Brenda Jackson - Forged In Desire

“How did you know?”

“From my research on you. And just like I know what you like and don’t like, the places you like to frequent and other interesting tidbits, any hit man who has made you their target knows as well.”

“But you don’t know if I’m anyone’s target.”

“You’re right. I understand there were sixty to eighty people in the courtroom that day. Unless they catch this guy, there’s no telling who will be the next victim. My job, Margo, is to make sure it isn’t you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“SO TELL ME some things about yourself, Striker,” Margo prompted. They were sitting at the kitchen table eating her favorite meal and things had gotten quiet. Too quiet. She had dismissed the sounds of the two men moving around in and out of her house. Striker had introduced them as Bobby and Bruce, and they were taking care of the items that bothered Striker, like the darkened areas of her yard. Bobby was outside installing floodlights and Bruce was upstairs putting in security devices that Striker wasn’t elaborating on.

“Why?” he asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

She ignored how her stomach clenched when she looked at his mouth. More specifically, those lips he’d just wiped. When had she ever been fascinated by the shape of a man’s lips? But there was just something about the shape of his—namely, that cute little dent in the center.

She jumped when he leaned over and snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Hey, you’re out there in la-la land. Come back.”

Gripes. He’d caught her staring. “I was just thinking about something,” she said, which wasn’t a lie.

“About what?”

He would have to ask, she thought. She couldn’t just come out and say your lips. Instead she said, “How much you know about me and how little I know about you.”

He shrugged massive shoulders and her gaze followed the movement. Was there anything about this man that didn’t get her attention? “It’s part of my job to know all I can about you.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

He pushed his empty plate aside and leaned back in his chair. “There’s nothing for you not to like.”

And as if that settled it, he stood. She couldn’t keep her gaze from roaming over him. There was no way he didn’t have a strict physical fitness routine with all those muscles. She hated admitting it, but she had enjoyed his company during dinner, although he’d sat there, eaten his food and hardly said a word.

It had been a long time since she’d shared a meal with a man. Her uncle didn’t count. To be honest, Scott didn’t count either since, toward the end of their relationship, he’d begun spending more time with his clients than he did with her.

She smiled when she thought of Scott assuming he was doing her a favor by being her guy, with him making a six-figure salary and all. He hadn’t known anything about her wealth.

“What’s the smile for?”

She looked over at Striker. “Just thinking.”

“Again?”

She frowned at him. “You got a problem with me thinking?”

He pushed his chair under the table. “If I ever have a problem with anything you do, Margo, you’ll be the first to know, trust me.” Then he said, “I recall you saying something about an appointment with a client in the morning.”

She drew in a deep breath, refusing to let Striker unnerve her. “Yes, Claudine Bernard. We met for coffee last week to discuss the details of her wedding. She hired me and I need to take her measurements tomorrow. Luckily her wedding isn’t until September, so I’ll have time to make her wedding gown after all.”

“You like doing that? Making wedding gowns?”

“If I didn’t enjoy it, then I wouldn’t be doing it, would I?” Okay, she’d gotten smart with him. Just like he’d gotten smart with her earlier. As if he realized this, a smile touched his lips. It was so quick that had she blinked, she would have missed it.

“I like you, Margo.”

“Don’t do me any favors, will you, Striker.” At that moment her house phone rang and she looked over at him as she got up from the table. “It’s my business line.”

“I know. It’s okay to answer it.”

She frowned. Did he actually think she needed permission to answer her own phone? As she picked it up, he took out his own cell. She wondered who he was calling as he moved to go back up the stairs.

When she heard one of the upstairs doors close, she answered the call. “Designs by Margo.”

“Yes, Margo. This is Claudine Bernard.”

Margo smiled. “Yes, Claudine?”

“I lost my appointment book and just wanted to verify what time we need to get together tomorrow.”

Margo nodded. “Our appointment is at ten in the morning.”

“Great! I’ll see you then.”

When she turned back around, Striker was putting his phone away as he came back down the stairs. He glanced over at her. “So Claudine needed to reaffirm your appointment time, did she?”

Surprise lit Margo’s face. “How did you know?”

When he just stared at her smugly, she scowled. “You listened in on my conversation,” she accused.

“Damn right.”

Furious beyond belief, she crossed the room to stand in front of him. “How dare you!” she screamed almost at the top of her lungs.

“Dammit, woman. Don’t burst my eardrums.”

“Or mine.”

They both turned and looked at Bruce, who was standing in the middle of the stairs. He was smiling. Margo didn’t appreciate being the butt of anyone’s joke.

“Everything’s all set?” Striker asked the man.

“Yes, both upstairs and downstairs. I just need to take care of the yard,” he said, coming the rest of the way down the stairs. He looked over at Margo, smiled and said, “Nice set of lungs, Ms. Connelly.” Then he moved toward the back door.

Alone again, Margo stared up at Striker. “I have questions and I want answers.”

He shrugged. “Only if I feel like giving those answers to you, Margo.”

Margo closed her eyes. Why did this man, of all men, have to be the one protecting her?

“Getting sleepy?”

She snapped her eyes back open. “I am not sleepy, Striker. Stop being a smart-ass.”

“Okay,” he said smoothly, all but admitting that he had been.

Striker had to fight back a smile. There was something about Margo that made him want to distance himself from her one minute and enmesh himself in her the next. Unfortunately, putting distance between them wasn’t an option. Not when he was protecting her. Whether he liked it or not, until the hit man was captured, he and Margo were as entangled as any two people could be.

For some reason, he liked rattling her. Probably because doing so would keep her mind off her situation. Other women he’d protected would be all but hovering in a corner by now. At least those not brazen enough to think that protector also meant bedmate. Like that damn socialite who’d hired him when she discovered she was being stalked. She had invited him into her bed the first night. Of course he hadn’t taken her up on her offer, but it was still damn hard making the woman keep her hands to herself. He’d been so glad when the police had finally captured the prick stalking her. He definitely couldn’t see Margo behaving so inappropriately. Hell, she’d been ready to kick him downstairs to sleep on that tiny sofa bed.

“Look,” he finally said, deciding he’d rattled her enough. “Let’s go back to the table and sit down. You ask your questions and I’ll decide if I want to answer them.” His tone was deliberately clipped, letting her know up front what to expect.

He watched as she angrily strode back over to the table. If she’d known how much he appreciated seeing her backside just now, she wouldn’t have done that. He followed her to the table and sat down. “Okay, Margo. Let’s get it out. What are your questions?” Before she could open her mouth, he added, “And ask nicely.”