Читать книгу Forged In Desire - Brenda Jackson - Страница 11

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.”

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.”