Читать книгу A Dangerously Sexy Christmas - Stefanie London - Страница 11
ОглавлениеAS IF IT wasn’t bad enough to have her place of work and her house broken into, now she had to reveal the sorry state of her personal life to Mr. GI Joe Wannabe. The superhot, muscled-beyond-belief GI Joe Wannabe.
Rose cringed; there was no way she was going to stay with her dad. It’d been eleven years since she’d seen him, and they were far from being a happy family. Rose hadn’t wanted to reconnect with him, but after she’d moved to New York, he’d pushed harder for a reconciliation.
Staying in London hadn’t been an option, not with memories of her mother lingering on every corner. New York was the only other place she’d known to be home, but coming back here had meant starting from scratch...again. She hadn’t kept in contact with a single schoolmate or friend. But that didn’t mean she was ready to trust her father yet.
“Like I said, I’ll be fine here.” Rose took a long, slow breath and ordered herself not to cry. She was not going to let Max Ridgeway see her crumble.
As much as she wouldn’t admit it aloud, she was starting to agree with his earlier assessment that this situation was more than a simple robbery. She wasn’t rich by any means, but there were several things in her apartment that would fetch a few dollars. The strand of cultured pearls that had belonged to her mother, for one. Not to mention her electronic equipment, including the new laptop she’d bought at duty free and the iPad on her bedside table. All of it untouched.
A wave of emotion washed over her, causing her stomach to rock like a buoy in rough waters. Sighing, she looked through the apartment. If she hung out in the entrance she could pretend it had never happened.
“Come on,” Max said, his hand landing briefly on her shoulder before he jerked it away as if he’d changed his mind about touching her. “You can’t stay here. Let’s pack you a bag. We can call the police and tackle the clean-up tomorrow.”
His voice was crisp and businesslike, but the furrow of his dark brows and the determined set of his deep brown eyes spoke volumes. He was invested in taking care of her. His commitment seeped from every pore. Despite the chaos around her, Rose felt safe for the first time in a long while...as much as she hated to admit it.
The only person who cares about your safety is the one guy getting paid to do it. Typical.
Trusting someone else was uncomfortable, like a jacket that hugged too tight and squeezed her insides just enough to make breathing hard. Trust made her palms itch and her eyes dart. She never left her well-being in the hands of another person. She was her own protector, her own teacher, her own motivator. Everyone else sat at the periphery, whether she wanted them to or not.
“I don’t know about the police,” she said, shaking her head.
“Why?”
“I’m worried about the jewelry store’s reputation. Someone posted about the break-in on a blog, and we had customers questioning whether our security was up to scratch. We do a lot of repair and repurposing, but customers are worried to leave their items with us now.”
“It’s not your store to worry about.”
“Part of it is,” she insisted. “I have a dedicated space for my work. I’m building my clientele. It’s not just a sales job for me. It’s a platform to start my own business.”
He sighed. “Are you sure? No cops?”
“They have no leads in the store break-in. And it doesn’t look like anything was stolen here.”
“We’ll go through it all tomorrow to be certain, but we still need to sort where you’re going to stay tonight.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“No,” he barked. “Don’t even try and tell me you’ll be fine on your own. It’s not happening.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but tiredness had seeped into her limbs, deadening them and dampening her desire to argue. Right now she wanted a hot bath and a large glass of denial. Tomorrow she would formulate a plan.
Heading into her bedroom, she stepped over the scattered papers and spilled lingerie. The scent of her mother’s perfume hung in the air, a dense cloud of memory. Green flowers, a slight sharpness from the aldehydes. Chanel No.19, the only perfume her mother had ever worn. Through the days when they’d had very little money, she’d savored it, using only a single spritz for a special occasion, stretching the bottle because she couldn’t afford a new one. The scent made Rose’s eyes fill with tears.
Desperate for distraction, she grabbed a small suitcase and unzipped it. In her head she ran through the items she would need for a night away, cataloging them to prevent herself from thinking about how badly her life had been violated.
“T-shirt, jeans, underwear, deodorant,” she muttered, folding and stacking the items neatly into the bag. “Bra, hairbrush, cardigan...”
Max leaned against the door frame, keeping his distance but watching her closely. His large shoulders all but filled the space and she couldn’t help but allow her eyes to skim over the way his jeans fitted his thighs so snugly. They fitted rather snugly over some other areas, too.
She swallowed and redirected her attention to her overnight bag.
He was a total beefcake, no doubt one of those guys who thought time at the gym was a top priority in life. He wasn’t her type at all, though she had to admit the Australian accent was damn easy on the ears. But she preferred arty guys with trimmed beards and slender fingers, the kind of guys who would appreciate her work for its beauty and artistry, not those who would label it frivolous. So why did her gaze gravitate to Max at every opportunity?
You need the distraction, that’s all. He’s hot and you’re trying not to dwell on how the hell you ended up in this mess. Totally normal behavior.
“Hurry up.” Max’s deep baritone broke through her internal monologue. “The quicker we get you out of here the better.”
Rose looked up, her stomach flipping over at his serious expression. She wouldn’t feel scared. Years of fending for herself had to be worth something. She could manage it. No big deal.
Max’s voice was cool, but he stared at her with an intensity that said he wasn’t as calm as he acted. Never mind the way he drummed his fingers against the door frame.
“Okay, okay,” she muttered, dragging the zipper closed.
She set the suitcase on the ground and slipped her feet into a pair of flats. The nightstand and dressing table were covered in jewelry. The music box her mother had given her was shut, but the vintage earrings she usually kept inside were scattered around it. Clearly the non-thief had taken a peek inside. Her fingertips brushed a lonely gold earring with a vibrant green stone in the center. Its twin had fallen onto the carpet. She bent down and picked it up.
“Come on.” Max’s hand touched her shoulder. She hadn’t even heard him step into the room. His scent filled her nostrils, the warm masculine earthiness curling inside her, tightening all the places that should not have been working right now.
Focus on him, not on the fact that someone has been in your house. Hottie, good. Stalker, bad.
They trudged out of the apartment, her eyes immediately locking onto Max’s ass as she followed him. He wore a short jacket, his arms wrapped around his body to keep himself warm. The man wore jeans as though they’d been designed exactly to highlight the delicious muscles in his legs. He exuded strength and control. She’d bet her favorite pendant that there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him.
“Where are we going?” she asked, stepping out into the night air and turning to lock the door behind her.
It felt a little pointless since the lock hadn’t kept her house safe before. She set the alarm from a home security app on her phone. Now that she thought about it, the app hadn’t alerted her to an intruder earlier. That could only mean that whoever had broken into her house either knew her alarm code or had been able to disarm the supposedly top-notch technology. She wasn’t sure which of those two options was worse.
“We’re going to a hotel.” Max’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and he motioned for her to follow him.
He unlocked his car, a nondescript gunmetal gray sedan that was probably chosen for the fact that no one would ever remember it, and held the passenger door for her. She made a mental note to tell him later about the security app and slid onto the seat.
“But you said you didn’t want me staying alone. Does room service now offer security detail?” she asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll be staying with you, of course.”
His words were music to her ears. The idea of being cooped up alone in a hotel room was thoroughly depressing since she’d done it a thousand times before. Some people loved having a room and king-size bed to themselves. For Rose, it was a reminder of how little love she had in her life.
Ugh, enough with the woe-is-me thoughts. You can have a pity party later when no one is around to witness it.
Luckily she had something to take her mind off the break-in, off her strained relationship and unrelenting distrust of her father. Max was exactly what she needed to get out of her funk.
He started the car and headed slowly down her street, his features set as hard as stone. Max was good-looking if you liked ruggedly handsome, unshaven guys with jawlines sharp enough to carve a Thanksgiving turkey. Honesty, who wouldn’t like that?
His dark hair was slightly too long to be fashionable, and the perma-scowl he wore did nothing to highlight his naturally full lips, though she was sure she could coax those bad boys out of their flat line. She had just the activity to put them to better use...
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of serious?” she said, her voice just saccharine enough that he would realize she was tugging his strings.
“Would you want someone charged with your protection to be anything but serious?” He raised a brow but didn’t move his eyes from the road.
“I get it. You have an important job. But I have the feeling you’d be superserious even if the situation didn’t call for it.” She tapped a fingertip to her lower lip, studying him openly. “Like you’d have the same facial expression even if you were scrambling eggs.”
“I poach my eggs. It requires a lot of concentration.” Not a single muscle twitched on his face.
“Remind me to take you along next time I play Texas Hold ’em.” She stretched in her seat, arching her spine and pushing out her chest to see if he would look. He didn’t.
“I don’t gamble.”
“You don’t play poker or scramble your eggs? Gee, what do you do for fun?”
He didn’t answer her question. Silence filled the car and Rose fiddled with the buckle on her seat belt. She would kill for some music right now, even the incessant honking of cabs. Anything. Silence was her enemy.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” she asked.
That got his attention. Max turned his head, flicking his dark eyes over her. His frown deepened.
“I don’t need to like you to do my job.”
“That’s exactly the resounding reassurance I was looking for.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that I care.”
“Then why did you ask?”
She shrugged and raked a hand through her cropped waves. “You didn’t answer my last question.”
“I’m not here to reassure you about anything other than your physical safety. I’m not going to tuck you in at night and read you bedtime stories.” He glanced at her. “Though I’m sure there would be guys lining up to fill that position.”
Between working at the store and designing jewelry, she didn’t exactly get out much. Any free time was spent checking out the competition, taking pictures of her pieces to post online and working on the website she hoped to launch in the new year. Sure, she’d left a string of boyfriends behind her in London, but she’d been the one making the first move...not that she had a problem with that.
“Probably a good thing you’re not up for a bedtime story. I’m reading that book about the guy with the ‘play room.’ You know, BDSM is all the rage now.”
Baiting the bodyguard probably wasn’t the smartest idea that Rose had ever had, but, dammit, she needed a little fun right now. Ruffling the feathers of Max Ridgeway definitely counted as fun. To her delight, a light flush spread over his cheeks.
“Yeah, there’s this one scene where he paddles the girl. Oh, and another with a sex swing. Very kinky. I’m not sure you’d enjoy it.”
They stopped at a red light and Max stared at her. The blacks of his pupils flared. His lips twisted up at the corner. Seriousness had given way to something else; his mask cracking to reveal a hint of something real. A delicious, sensual edge that set Rose’s whole body on red-alert.
“You have no idea what I like.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy to be into the kinky stuff. Poached eggs seem a little vanilla to me... That’s all I’m saying.” She patted his arm. “Feel free to prove me wrong, though.”
He turned back to the road. “I think I preferred you this morning when you were determined to ditch me.”
“Yes, but it seems I do need you.” She wrinkled her nose. The thought of relying on him irritated her. “I may as well have a little fun.”
“This isn’t a game, Rose.” He shook his head, his tone admonishing her as though she were a naughty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. If only the cookie jar were his pants...
“You would say that.”
They pulled up in front of a small, out-of-the-way hotel that Rose didn’t recognize. Christmas lights decorated two small trees at the entrance. A wreath hung over the door, obscuring the fancy design on the glass.
“It’s not The Plaza, but I guess it will do,” she quipped, waiting to see if Max would bite.
“Go straight inside. I’ll grab your bag and meet you at the check-in desk in a minute. Don’t talk to anyone.”
“Yes, sir.” She gave him a mock salute and pushed out onto the street, stealing a glance around.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, her skin prickling with awareness. Surely Max would know if someone had followed them. That was his job, right? Swallowing her nerves, Rose strode into the hotel. People milled about, the uniformed staff bustling and serving customers.
A mother with a screeching toddler was trying desperately to bribe him into the stroller with a chocolate bar. Two businessmen sat in the foyer huddled over a laptop. A guy with tattoos on his forearms sat alone, a newspaper folded in his lap. His eyes swept over Rose, burning intently into her. She swallowed and looked away, silently praying that he wouldn’t approach her.
The burgeoning bruise on her cheek pulsed and she raised her fingers to it, suddenly self-conscious that people might stare at her. Where the hell was Max? Surely he should be inside by now.
A hand landed heavily on her shoulder and Rose gasped, her heart lodging in her windpipe.
“It’s just me,” Max said, handing her a key card. “I checked us in.”
“I didn’t see you.” Adrenaline coursed through her, making her hands tremble as she took the plastic card from him.
“You’re safe with me, Rose.” He dragged her suitcase behind him and pressed his free hand against her lower back, guiding her toward the elevators. “I’m good at my job.”
The gesture was simple, commanding and comforting. He was in charge here, she was in his domain. Under his rule.
He released her as they stepped into the elevator and her skin cried out at the loss of his touch. Was she so desperate for affection that she craved it from a guy who’d all but admitted he disliked her?
Pathetic. You’ve officially reached a D-grade celebrity, Real Housewives-level of sadness. Next stop, the Big Brother house.
Max typed on his phone, seemingly unaware of her inner crazy. He looked delectable in his skin-hugging jeans, faded T-shirt, leather jacket and scuffed boots. Casual and totally perfect. His fingers flew over the screen of his smartphone, dexterous and nimble. She swallowed, wondering what those fingers would feel like on her, teasing her. Coaxing her.
The elevator pinged and Max shoved the phone into his back pocket, motioning for her to exit first. The hallway of the boutique hotel was a little kitsch, the exposed brick and ornate carpet hinting at another time. Their suite was the one closest to the elevator. Was that so they could make a quick getaway?
Stop being so paranoid. This will probably blow over before you know it. Don’t turn into a baby now! Not with something much more interesting to focus on...
* * *
MAX CHECKED IN with the assignment manager at Cobalt & Dane Security and let him know that he would be watching over Rose tonight. He logged their location—using the required location alias—should anything happen. The hotel was on the company’s list of approved safe houses and he knew there were two security consultants who lived in the same block should he need backup tonight.
Doing things “by the book” had always been his style. He’d been the third generation to join the Victoria Police, and his family had instilled in him a strong sense of obligation and obedience. But the rules didn’t offer him the same comfort they once had. He’d followed orders every day of his career and now, because of his loyalty to the rules, Ryan was dead.
His best friend gone. Forever.
No way was he making that same mistake again. Speaking of Rose, she was one thing not going his way. He wondered if he was being punished for fucking up everything back home. She was exactly the kind of client he didn’t want: headstrong, argumentative. Tempting beyond all belief.
Hell, seeing the expensive lingerie strewn all around her bedroom had done crazy things to him. He couldn’t help but picture how amazing she would look in the red lace teddy he’d spied hanging off one of her bed posts. Maybe she had stockings to match. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair.
“How long did you book us in for?” Rose asked as she opened the door to their suite and flicked on the light.
The suite was modest and simply furnished, but the couch looked comfortable enough, and it had a direct line of sight to the bedroom door. That would be good for his duties, bad for his sanity.
Outside, the night had bloomed. The sky was a blanket of twinkling city lights on a background of deep indigo. The hotel had a partial view of the Manhattan skyline, though partial in this case amounted to about 10 percent.
New York still overwhelmed him. He’d grown up in the country, only moving to Melbourne when his father had accepted a promotion to superintendent. Melbourne had felt huge at the time, but New York was like a monster that had eaten several smaller cities for breakfast. It was louder, faster, more aggressive. The sheer volume of people and vehicles still fascinated Max, still made him feel far away from home.
“I only booked us for tonight,” he replied, setting Rose’s suitcase against the wall. “We’ll check out tomorrow morning and head straight back to your apartment.”
“To survey the damage,” she muttered. Her full lips pursed for a moment, her yellow-green eyes blazing like fire. “Bastards. They’re not going to bring me down.”
In that moment, he saw who she was for the first time. The real Rose. Not the princess who’d graced his office this morning. Not the taunting naughty-story-reading vixen. No, she was a passionate businesswoman determined to make it on her own. Determined to maintain her independence. She had a chip on her shoulder, and that made him like her even more...despite her assumption that he didn’t like her at all.
“Do you have any idea who might be behind the break-ins, Rose?”
She sucked on her lower lip, shaking her head in slow swishing movements. “Not really. I barely know anyone in the city.”
“There’s no one from London who might have followed you?”
A wicked smile curved the corner of her lips. “I dated a writer from a fancy magazine in the UK and it ended abruptly. But I doubt he’d follow me here.”
“You don’t look too sad about it.”
“He was terrible in bed. It was never going to last.”
She took out her earrings and rolled them in her hand, making them catch the light and glimmer, playing with them as though they were worry beads.
“What about your father? Does he have any enemies?”
“You’d need to ask someone who knows him.” She laughed, the bitter sound wrenching in Max’s chest. “He deals antiques. Could he have screwed someone on a price? I honestly wouldn’t have a clue.”
Max nodded, picked up her suitcase and walked to the bedroom. “You should probably get some rest.”
The bedroom was as modest as the lounge area. A king-size bed took up most of the space, the cream linens contrasting with the exposed redbrick wall and a plain lamp on the nightstand.
He imagined her splayed across that bed, the lamplight dancing across her pearly skin. He pictured just how magnificent her breasts would be unconfined, weighty in his palms. Slick beneath his mouth.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, coming up beside him and placing her earrings on the nightstand. Her eyes analyzed him, shrewd. Assessing.
“They’re worth more than a penny right now,” he muttered, tossing her suitcase on the bed.
Her hands went to the back of her necklace. She fiddled with the clasp for a minute and then paused. “Can I borrow your hands?”
Hell yes, you can.
She turned her back to him, bending her head forward to expose the clasp of her necklace. He brushed aside the hair at the nape of her neck and felt a tremor run through her. The clasp was small and fiddly. His fingers swept against her smooth skin as he fumbled like a teenage boy tackling a bra clasp for the first time.
The thought sent a wave of heat through him. If only she’d move closer, arch against him. The clasp finally released and he stepped away, dazed by the scent of her perfume and the heady rush of lust.
Abort! Abort! Get the fuck out of there. NOW.
“I’ll leave you to it.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be right outside. Make sure the window is locked.”
He checked the bathroom and closet, satisfied that the room was secure. She continued to remove her jewelry, sliding the bangles over her slender wrists and hands. The tinkling sound of precious metals clouded his mind. As her hands reached for the hem of her top he turned and left the room.
“Sweet dreams,” she called after him.
