For Her Protection: 1 (Personal Protection) (14 page)

His computer was impossible to access. Not surprising, given
he was in security. She only dared try entering two guesses for his password.
Next the briefcase. She pushed his jacket out of the way and pressed the clips.
The case clicked and swung open easily.

He hadn’t locked it. Apparently he trusted her. She held
back the burning in her chest. Pity she’d trusted him too. Guess they both were
wrong.

The cream interior held a row of neat pens slotted into
their proper places and several manila files. She flicked through them. Files
on Crowe Securities and then—one on Halifax. She ran her gaze carefully over
each page, turning every one over and examining it for anything telling.

She put them back into the briefcase and shut the lid then
rubbed her forehead. Nothing. Only standard paperwork, his suggestions and
other completely relevant and legitimate items she’d expect to find. She sighed
and leaned forward to collect the jacket that had slipped to the floor.

Maybe she’d been wrong. What were the chances anyway, that
the security company they’d called would have a subversive agenda?

She clutched the jacket to her chest. The material smelled
like Connor. Clean, masculine, fantastic… She gazed at the coat then slowly
slid her hand into the front pocket.

Empty.

Yet the nagging sensation in the back of her mind pushed her
to check the satiny pockets on the inside. She groped around the cool space
until her fingers caught on a smooth object. She tugged it out and stared at
the flat little USB stick.

Her pulse ticked faster. She strode to her computer and
pushed the end into one of the tiny slots on the desktop PC. She folded herself
into the chair and watched the files open. The icon for a single document
showed on the screen. The title jumped out at her and punched her in the chest,
forcing all the air from her lungs. The audit she’d seen that morning—the
freaking missing audit. The world tipped, slowed. Her chest squeezed as if a
fist had shoved itself between her ribs and clutched her heart.

A sob beat against the back of her throat.

The door handle jiggled.

“Charlize?” he called out in that rich, familiar voice.

She stared at the door. The room caved around her but she
found that place inside, that quiet, indestructible place inside herself.

She pulled it up around her like a shield and vowed she’d
never let it down again.

“You plan on talking to me again anytime soon?” Connor
pulled up the handbrake and shifted in the driver’s seat of the Challenger.

Charlize stared out the window at the front door of her
home. She’d waited until after work to confront him. Like she needed any more
scenes at Halifax. “Tell me, would you have taken me more seriously if I hadn’t
let you fuck me?” Her voice sounded loud and toneless in the emptiness of the
car.

“Jesus, Charlize. I only asked you to take a day off not
quit your job.”

She snorted. Energy bubbled under her skin, looked for an
exit but she held it in. “Not today anyway.” She turned to him. Faint lines
framed his eyes, as if he might actually be bothered by something.

Good, she wanted to bother him. Bother him badly.

“Did you think I was stupid, I wouldn’t work out what you
were up to?”

“Dammit, what exactly is it you think I’m doing? One request
and I’m undermining your entire career?” His jaw tightened.

If he was acting, he did a damn fine job of looking sincere.
Her chest tightened. He leaned across the space between them and leveled his
gaze at her. The intensity in his eyes gave her pause.

“Listen ’cause I’ll only say this once—I want you. I want
you in my bed doing what I say, when I say, because I know that’s what you
fucking well want.” He swallowed and his mouth twitched. “I want all of you but
that doesn’t mean I can’t share you with your life. It doesn’t mean I need to
run your world.”

Charlize shut her eyes. Her chest quivered and she held back
the tears.

Damn him.

Damn him for saying just what he knew she’d want to hear.
Damn him for being a lying bastard. She tucked her hand into her pocket and
curled her fingers around the plastic USB. “No?” She reached for his hand. He
frowned and held it open. She pressed the stick into his roughed palm. “What
are you really doing with me, Connor?”

He grasped her fingers before she could draw them away. “It’s
not what you think.”

She tried to tug away but he held tight, curled his fingers
around hers, stroked his thumb over her skin as if trying to soothe her. She
didn’t want to be soothed, didn’t want to be coddled.

“Then explain,” she shouted.

“It’s my job to protect you, Charlize. That’s all I’ve done.”
He raised his hand to her cheek, cupped her face. “I’m trying to protect
you—can’t you trust me to do that?”

She jerked away from his touch before she sank into it. He
dropped his hands.

“You protect me by stealing company files? By hiding things
from me? Hiding things you know I’ve been searching for?”

“Yes. Because this information can only put you in more
danger.” His voice sounded gravelly. “Let me handle this. It’s going to get
messy. Step back from Halifax for a while until we work it out.”

She shook her head and it swam. He didn’t, couldn’t
understand… What he called protecting her only showed her what he really thought
of her—that she was less than capable. She pressed her fingers between her eyes
and held herself together by focusing on that touch. A gentle weight settled on
her arm.

“Let’s go inside and talk about this.”

Her throat closed but she forced out the words. “No. You won’t
be coming inside with me again. I’m sick of playing your damsel in distress.
Whatever this is—it’s done.”

The words hung in the air, quivered along her heart, tore at
it. But she held her ground, held fast to her last chance to choose the
direction of her life. Because if she said stay—she’d be done. She’d lose
herself in him, be his woman forever. She was inches away from sinking into a
life that wasn’t hers to control.

The fingers on her arm tightened briefly before he pulled
back. He spoke, his voice low and brittle. “You’re making a mistake. I’m not
the guy you make me out to be—I’m not your caveman, Charlize.”

She licked her trembling lower lip and forced her mouth to
move and make words. “You think so? What you’ve done—it just proves the only
difference between you and any other chauvinist is that you’re in denial. I
want someone who respects me or I’ll take no one at all.”

His features hardened but she turned to the door. Connor
grasped her wrist. She glanced at him, her forehead drawn tight.

“You’re forgetting something. That creep is out there. That
creep who attacked you. I’m not going to disappear until he’s caught.” The look
on his face underlined his words. Beneath the stony mask lay a determination
that wouldn’t be broken with a jackhammer.

“I haven’t forgotten. Gregory is on the run and I’ve no
reason to think he’s still after me. But I’ve learned my lesson so if you
insist on hanging around, do so professionally—be invisible. I don’t want to
see you.”

She opened the door but his words stopped her.

“You’re so afraid of what things might mean that you can’t
see what they are.”

She climbed out and slammed the car door then took the steps
two at a time, despite wearing heels. She pushed her key into the deadlock, her
back stiff, strong. Too bad on the inside she was nothing but a ragged
wound—split open, bleeding and pulsing raw.

* * * * *

The knock on her door at 6:00 a.m. sent her heart lurching
toward her throat. Not that she wasn’t already up and dressed. Since sleep had
turned out to be a massive fail she’d been dressed for a while, not sure
whether to drive herself to the gym, if Connor expected to follow…

Charlize straightened her shoulders, picked up her things
and went to the door. She opened it just a crack, enough to send him the
message he wasn’t welcome inside. The man standing in the doorway was equally
as large as Connor but had a wider waist and much darker skin. The man smiled
and lifted his hand, his white teeth a brilliant contrast against his skin. A
week ago she’d have returned his smile, enjoyed the sight of a good-looking man
in her doorway—but today she could only scowl.

He wasn’t Connor.

“Ms. Halifax? I’m Jason Washington. Mr. Crowe sent me to
escort you this morning.”

She recognized him. He was part of the new security assigned
to Halifax. Charlize pulled a tight smile into place and opened the door wider
to shake his hand. “Thank you, Jason. I’d like to go to the gym before work. I’m
all ready to go.”

He gripped her hand and gave it a firm shake.

“He said you might.”

Charlize clutched her bag closer and nodded. The sinking
feeling that had swamped her all night, preventing her from sleeping, crept
back into place. He just had to go and be thoughtful didn’t he? Just had to act
like he knew what she wanted.

Jason opened the back door of his black sedan and she
stepped inside then buckled the seatbelt across her lap. Jason glanced at her a
few times in the mirror but didn’t attempt small talk. Not that she felt up for
a chat.

They arrived at Alicia’s and Charlize put her things in a
locker, jammed in her earphones and went straight to the treadmill. Didn’t
glance at the other equipment, didn’t ask Jason to change and join in on the
one beside her so he didn’t stick out like a biker in ballet class, standing
there in his suit. She just pumped up the speed and found a song with enough
tempo to force out everything except remembering to move, remembering to
breathe.

Her thighs protested but she kept going, took a small measure
of satisfaction from the punishment. The treadmill screen flashed and kicked
into cool-down mode. She’d reached her goal yet somehow she felt as if she
still had so much more energy to burn. She slowed her steps and wiped her face
on a towel.

Charlize tugged out her earphones and glanced around. Voices
buzzed through the gym as women filed into the studio. Oh…right… Connor’s
class. The women probably loved him. He probably taught the class with his
shirt off. Probably gave the other women his “special” attention. The image of
Connor’s arms wrapped around her during a training session flashed through her
mind. Her eyes burned again. There was only one woman those arms should hold.

The last woman entered the studio, leaving the door open
behind her. All those poor ladies—his “students”—they were probably just as
taken in by him, just as fooled by him as she’d been.

She glanced at her watch. Still time for some weight
training. Charlize went to the free-weight area, diagonally across from the
gaping studio doorway. The location allowed her to get a glimpse of Connor’s
athletic body, surrounded by a gaggle of fawning women.

Not that she was looking.

Caveman wasn’t shirtless but the black tank against his tan
skin revealed enough muscle to kick her saliva ducts into overproduction.

Cocky
bastard
.

As if he didn’t know how good he looked in his tight gym wear.
She fished a dumbbell from the rack and began a triceps curl. Connor stood in
the center of the room and the bodies dispersed from around him, opening up the
view. His hands moved as he spoke. A tall figure emerged from the group and
stood opposite him. Charlize straightened but kept swinging her arm. Her neck
craned.

The woman facing Connor almost met him in height, the top of
her head level with his nose. She had the kind of legs that made models envious
and regular girls a little damn pissed. A blond ponytail crowned the back of
her skull at the highest point, swinging as she shifted her stance. Connor
stepped closer and reached for her. The blond ducked and pivoted then rose
swiftly, catching Connor’s thick arm in both hands. She rotated, rolled her
backside against his middle and sent him tumbling over her shoulder onto the
mat.

Charlize stepped forward. She swung the dumbbell faster, no
longer noticing the weight. No she didn’t care that Amazon’s ass had made
contact with Connor—not at all. It didn’t even piss her off the way the woman
strutted—the way she watched Connor get up and then flicked her fingers toward
him in a gesture that said “come get me”.

Connor sprang up and lunged for her again. Amazon stepped
into him this time, met him halfway and again sent him sprawling onto the mat,
then stood back and rolled her shoulders. Amazon was as freaking cocky as
Connor.

And the bitch had the moves to back it up.

The weight tugged on Charlize’s arm and her energy
dissipated.

“You could always go in, you know.” A deep voice sounded
from behind her.

Charlize glanced at Jason then back at the room she’d almost
wandered into. “No I need to get to work.”

Jason nodded and his gaze swept over the blond. The woman
helped Connor up then bowed to him and stepped back into the group.

“Do you know who she is?”

“Yeah she’s Connor’s latest recruit. Brooke’s been training
with him for years and he finally convinced her to come work for Crowe.”

“Hmm,” she said and sucked her cheek between her teeth. “Well
it sure looks as if she can handle herself.” It took effort getting out words.

Her arm ached, her chest throbbed and the dumbbell almost
slipped from her fingers. So Connor thought enough of Amazon Barbie to have her
work for him—but her—her he coddled like a three year old.

“Here,” Jason said and took the dumbbell. His gaze softened
on her. “You look as if you could do all right. You sure can run.”

She nodded shakily and let him put the weight away.

“I need to get changed,” she said and fled to the locker
room and hit the shower. But hot water didn’t ease the chill in her blood, only
made it that much more obvious. Her chest heaved and she swallowed the ragged
sounds breaking free. Tried not to sound like a lunatic, sobbing in the ladies’
showers. She flipped the tap to the other side and let the cold shock her back
into control. She let the water run over her stinging eyes.

Maybe if she were taller. Maybe if she managed to burn the
padding off her curves. Maybe if she were naturally tougher—

No…none of those things mattered. Amazon was the real deal.
Innately fierce. And Connor saw the difference. Amazon didn’t have to fake it.

Not like Charlize had been doing all along. Faking it.
Faking everything. Faking her whole freaking life. As if maybe—if she looked
the part, if she spoke the part—people might believe her. Believe she didn’t
need anyone to “protect” her. Believe she was more than people told her she
could be.

The one thing she hadn’t tried was being herself. She leaned
against the tiles and the cold water beaded over her skin in icy little
daggers.

But being herself wasn’t an option—it’d never be enough.

She turned off the water, dried herself and dressed in work
clothes. Structured black dress, tights and shiny black stilettos with
ferocious steel heels.

She pinned her wet hair into a bun, not caring what it’d
look like later or how long it’d stay damp. But she took her time with makeup.
Made the effort to use highlighter around her eyes to disguise the puffiness
then drew a black slash of liner above her amber eyes, which, as usual, were
paler after crying. She finished with blood-red, stay-put lipstick.

Her don’t-fuck-with-me face.

She stepped out of the locker room and into the hall. Conner
leaned against the wall, hands behind his back. His massive chest pushed
against his tank, its muscled surface sending hot shivers of want through her.
She hesitated and her foot twisted in her stilettos. She tipped, her bag thumped
against the ground.

Instead of falling on her face she slammed against Connor’s
chest as he lunged for her. Her cheek pressed against the exposed skin below
his collarbone and all she could do was cling to him as her feet fumbled for
balance. His sweat-slickened skin invaded her senses. Reminded her of what it
was like to taste that skin as they made love.

Took her right back there—into his arms—to being his.

She straightened and pushed off him.