The sun hadn’t yet risen when Sam waved his passcard at the card reader guarding the entrance of Hauberk Protection Services’ D.C. facility. The front door unlocked, granting him access to the reception area.
The bulletproof doors were overkill, because that area only held the Accounting and Human Resources departments that were responsible for not only Hauberk’s Protection division but also for the newly acquired Security subsidiary. A half dozen empty desks occupied one corner for the local Close Protective Officers to do background checks or fill out reports. At the back of those sections was the executive office area that his operatives jokingly referred to as the Inner Sanctum. But the heavy steel doors he’d had designed to resemble the wooden gates of an ancient English castle he’d once stayed in impressed the hell out of potential clients.
Most mornings he would have headed into his office. But this morning he turned toward the indoor firing range and its armory. He placed his hand over the new-to-America palm vein scanner. Another device he’d been recommending his mid-level security clients start installing instead of the easy-to-fool fingerprint scanners.
Hearing the muffled sound of gunfire beyond, he opened his locker and selected a pair of ear plugs, then signed out a box of ammo and a couple of paper targets.
As it did every time he entered the range, the familiar scent of gunpowder both soothed and irritated him as it reminded him how much he missed the camaraderie out in the field. Now he drove a desk, having to get his thrills through reading others’ reports, instead of the adrenaline rush of guarding a principal himself.
Two shooting booths were already occupied, including his favorite one at the far end. Chad-he should have guessed his area manager would be on the range this early, and… Well, well, well, instead of wearing her usual pair of baggy cargo pants, Ms. Rosalinda Ramos wore a pair of hip-hugging blue jeans. Jeans that hung low enough he could tell that she wore a blue thong and had some sort of tattoo on the small of her back. Aw, damn, he didn’t need to know that. Now he’d be thinking of taking those jeans off her all day to discover what the rest of the tattoo was and just how far down it went.
She raised her gun and fired. The shot hit directly in the heart of her target. She fired again. The second shot doubled the size of the original hole. She glanced over her shoulder, then muttering something he couldn’t hear, put her gun on the counter and bent over to fiddle with her left shoe.
Oh, mama, her jeans pulled taut over the tight round globes of her ass. An ass that begged to be squeezed. To be fucked. With a groan, he adjusted his pants, his dick firming at the thought of being buried in such a tight channel.
Ever since she’d won him in the charity bachelor auction three months before, he’d sensed a carefully hidden sensuality in Ms. Ramos. As if deep within, she guarded a slow burning ember waiting to be ignited. A fire that would set his world ablaze.
He’d been hard pressed not making a move on her the night he’d fulfilled his obligations and taken her to dinner. While he’d wanted to see if he could add a little oxygen to the fire and kick start the inferno, he’d held back. He’d had to. She was his employee after all. So instead of making a move, inviting her up to his place or pressing his case when he’d escorted her home, he’d been the perfect gentleman. At least that’s how she’d described his behavior the next morning, much to his disgust and everyone else’s amusement.
But damn, it was getting tougher to maintain his hands-off policy. That element of danger and the heat he was sure would envelop them both was too enticing to resist. If he just had the right reason to breach her defenses…if he could find some way to let her make the first move.
Rosie straightened and took two more shots. Both shots were low and outside, yet the center of the target had a good half-dozen holes from where she’d been firing before he’d arrived. Interesting, had he thrown off her concentration?
Seeing his opening, he strode over to her. His body touching her in all the right places, he wrapped his large hand around hers over the gun barrel, repositioning her fingers. Dayam, it was like holding a sparrow, her hands were so tiny.
He leaned down and nudged her earmuffs so he could murmur in her ear, lowering his voice to a whisper, “It’s better this way.”
Her pulse jumped, racing beneath his fingers. Oh, yeah, that ember was definitely burning brighter. He should have made a move that evening three months before. He should have invited himself into her apartment at the end of the evening, given her more than a chaste kiss on her cheek. He should have put on some soft jazz-Diana Krall maybe-pulled her against him as they danced so she could feel what she did to him.
“Thanks,” she said, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. Did she realize she was doing that?
The scent of her shampoo-apricots-filled his senses. She always wore her hair in a rigid bun making him wonder if her hair were long or short, curly or straight. He had the strange compulsion to pluck the pins taming it just to satisfy his curiosity.
Yeah, he’d watch that hair spring free from its confines, push her jeans down-no, she wouldn’t be wearing jeans, she’d be wearing that little black strapless number she’d worn to dinner that night. Even better. He’d push the skirt up as he slid his hands up her thighs. Then he’d remove her thong and go down on her. Hell, he wanted to stretch her petite body over the firing counter right now and pound into her from behind.
He nearly groaned when her breasts brushed the side of his forearm. The heat of her body snugged up against his blasted a shot of pure lust to his groin. Dayam! If she turns around right now and sees the hard-on you’ve got for her, you’re gonna get yourself sued, boy! Or your dick shot off. If not both.
Going against the natural instinct to grind against her, he eased his hips away from hers and resettled her earmuffs back in place.
Muttering something about needing to get back to work, he whirled back through the soundproof door and tossed his earplugs into his locker. D.C. didn’t need him here-he could work out of the Atlanta office, no problem.
Atlanta. Where there were no spitfires with bitable asses to tempt him. Maybe then he could avoid future cases of blue balls he’d constantly been dealing with lately.
Sam checked the water temperature before stepping into the private shower he’d had specially built to accommodate his height. He palmed his cock as the warm water sluiced over it, wondering what he should do about his little problem. He’d not been so drawn to a woman in a long time. Oh, sure, he had a ton of phone numbers in his PDA, women all willing to jump into the sack with him. Not to mention he could always find relief at the Rouge. But no one in a long time had made him as hard as the one woman he couldn’t have.
Was that what made her more of a challenge? That, as his employee, he couldn’t have her? Was that why his cock was turning into a compass needle with Rosie his magnetic north?
His workout had gone to shit earlier when he’d spied her doing her standard two hundred pushups, her firm breasts reminding him of ripe peaches gently swaying in a summer breeze. He’d been hard pressed to find an activity that wouldn’t draw attention to the return of his hard-on. It hadn’t helped his control when she lay down on the stability ball and did crunches.
There’d been two other women operatives in the gym at the same time but neither of them attracted him like Rosie. No one else smelled of apricot shampoo and Ivory soap when they jogged on the treadmill. Well, okay, Vince smelled like Ivory too, but he was a guy, and the clean scent wore off within five minutes on the treadmill. Plus Vince sure as hell couldn’t put his leg over his head like Rosie could. Thank the good Lord for that.
So here he was, fleeing to the privacy of his shower for the second time that morning, jerking off in order to stop a potential lawsuit. Could be worse things he’d have to do. But damn, he wished he’d dragged her out of the gym for a little personal exercise session.
He’d start by stripping her of the T-shirt that hid those ample curves. Then he’d peel off her bra and expose her completely. Nothing manufactured about those lovely breasts. They’d be firm but not fake. Cuppable. Squeezable. Fuckable. Her nipples would probably be dark brown but would they be large or small? It didn’t matter. He’d lick them and blow on them until they hardened. Then he’d capture them between his thumb and fingers and play with them, squeezing gently at first, then harder.
His fingers squeezed his dick, mimicking what he would do to her nipples.
After a while, he’d exchange his fingers for his mouth, tasting them, catching them between his teeth, suckling while his hands explored every part of her. Those big brown eyes of hers would close as he discovered what made her hot. She’d start panting, making tiny mewling sounds with each touch, each lick, each taste.
He tightened his grip, flicking his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading a drop of leaking come over the sensitive foreskin.
Then he’d pull off her shorts, let them pool around her feet. Ever since he’d seen the thin straps of her thong, he’d wondered if she shaved, leaving what would be a beautiful pussy completely bare? Or did she leave a thin triangle of dark curls? He hoped she left a triangle. He’d love playing with her crisp mat of hair before he went down on her.
He’d kneel between her thighs. Would her clit be hard yet? It didn’t matter. Her lower lips would be creamy, and he’d thoroughly kiss them. A soft kiss at first, then he’d trail his tongue between them. Down and then up.
What would she taste like? Sweet? Or musky? Either way, he’d gather her essence on his tongue, lapping until she squirmed beneath him, her hands clutching his shoulders or perhaps his head, her hips thrusting in time to his licks. When she started moaning louder, he’d thrust a finger into her pussy, curl it slightly and slowly drag it along that sensitive spot at the front. Then a second. All the while his tongue would be paying particular attention to her now pulsing clit.
His balls aching, he rested his head against the cool tile and closed his eyes as he continued to palm his throbbing cock.
He’d cup her firm ass in his palms and lift her until she wrapped her legs around his hips, then nudge the head of his cock against her warm moist entrance. Obeying his murmured instruction, she’d open her eyes and watch as he slowly pressed into her. Together they’d watch her labia surround his shaft, kissing him as he slid home.
His hand slowed, letting the heated water from the shower gather in his palm warming his cock until he could believe he was buried in deep within her. Then it sped up again, mirroring the thrusts of his imagination.
Would she be a moaner or a screamer? A moaner, he hoped. Soft sounds would spill from her lips as she arched her back, her heels digging into his butt, pulling him deeper. He’d touch her sweet little clit and watch her eyes glaze. He’d flick the sensitive bud once more. Twice. Then her body would tighten around him. She’d be unable to draw a breath as she orgasmed, her muscles clenching his cock and milking him.
He barked his own release, his come jettisoning against the shower wall in a pulsing stream.
One hour later, his cock finally wrestled into submission, the door to the outer office opened and his assistant walked into the inner sanctum.
The poster girl for the stereotypical girl next door, Sandy was one of those people who matched their name, sandy-colored hair, blue eyes, even a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He could picture her growing up with the proverbial white picket fence and tire swing. But behind that faзade was an iron-hard backbone. Which was one reason he’d hired her as his assistant. He needed someone who wouldn’t take any bullshit from anyone. Including himself.
Sandy placed the mail she’d brought from reception on her desk, then took off her jacket and hung it beside his in the closet. “Morning, Sam. Good to have you back. How was Miami?”
“Mornin’, Sandy. Miami’s hot as usual.”
As Sandy set to work booting up her system, Sam scrolled through the weekly reports the other offices had emailed him. The solution to the problem in Miami he’d proposed seemed to be working, his station head there reported. The New York office had three new clients requiring ’round the clock coverage. They needed him to sign off on their request to hire more manpower. He copied the HR department and gave his approval. The manager in Nashville had a potential problem that may head to court-he’d be receiving a letter by courier soon. Chicago and Atlanta reported no problems. And as expected, the Dallas and Houston offices were running just fine-though Mark had made a note that he had something he wanted to discuss in private. Hmm, wonder what that was about.
He’d made it halfway through his inbox when his nose broadcast his taste buds a caffeine alert. “Hey, Sandy? That coffee ready?”
“Sure is, you want one?”
He answered her question by stalking past her desk to the coffeemaker and filling a mug. Damn it, he needed a big slug of java injected straight into his veins. His concentration was shot. All thanks to not being able to finish his workout that morning.
He chugged down half of the black coffee, ignoring the pain as it scalded his esophagus. No other woman had his balls drawing up and his dick getting hard, preparing to send his little soldiers out on field patrol. What exactly was it about Rosie that had him so horny?
He downed the rest of his coffee. Goddamn it, he was going to have to move back to Atlanta if his dick didn’t start behaving itself.
Realizing Sandy was watching him as she handled the letter opener like a surgical instrument, Sam gestured toward the coffeemaker. “You want a coffee? I was just fixin’ to pour myself another.”
Sandy nodded at her own Hauberk mug. “No, thanks, I’ve barely touched mine. Do you want to go over today’s agenda here or in your office?”
“My office, I guess. But give me about fifteen, will you?”
When the outer door opened and Chad walked in, Sandy’s head lowered. She stared up at Chad through her bangs in a Lady Di pose. With anyone else, Sam would have said it was practiced, but with Sandy it was a natural movement.
“Good morning, Chad. Can I get you a coffee?” Her voice had a little breathy hitch to it he’d never noticed before. Now wasn’t that interesting?
“No, thanks, Sandy. Sam, you got a minute?”
Anyone not knowing Chad would look at his businessman’s haircut with a few prematurely silver strands at his temple, and his double-breasted black suit, and be taken in by the relaxed image he projected. They’d assume he was just another mid-level management type. Or perhaps they’d catch his dark grey eyes and notice his sharp assessment and think him one of the hundreds of lawyers that populated the nation’s capital. Only if they managed to spot the shoulder holster he wore beneath his jacket, or the baby Glock strapped on his ankle, might anyone guess he was former FBI agent now in charge of the D.C. office of Hauberk Protection.
But today all trace of his relaxed persona had vanished. He prowled into Sam’s office and paced until Sam followed him. Once the door was closed, he folded his arms across his chest. “Why do I have to hear from my receptionist of all people that you had a break-in while you were away?”
“It’s no big deal, Chad. There was no damage.” Other than the word “Bang” written in ketchup on the comforter his mother had given him last Christmas. Sam pulled the envelope containing the photograph and slid it across the desk. “It’s basically the same as the others, though this one is a bit better quality.”
Chad cursed under his breath. “You touch it?”
Puh-leaze, like he’d make such a rookie mistake. “Nope.”
Once they’d both donned latex gloves, Chad peeled open the envelope and shook the contents onto the desk. When he saw a photo of Sam standing in line at Reagan National, half his head missing, brains trailing down his shoulders like snakes, Chad exhaled noisily.
“Jesus! It’s worse than the last one.” Chad grabbed a pen from his pocket, and turned the photo right side up. “I’ve seen real crime scenes with less gore.”
“Yeah, the addition of the blood and exposed brains is a new touch.” Sam pushed himself away from the desk, wanting to pace, but forced himself to stay seated. There had to be a clue here. More than just a threat. Some key to the identity of whoever was stalking him.
“Good thing the bastard didn’t have a gun at the airport instead of a camera,” Chad muttered. “Ink jet quality photo paper, eight and a half by eleven, same as last time.”
“Yup.” Sam lifted his coffee cup then swore when he realized it was still empty.
“Which means it was probably printed with a home quality printer as opposed to a professional printer.”
“Yeah, can’t see Wal-Mart processing that.”
Chad carefully slid the photograph back into the envelope. “This has been going on for three months now, Sam. At least let me assign a couple of CPOs to you.”
Sam scowled and flopped into his chair. “Come on, Chad, I don’t need close protection. Of all people, you know I’m trained in escape and avoidance techniques. In fact, I’m better than anyone you’d assign.” Sam shifted in his chair. “Besides, what’s it say to clients if the owner of a protection agency can’t protect himself?”
“It says he’s smart that he knows he needs an extra set of eyes. Damn it, Sam, this is no idle threat. You’re being followed. Stalked. And someone broke into your apartment, remember? The bastard could have set a bomb to go off when you opened the door.”
“Yeah, well…”
“What’s Mark say about the threats?”
Sam shrugged one shoulder. He’d meant to talk to his Dallas-based partner last time he’d flown down to Dallas but then Mark announced Jodi’s pregnancy and Sam hadn’t wanted to intrude on his friend’s happiness. And now he felt uncomfortable discussing it via email. Oh, by the way, thought you should know, someone’s taking pictures of me. Yeah, that would make him sound a real lame-ass weenie.
“You haven’t told him about them, have you?”
“Damn it, Chad, there’ve been a half dozen pictures in the past three months. And the phone calls-it’s some kid who dialed a random number and got lucky, that’s all.”
“Christ, Sam, listen to yourself. You get a picture doctored so it looks like your brains have been shot out, you’re getting phone calls with some mechanized voice telling you to prepare to die-”
Sam covered one fist with the other, cracked his knuckles. “If they wanted me dead they could have shot me any one of those times, but they didn’t. They took my picture a couple times and made a coupla calls. Big deal.”
“What about the break-in? No,” Chad corrected himself. “They didn’t need to break in, they had a key. And they knew the code to disable your security system so they could take as much time as they wanted. And yet here you sit trying to pretend it’s…what? A kid pranking you? Some practical joke?”
Yeah, the break-in had been hard to ignore. But damn it, that meant he knew whoever it was who was stalking him. Intimately. This wasn’t something he wanted to call the cops in on. He’d handle it himself. “So they emptied the ketchup bottle on my bed, along with one of those damned photos. That’s it. They’re not trying to hurt me, Chad.”
Chad forced his shoulders down and exhaled through his mouth in a long slow blow. “Sam, if I were a client receiving these pictures, you’d recommend I wear a vest every time I went out in public. You’d tell me to change up my routine-to take different routes at different times-”
“I’m already doin’ that. I check my six regularly-no one’s following me. They’re trying to psych me out, that’s all.”
Chad continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “You’d insist I used one of our special bullet-proof limos with a bodyguard trained in defensive driving as the chauffeur, and you’d assign a team of Close Protective Officers to guard you twenty-four/seven. And if I still didn’t listen, what would you say?”
Sam slumped back in his chair. “I’d ask you if your will was in order.”
Chad folded his arms across his chest and rocked on his heels. “So tell me, Sam, you got your will in order?”