Hot Contract (27 page)

“How many weapons do you have anyway?”

The helmet clicked and Tris said in her ear,
“Enough.”

“How much longer?”

“Couple of miles.” He stopped at a light and
put his feet down.

“Tris? What do you call these long pipe
things? They’re burning my legs.”

She felt a sigh rumble up through his chest.
“Put your feet up on the pegs, Jen.”

“But my legs will cramp.”

Tris kicked his bike into gear. “I should
have brought the Spyder—"

“You have an Aston-Martin, and you
didn’t—omigod, look out for that—hey! You did that on purpose!"

****

DalCon Security and Risk Management took up
the back of a sprawling redwood office building. The other tenants
were gone for the day, and except for a solid block of cars near
the rear entrance, the parking lot was deserted.

Jen slid down off Tris’s bike, wobbled for a
second and grabbed at the black leather seat. “I didn’t think
anyone else would be here.”

Tris swung his leg over the sleek, black
motorcycle. “DalCon Security has over twenty operatives, eight
support staff. A satellite office in D.C. with three rapid response
teams, negligible assets—”

“You had them investigated.”

The head of StallingCo Intelligence
unstrapped his helmet. “I did the original report at Art's
request.”

Jen hooked her helmet on the seat and
grimaced, brushing at her crumpled linen skirt. “I’m scared.”

“Yeah,” said Tris. “Something about this
place I don’t like...something...” He spun in a slow circle, eyes
raking the trees at the far edge of the parking lot. “Like we’re
being watched.”

Jen spared a quick glance at the
umbrella-like pines. “Nothing there.”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”

“What do you think it is?”

“Could be anything. Could be I’m paranoid.”
He gestured her in front of him. “Let’s get inside.” Under
cover.

The impression Jen got from him was so
strong, she gave the parking lot another once over. Empty asphalt.
A spill of trees leading down to a busy thoroughfare.

“Is paranoia contagious?”

Tris loosened his jacket. “Don’t know. I got
mine from my dad.”

They walked up to the entrance, Tris acting
like he expected an attack to come out of nowhere. Jen pushed at
the lacquered wooden doors. Whatever she’d expected of DalCon, this
elegant marble and glass reception room wasn’t it. Her pink heels
clicked on the faux Roman mosaic. Two men sat in chairs near the
window, and a small cluster of people waited near a stack of
architectural magazines.

Jen detoured around an impressive arrangement
of stargazer lilies, and approached the receptionist. “I’d like to
see Mr. Dalfrey, please.”

The woman pulled a pair of rhinestone studded
glasses down the bridge of her high-bridged nose. “Do you have an
appointment?”

“I didn’t expect to need one.”

The receptionist—her name tag read
Margaret—rolled over to her computer and brought up an appointment
log. “We have an opening next Tuesday. Is ten good for you?”

Jen gathered up her nerves, took a deep
breath and calmly placed both hands down on the cool marble. “I
want to see Keegan. Now.”

For a second the woman looked puzzled. “I’m
sorry...Ms.…what did you say your name was?” She shook her head and
waved her hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. Mr. Dalfrey is in
a meeting and can’t be disturbed. Why don’t you take one of our
cards and call back later? We might have a cancellation.”

Jen swallowed her frustration. “I want to see
Keegan.”

The receptionist rose to her feet, clearly
concerned, but ready to stand her ground. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“You’ll need an appointment like everyone else.”

Tris moved away from the wall. He touched his
side and lifted a brow.
Help?

Jen shook her head.
No
.

A door behind the desk opened on the most
incredibly handsome man Jen had ever seen. On a scale of one
through ten, he was easily a twelve. His hair was Stalling-black,
and his eyes were the green her father would kill to put into their
genome.

“You’re Connor,” she breathed.

His gaze slid from her to Tris and back
again. The urbane mask slipped to reveal something savage. “Yeah,”
he growled. “I’m Connor. Tell me who you are, lady. I’m getting
real nervous.”

Corlis held on to Nick with one hand, hopping
around on one foot. Her toes ached in places she didn’t know could
hurt. “The next time I agree to let you pick out my shoes, I’ll
just put a bullet through my brain. It’ll be faster.”

Nick slipped both hands around her waist to
steady her. “If you want to look good, you must suffer. It is the
way of woman, and very mysterious. Maybe you should sit down.”

“And split my skirt? I’ve put too much time
into this outfit. I’ll be fine once I get this strap buckled.”

The back entrance at the far end of the hall
opened. Without a word, Fallon disappeared into the company
exercise room, a duffle slung over one shoulder.

Corlis straightened. “Nick?”

“You knew he was coming. It is better this
way, with no one to see.”

Her fingers locked around his forearm. Nick
pried her loose, muscles bulging under his thin black polo shirt.
He was smart and stylish and never used double negatives, but for
all the lust he aroused in her, he could have been a slab of ham.
From the minute Fallon had walked into her life, she’d wanted him
in ways that made her heart pound. She straightened her skirt and
took a tentative step.

“Sway,” said Nick. “It does not work if you
look like the stick is up your ass.”

“Great way to put it, Nick.” Corlis teetered
back into her office and rummaged in her desk for the small pink
package Maggie had given her ages ago as a joke. Her neckline was
just loose enough to get her fingers under. She pulled at her bra
and slipped the inserts into place, working the jelly pads down
under her breasts. “Damn it, Nick. Do I look lopsided?”

She pushed her dress down off her shoulders
and studied the lacy white cups.

Nick turned his back on her, arms folded
across his incredibly broad chest. “It is hopeless. No one would
believe I am not in here tearing your clothes off and making mad
passionate sex to you on the floor.”

“The inserts don’t work!”

“You are fine the way you are.”

“I look scrawny.”

“Jelly pads do not make you look better, they
make you look top-heavy.”

“Maybe if I moved them over to the side?”
Corlis stepped closer to a decorative mirror Maggie had also put
up. It was the first time Corlis had ever looked into it. She
worked the inserts deeper.

Nick made an exasperated sound, crossed the
room and caught her hand. “You know what I mean, Corlis. You must
apologize and use your new clothes.”

Maybe the underwear would work, because
Corlis doubted something as simple as an apology would fix
everything that was wrong between her and Fallon. She jerked her
dress back into place and stalked down the hall after him.

Fallon looked up as she entered. The exercise
room was small, leaving Corlis all too desperately aware of him
lifting weights less than three feet away. His bare torso was
streaked with sweat, and the room smelled like him, musky and
potent. She opened a window because she couldn't catch her breath,
and when she turned, he was on his feet, pale eyes hot and
hard.

“If my smell offends you, you can fucking
leave.”

She stiffened at that. “I came in here to
apologize.”

“To who? Me? Jesus, that’s a joke. You came
in here to clear your conscience about doing Nick.” His gaze
skimmed down her dress and he turned away, wiping his chest with a
towel.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For
everything.”

Fallon didn’t move. Nick was wrong and she
was pathetic, hoping Fallon would read what she couldn't say into a
dress she normally wouldn't wear. She turned away quickly, hands
clenched down at her sides. If she stood here for much longer,
she'd start to cry and wouldn't that be fun?

She didn't hear him move, but when he
whispered, "Don't cry, babe," she heard the sound she
made—high-pitched and in pain.

“You're too close!”

The rough curve of his palm slipped into the
hair at her nape. “Not close enough.”

“Fuck this!” She blinked back her tears and
sucked in a short, terrified breath. “Give me your towel.”

Fallon pushed her against the wall and held
her in place with his body, both arms locked around her, holding
her while her chest heaved and her nose filled.

She struggled, trying to break away from the
rawness of her emotions. “I c-can't do this,” she told him,
“I-I....”

“I love you,” he said softly.

Her lips parted as the words choked in her
mouth, “I-I….”

“I love you,” he repeated. “I've loved you
forever.”

Her heart was pounding so loudly, she
couldn't form words. The damn inside her broke and she clung to
him, fingers digging into the hard flesh of his back as she
hiccupped and cried.

Fallon shook, face buried in her hair. “I
love you.”

Corlis held on to him, the man she'd loved
since the fourth grade, and finally looked into his pale, hot eyes.
“I've a-always…loved you, too,” she mumbled.

She felt his laugh rumble up and explode as
he swung her around and around, teeth flashing in a big belly
laugh. Then his lips closed over hers and she felt him groan as she
deepened their kiss, feeling him hot, hard and ready for her
beneath his low-slung pants.

“Worth the wait,” he said fiercely.

She knotted her fingers in his and smiled
back. “Show me.”

****

Jen looked for a polite way to express her
greatest fear as she accompanied Connor down the hall. “Is
Keegan...ah, alert?”

Connor shrugged, an odd look in his eyes,
half-hidden by the charming small talk. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Paperwork comes out, so I assume he’s alert. At least part of the
time.”

He opened the door, then swept a foot through
the mess on the floor, clearing her somewhere to stand. The air in
the room wasn’t good. The combined esters of sweat and alcohol hit
Jen like a brick. Keegan slouched at his desk, booted feet up on
his keyboard. He’d shoved one foot through the monitor, and he
looked tired. More than tired. Ill.

As she watched, his eyes opened to slits and
he reached for a bottle on the floor beside him. She didn’t know
whiskey came in bottles that big.

Connor shook his head. His expression was
slipping and Jen got the impression he was furious. “Get your ass
up,” he told Keegan, “and give me that bottle.”

Keegan lifted the bottle to his mouth with
both hands.

Connor jerked it away. “We crawled out of the
fucking projects—if you’re going to get shit-faced, use a glass.
Here,” he shoved Keegan’s chair to an upright position. “I brought
you a present.”

Booted feet hit the floor and Keegan came out
of the chair ready for battle, the menace in his stance so palpable
he looked like a completely different person.

Jen stumbled back, shoulders hitting the door
with an audible thump.

“Get out,” Keegan snarled at his brother.

"Keegan?” she whispered.

He turned so fast he would have fallen if
Connor hadn’t been there to catch him. “You!”

Her heart beat painfully fast. She didn’t
know this Keegan. Had she made a mistake in coming here?

His chest heaved, his breath coming quick and
hard. “Please don’t be a hallucination.”

Jen cleared the lump of fear from her throat.
“Get them a lot?”

“Once or twice a day,” he said, “but they’re
intense.”

“Sex and violence?”

“Too much violence,” breathed Keegan. “And it
was never just sex. Where’s your brother?”

“Percival is on his way to Beijing.”

Suspicion narrowed his eyes. “Is that why
you’re here, Jen? You want to fuck me, and my company?”

She pushed away from the wall, hands down and
knotted down at her sides. “Security knows where I am.”

“Your brother runs StallingCo Security.”

Jen crossed the room to where Keegan leaned
with one hand braced on the broken monitor. “Yes, he does. Is that
a problem?”

“I stink,” he said, putting her presence and
Percy’s approval together at last. “I haven’t showered in—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He looked at her warily, like maybe he’d
misunderstood.

“I love you,” she told him. “Stinky stuff and
all.”

He stared. And stared some more.

“Keegan?” she asked, when she couldn’t stand
the silence.

He swallowed. “There’s a full bathroom down
the hall.”

“Yours?”

“Sort of,” he said.

“Can I...join you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. Then passed out at her
feet.

****

Corlis slammed the office door open, stepped
over Keegan, and gave Connor a pointed look. “If you’re not going
to do anything, get out of the way. Fallon! Grab his legs. I’ll get
his arms.”

She wore a skin-tight blue dress and spiky
sandals so tall she wobbled. Fallon followed her, loose tan ACUs
hanging low on his lean belly. He dripped with sweat and had his
hair tied back in a bandanna.

“Fallon do this. Fallon do that. Fallon pick
up the stinking drunk so he can have wild monkey sex in the
bathroom. Man, I’ll never be able to look at that tub again.”

“Fallon!”

“All right, all right—he’d just better keep
his boots on. I’m not about to touch his feet.”

Jen grinned. If anyone could get Keegan
sober, it was Corlis. She and Fallon carefully eased Keegan through
the door, away from the back of the building and down a narrow
beige side corridor to the bathroom.

Fallon shouldered the door open.