Brenda Jackson - Forged In Desire

She glared at him while adjusting in her seat, resting her hands beneath her chin with her fingers entwined. Why did he find her so damn sexy? So incredibly desirable. He was a glutton for punishment even thinking that way.

“First of all, I want to know what’s going on. Here at my house? With my phone?”

He leaned back in his chair. That question was easy enough. “Bruce Townsend is a man-wonder, a technology whiz. He’s in hot demand and usually works with an exclusive clientele. Summers Security has a good relationship with him, and he’s been hired to install extra security in and around your home.”

“Like tampering with my phones?”

“Yes. All your phones—house, cell or otherwise—are now linked to mine. I can listen in to all your conversations.”

“And what if it’s a conversation I don’t want you to listen to?”

He held her gaze. “If you happen to get one of those, then I’ll get off the line to give you the privacy you need.”

He could tell from her mutinous expression she didn’t like it, so he said, “Relax. If Scotty calls you, I promise not to listen in.”

Her frown deepened. “His name is Scott, and he won’t be calling me. I told him not to ever again.”

Striker lifted a brow. “Oh? Is that the way it is? You accept his flowers but not his calls?” He shook his head. “Tsk-tsk. Margo, don’t you know that’s no way to treat a man?”

Her eyes filled with anger. “How I treat Scott is no concern of yours,” she said in a loud voice.

“I’ve warned you about my eardrums. And as far as your ex-boyfriend goes, if he decides to get dramatic, then it becomes my concern. Need I remind you that you’re the one who claims he has a tendency to get melodramatic? Okay, let’s move on. Next question.”

She got quiet. For a minute he wondered if she would even bother asking him anything else since it was apparent that she was pissed off with him now. But he should have known her silence wouldn’t last. “I want to know about you, Striker.”

He held her gaze. “All you need to know is that I am capable of protecting you.”

She leaned in closer to him, her eyes still filled with anger. “You’re wrong. That’s not all I need to know. You will be here with me morning, noon and night. Underfoot. Listening to me breathe. Sharing meals with me. Risking your life for mine. So just knowing you’re capable of keeping me alive is not all I need to know.”

She paused a minute and said, “Earlier you said you’d been incarcerated for manslaughter. I need to know who you killed and why.”

As far as Striker was concerned, she didn’t need to know a damn thing. Drawing in a strained breath, he then decided that maybe she did. How would she handle it if he were to tell her? Well, he was about to find out. Still holding her gaze, he said, “I killed a cop.”

He saw her throat move. Heard her stricken inhalation. “A cop?”

“Yes, a cop.”

He could see the question in the depths of her honey-brown eyes. Desperation to know why he’d done such a thing was gnawing at her. He could feel it and decided to help her out. “Go ahead and ask.”

She nervously licked her lips and he tried not to concentrate on the movement of her tongue. Not just the movement of her tongue but her tongue, period. She took him up on his offer. Not that he’d thought she wouldn’t.

“Why, Striker?”

Hearing her question didn’t do him in as much as hearing her say his name. Breathing deeply, he said, “I killed him because he raped my sibling.”

Margo’s stunned gasp filled the room, echoed off the walls. She threw her hand to her throat in disbelief and shock. “Oh my God! He raped your sister?”

Pain from years ago resurfaced, began surrounding Striker in a degree of agony he hadn’t felt in some time. “I don’t have a sister. It was my baby brother. Wade was thirteen and the bastard raped him.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THROUGH THE FOG of her traumatized mind, Margo was aware of Striker gathering the plates from the table before walking into the kitchen. She sat there in a daze. Totally stunned. Horrified beyond belief.

A police officer had raped Striker’s thirteen-year-old brother and Striker had killed him. Needing more answers and hoping he would give them to her, she slowly stood and strode after him.

Margo found Striker putting the dishes in the sink. She stood in the doorway not saying anything but watching him. She knew she’d lived a pampered life with private schools, a household full of servants and chauffeurs to take her wherever she wanted to go. But she had a feeling Striker and his family hadn’t had such luxuries. She could only wonder about his childhood. His teen years. His life before he’d been sent to prison and the life he had now.

He was moving around the kitchen as if he hadn’t unloaded all of that on her just moments ago. But he had. And then he had left the room. Was she supposed to act like he hadn’t told her anything? Fat chance of that happening. The enormity of what he’d shared with her had her head spinning. She might have lived a sheltered life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize an injustice when she heard one.

After a minute he sensed her presence and glanced over at her. The expression on his face all but told her he wouldn’t be entertaining any more of her questions. But hadn’t her uncle always said that she didn’t know when to stop being a nuisance even when it was for her own good?

She nervously bit her lower lip and then asked, “If the cop did that to your brother, then why were you sent to prison?”

He continued to stare at her, and then, as if he knew she wouldn’t let up until he answered, he said, “Because the law felt I should not have taken matters into my own hands. I should have called the authorities.” He chuckled derisively. “Yeah, right, go to the cops. Honestly? Like another cop would go against one of their own. I got fifteen years instead of life, so I guess I should be grateful. Especially since I only had to do seven of those years.”

She nodded. “And your brother? Wade?”

Striker broke eye contact with Margo. He should have known that particular question was coming. Didn’t she know when enough was enough? But it was his fault for even answering any of her questions and for telling her anything about his past life in the first place. Why had he felt the need to unload? To cleanse his soul? And with her, of all people? He’d told himself he hadn’t wanted her to be afraid of him. Afraid that he was a mass murderer or something.

“Striker?”

And why did it do something to him whenever she said his name? That didn’t make sense. He hadn’t known her, hadn’t even heard of her, until today. Yet Margo Connelly was getting under his skin. Why? It wasn’t like he lacked female company. Far from it. Hell, he had been in Deidra McClure’s bed when he’d received that call from Roland to come to the hospital. Deidra was like every other woman he’d messed around with before; the only thing between them was sex.

He turned and tried concentrating on Margo’s face and not her body. She looked so damn feminine standing there even when she was obviously upset. Upset on his behalf. That very thought was why he finally said in a firm voice, “Make this your last question, Margo. After this don’t ask me anything else about my life—past, present or future.” He paused for a moment and then asked, “Now, what do you want to know about Wade?”

She nervously licked her lips again and the gesture made his stomach clench. “How is Wade? I know what happened was years ago, but how is he now?”

Taking a calming breath, he tried dismissing the pain he always felt whenever he thought of Wade...no matter how much time had passed. “Wade was the defense’s star witness. It took a lot for him to get on the stand. His testimony about what that bastard did to him is why I got a lesser sentence. But Wade was just a kid and he needed extensive counseling after what happened to him. Unfortunately, there was no one there to make sure he got it.”