoping to have a moment with you.”

She looked up, a key chain in her hand. “Can it wait, Larry? I’m running late.” She paused in front of a frosted-glass door with her name stenciled across the window in gold letters. With an uneasy glance at Mike, she turned to Larry and introduced them.

Mike noticed that she didn’t bother to mention that he was her ex-husband or that he was a surveillance specialist. No doubt Cunningham thought Mike was one of Brianna’s clients, and he wondered if she’d meant to do so.

Cunningham gave Mike a sharp, assessing glance before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner, Brianna.”

So Cunningham and Brianna had a dinner date for Saturday night? Mike caught her look, and when Cunningham was out of earshot, she said, “It’s a business dinner. A charity event. Hundreds of people will be there.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he teased, but he didn’t like the relief that knowing his ex-wife wasn’t seriously involved with another man gave him. She could be dating a dozen guys and it was none of his business, he reminded himself.

Brianna pushed open the door and led Mike into a long, narrow waiting room. Warm, homey and welcoming. Two maple rockers flanked an oval coffee table. Two antique deacon’s benches, covered in floral-print pillows, stood along each wall. Tiffany-glass shades adorned the lamps, and variegated ivy spilled from baskets on the side tables.

Installed into the ceiling were two inconspicuous air ducts, a perfect place for an unsuspecting video camera or recording device. So would the wall clock, the Tiffany lamps and the ivy arrangements.

“Do I detect a possessive streak in your friend Larry?” Mike asked after she motioned for him to have a chair.

“Heavens, no. I told you, we’re only friends.”

Mike wondered how happy Larry was about that arrangement, but he didn’t say anything. Who could blame any guy for wanting to deepen a relationship with Brianna?

She frowned at the attaché case in his hand. “What will you be doing while I’m seeing clients?”

He hesitated. He didn’t like being vague with her, but if the stalker had bugged her office, Mike didn’t want to give out any information. “I’ll be taking notes,” he said finally. When she gave him a puzzled look, he put his finger to his lips, then pointed to the ceiling, in a gesture that meant whatever they said might be overheard. “Don’t worry,” he added. “I won’t do anything we haven’t already discussed.”

She arched a brow and gave him a look that suggested he better be damn sure that he didn’t. “Excuse me while I check my messages.”

He strode back into the waiting room and leaned his briefcase against the bench. First, he’d sketch a preliminary layout of the office. After her clients left, he’d check the phones for listening devices. If someone wanted to overhear Brianna or her clients, the easiest place would be the telephone. All the stalker would need was a high-tech listening device, easily obtainable through the Internet.