Mindy Neff - In The Enemy's Embrace

Why in the world couldn’t she be her normal “catch me if you can, baby” self around this man? It was thoroughly disquieting, a failing she’d had since she was thirteen. You’d think she would’ve gotten over her adolescent crush.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his deep voice concerned, edgy.

Annoyed that she wanted to say no and turn into his wide chest for comfort, Jessica clutched the blanket more snugly around her shoulders. “Do you have spies? Had my phones tapped? What?” Why was it he always showed up when she needed him?

She didn’t want to need him, even though the smell of his skin and the intensity of his dark-brown eyes made her heart do cartwheels in her chest.

“Did you make a phone call?” he asked, his tone dripping with censure. “I don’t recall mine ringing.”

When he cocked a dark brow in that sexy, annoying way of his, she didn’t know whether to hit him or jump his bones.

“Obviously it must have rung sometime,” she said. “Otherwise, why would you show up like a thief with a posse on his tail?”

“A thief?”

She shrugged. “Black car, windows tinted black, dressed in all black. A person would think you’re a bad guy or something.”

The long look he gave her did indeed telegraph danger. Sexual, rather than physical.

“The color of the car isn’t readily changeable. The clothes were what I put my hands on first in the closet. I was understandably anxious to get out of the house.”

“You had ESP or something that drew you out of bed and told you my apartment building was burning down?”

“No. Guy Pirrazzo—he’s the head of personnel at the company—”

“I know who Guy is,” she said. She’d found that out on her own. She’d come to Coleman-Grayson at her parents’ behest to learn the ins and outs of the business under Nick Grayson’s tutelage. He hadn’t done much tutoring so far. It was as though he was avoiding her, finding excuses to be out of the office or out of town altogether.

Although he did have an uncanny knack for showing up every time she seemed to be at her worst.

“Yes, well, Guy’s uncle lives in this building—”

“Lived,” she corrected waving a hand at the water-and-soot-drenched grounds. She didn’t think she’d ever get the shrill scream of the smoke alarm out of her head. Emergency lights from the fire engines cast intermittent splashes of crimson across the wet asphalt, which had already been cordoned off with yellow tape.

“Lived,” Nick repeated, his jaw flexing as though he was annoyed and holding on by a thread at being interrupted. “Guy recalled that you were in the same building and phoned to let me know about the fire.”

He was looking at her as though he was disappointed that she hadn’t called him herself, as though he’d expected as much.

Which was absurd of course. The man avoided her the way an Arabian horse shies around a Texas rattler.

At the moment, though, his demeanor was far from shy. It set her nerves tingling.

She cleared her throat, unsure what to say or do next. Suddenly she felt nervous and vulnerable. The adrenaline that had carried her out of the apartment building was ebbing. Despite the fact that Nick Grayson got on her nerves, a part of her was actually glad he was here.

She shoved her tousled red hair off her forehead and sighed.

Nick laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”

His quiet voice and warm breath sent more shivers down her spine. At this rate, her bones were likely to rattle apart joint by joint. “Go where?”

“My place, I’m thinking.”

She looked up at him. “Obviously you’re not thinking to make a suggestion like that.”

Astonished, she watched his teeth flash white as his lips canted into a slow grin.

“Now, Jess. Are you insinuating the two of us can’t get along under the same roof?”

“I’m not insinuating. I know.”

He slung an arm around her shoulders, steered her toward his car. “Come on. Let’s get out of here and we’ll fight about it later.”

She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. If there was one thing she and Nick were good at, it was fighting. Well, sparring was probably more accurate.

He held the car door open for her and gallantly helped her into the plush leather seat as though she’d been harmed, not just her apartment.

“You could drop me at the Embassy Suites or the Sheraton.”

“Sit back and relax. From the looks of that garage, I’d guess your car’s pretty well toast. Since I’m in the driver’s seat, I say we go to Grayson suites.”

The sight of her ruined building sent another sickening tremor through her. “Since when are you in the hotel business?”

He slanted her a look. “Play on words, Red. I’ve got plenty of suites in my place. You’ll be more comfortable there than at a hotel.”

Jessica wasn’t so sure about that. The words comfortable and Nick Grayson didn’t coexist peacefully in her vocabulary. Right now, though, she was too tired to put up much of a fuss.

It was an effort to act tough, but she couldn’t afford to let down her guard. Not with Nick.

She rested her head against the leather seat. Soft country music played on the stereo system. The lights on the dashboard looked sophisticated and complicated, yet pretty against the dark night. She shut her eyes as they wound through downtown Dallas, then left the city lights far behind as they traveled down a four-lane highway divided by a grassy median strip.

She heard the rustle of denim and cotton sliding against leather, knew he’d turned to look at her. She kept her eyes lowered. There was a time when she would have given her prize Arabian mare to be sitting next to Nick Grayson in his car, to have him be the dashing knight who’d come rushing to her rescue.

That seemed like a lifetime ago. She’d been a girl of thirteen and he’d been a worldly man of twenty-one. Even now, her face heated when she thought of that embarrassing day he’d come out to the Desert Rose Ranch. She’d been filled with a young girl’s dreams, infatuated with this older boy, watched him, pined for him, ached for him to notice her as only a young girl in her first crush can ache.

He’d been sweet to her, and that was all it had taken for her to tumble head over heels. She’d been so sure of herself, feeling older now that she was a teen, certain that Nick Grayson would fall madly in lust with her, promise her undying love, promise to wait for her forever. She’d built up the scenario, dreamed it so often it had become real to her.

That had made his abrupt rejection all the more humiliating.

Feeling the familiar shame flutter in her stomach at the memory, she banished the thought and sat up straighter, looking around as he drove through a set of private gates supported by brick pillars. White wood fences glowed in the moonlight, reminding her of home, of the paddocks that held million-dollar Arabian champions. Where the Desert Rose was built in a Spanish architectural style, Nick’s house was a scaled-down version of Southfork—the estate made famous by the long-running TV series Dallas.

“I guess our daddies pay you pretty well,” she mused aloud.

He shot her a frowning look. “I work hard for the salary the company pays me.”

Hmmm. She’d hit a nerve. She could practically hear his thoughts, the words he was civilized enough not to tack on. I work hard for the salary the company pays me…unlike you.

Perhaps his touchiness had something to do with the fact that the Coleman half of the partnership owned fifty-one percent of the voting stock, leaving the Graysons a mere forty-nine. Technically she had more clout than he did, but she decided not to poke at that particular sore tonight. She wasn’t at her best. And to keep one step ahead of Nick Grayson, she needed to be at her best.