His Sheltering Arms

He moved to stand opposite her and braced a hip against the door frame. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But surely you don’t spend all your time at work.”

“Lately, yes. I haven’t found anything that captures my passion like my work.”

“Or anyone?”

“No. Definitely not,” she said adamantly.

Zach clenched the back of his neck with one hand and studied the semiwhite drop cloth under his feet. “That’s a shame, Ms. Brailey. A real shame.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Mr. Miller. I manage.”

Pity didn’t enter into it. She wasn’t the kind of woman a man felt sorry for. He met her gaze. Big mistake. “It’s Zach, and since neither of us seems to be occupied, do you want to grab a bite to eat? I could go over a few of my concerns.”

She sighed. “That sounds very tempting, but I’m afraid I have dinner plans. He’s probably already at the restaurant.”

A strong sense of disappointment assaulted Zach, not that he was one to give up that easily. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Someone special?”

“Actually, I’m having dinner with my father.”

He straightened on that one. “You and your dad are close?”

In the time it took to blink, her expression went cold. “It’s an obligatory weekly dinner. That’s all.”

Zach wondered about the sudden change in her demeanor but thought it wise not to pursue the topic. He understood all too well the complicated dynamics between parent and child. He’d hated his father and still did, even though the man was dead.

“My father doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she added. “So let’s go down the hall, Mr.—” Her mouth worked into a smile “—Zach.”

She could make St. Peter sin with that smile. Which, as a practiced sinner, made Zach a goner. “At least we have the name thing straight. And let’s make another deal. We say what’s on our minds, no apologies. I think that works best with business arrangements.” He held out his hand. “Is it a deal?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she grasped his hand. “Deal.”

He didn’t immediately release her hand. Instead, he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and met her eyes, surprise in their blue depths. Awareness sparked between them, keen as a razor’s edge.

Checking back into reality, he dropped her hand. “Better wear gloves when you paint so you don’t ruin your hands.”

She studied her hands as if she didn’t believe him. “Thanks for the advice, but I’m not that fragile.”

No, she probably wasn’t, but he’d give up a week’s salary to find out. He might even throw in his season hockey tickets.

Zach pushed off the door thinking he’d best escape before he did something stupid. “Well, Ms. Brailey—”

“It’s Erin. Turnabout’s fair play.”

He grinned. “Okay, Erin, we should look around so you’re not late for your dinner date.”

“You’re right. Can’t keep Daddy waiting.” Her tone was laced with sarcasm.

They walked the hall, and before they reached the next room, Erin turned back to him. “Since this tour is going to have to be quick, why don’t you come by my office tomorrow? You can bring the blueprint and show me your ideas.”

Zach slipped his hands into his pockets, all too eager to accept. “Morning okay?”

“I’m afraid it will have to be later. I visit the other shelter in the mornings, and I have a board meeting at four-thirty. You could meet me after that in the boardroom. That way we’ll have access to the conference table.”

A burst of heat shot through him at the thought of what he would like to do with her on top of that table. The image came to him sharp and clear and totally unexpected. What was it about her that had his fantasies running away with his common sense? It was physical, yes, but there was more. That bothered him. He could control animal lust, but he didn’t like to deal with human need. He suspected Erin was the kind of woman who could make him reveal his darkest secrets, if he wasn’t careful. He couldn’t afford to open old wounds. “What time?”

She started back down the hall. “Six.”

Zach lagged behind so he could enjoy the view. “Good. I’ll bring dinner. Chinese okay with you?”

“Great.”

“What do you like?”

“Spicy,” she said without turning around, but he detected a smile in her voice.

If she only knew what she was doing to him, she’d probably prefer to walk back. But maybe not. Maybe she did inject passion into everything she attempted. Something told him he just might have to find out.

Two

“Fifty thousand dollars, Erin? Fifty thousand is a great deal of money.”

Erin sipped her wine and regarded her father over the bistro’s elegant gold filigree candleholder situated perfectly on the round table for two. Although Robert Brailey’s face was etched with fine lines, his neatly coifed hair now completely silver, he was still a handsome man. Even at sixty he looked much younger and every bit the prosperous politician. He’d retired two years before from his lengthy term in the state senate to reclaim his standing as a renowned corporate attorney. But the politico persona was as deeply ingrained as his love for the law, fine wine and classic cars. He wore the image well.

Erin grabbed the bottle of port and filled her glass, ignoring his disapproving stare. “I know it’s a lot of money, but I need matching funds for this project. You have access to private donors.” She tried to tamp down her desperation. “Because of the discretion involved, I can’t go out into the community and solicit donations. You know people who can help.”

He shoved his napkin aside. “You’re wasting your talents staying in social service.”

The muscles in Erin’s shoulders ached from tension. Conversations with her father always came back to his disapproval of a job that he had deemed dead-end since the day she’d accepted the position. “You might as well face it. I’m not making a career change anytime soon.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

His glare caused her to sit back and knead her hands underneath the table like an errant child. But she refused to buckle. “If I can make this work, I’ll achieve more satisfaction than any six-figure salary could provide.”

“Satisfaction doesn’t provide security.”

“I have other rewards.” For some reason Zach Miller came to mind. Obviously her hormones had run amok.

Her father cleared his throat, regaining her attention. “Until recently your greatest reward was your trust fund.”

In that instant she wanted to hate him, but as always, she couldn’t. Despite his attempts to run her life, he was still her father. She’d inherited her conviction from him, along with a good dose of stubbornness. At the moment, she needed his influence, and she would do anything, even grovel, to get it. For the shelter, she would swallow her pride.

Erin gently touched his hand. “Will you help me?”

He slid his hand from beneath hers and patted her arm. His well-rehearsed smile meant trouble. “I could investigate a few possibilities. On one condition.”

She’d been mistaken to believe that his help would come without conditions. Her sigh rose over the background hum of dinnertime conversation. “What condition?”

He took a long drink of wine and dabbed at his mouth with a mauve linen napkin. “How long will it take you to get this new shelter up and running?”

“We want to open in a month.”

“And how long to ensure its continuity?”

“If we can make a successful go of it for a year, that should convince the board it’s a worthwhile project.”

“I see.” He raised a hand to wave at some patron Erin didn’t recognize but continued to speak without missing a beat. “And if you don’t succeed, what then?”

She didn’t want to consider that possibility, although it was sheer stupidity not to. “We’ll continue business as usual with the existing shelter. We’ll just have to relocate our at-risk residents to other shelters and safe houses.”

He sat in silence for a moment longer—she assumed to consider his choice of weapons. She braced for his best shot.

“I’ll agree to help find your funding,” he said, “if you agree to consider coming to work for me if you fail.”

Gritting her teeth, she suppressed the urge to blurt out her refusal. She would be damned and desperate before she’d work for his firm under the guise of administrator, when in reality she’d be nothing more than a glorified hostess. Since her mother’s death twelve years before, he’d told her often enough he needed her in that capacity. And since her breakup with Warren, the perfect son-in-law prospect, her father never failed to remind her—not always so subtly—how great a disappointment she had been. Nothing had changed. Except Erin.

Now, more than ever, she was determined to succeed and prove him wrong. “If I do agree, would you promise to use all your resources to find the funds?”

“Are you asking would I set you up to fail?”

“It is a concern, don’t you think?”

He had never let Erin forget her former failures. Mistakes made by a rebellious sixteen-year-old girl who’d lost her mother. A teenager in desperate need of her father’s attention. Erin had gotten his attention and earned his distrust.

Robert’s face turned as stoic as the fake Roman bust in the corner. “I’ll give you my word, if that’s good enough.”

For a moment she felt ashamed. But the moment was short-lived. She needed his help, whatever his terms. She had no choice but to trust him.

Erin gathered all her inner strength and said the words she never thought she would say. “I agree to your proposal.”

Shock passed over his expression, but it didn’t take long for him to remold his face into a picture-perfect model of dignity. “Then you’ll come to work for me?”

“If the project doesn’t succeed.”

His shoulders relaxed and a victorious smile crept in. “What made you agree to my condition?”

Erin stood to make her escape. She wasn’t going to waste her time explaining how much the center meant to her. Or exactly how far she’d go to ensure its success. “Well, Father, it’s simple.” She took her purse from the back of her chair and slipped the braided strap over her shoulder. Then she produced a determined look designed to complement her parting words.

“I’m not going to fail.”

Erin left the boardroom the next afternoon in a state of euphoria. As the board members filtered out, she was met with congratulations and optimism. For the first time since she’d proposed the new shelter, she believed it was going to work.

After the last of the requisite goodbyes, she noticed a figure standing near the vacant reception desk. Cathy had gone home for the day, but the door hadn’t been locked in order to allow the board members to exit. The stranger wore a plain dark suit and his sandy hair close cropped. The shiny plastic-covered Langdon PD credentials pinned to his lapel contrasted his dull-gray eyes. She had met several men from the local department, all very nice and accommodating, but she didn’t recognize this man.

Erin approached the desk slowly, a sense of foreboding settling over her with each click-clack of her heels hitting the industrial-tiled floor. The shelter was situated a block away from the center. Normally, when there was trouble, she’d receive a call from the on-duty house manager. Maybe he wasn’t here on official business, but the determined look on his ruddy face indicated this wasn’t a social call.

Erin donned her professional smile. “May I help you?”

He was close to her height, but his deportment seemed almost predatory. “Are you Miss Brailey?”

“Yes, I’m Ms. Brailey.”

“Detective Andrews, Langdon PD,” he announced, without the offer of a handshake. “I need to speak to you immediately.”

Erin glanced at the desk clock. Zach Miller was due anytime now, but the tone in the detective’s voice told her that his business couldn’t wait. Or at least he thought it couldn’t. “I have an appointment, but I can give you a few minutes. Come on into my office.”

She led the way and, once inside, positioned herself behind the desk. She gestured to the chair Zach had occupied the day before. “Have a seat.”

“I’ll stand.”

Erin remained standing, as well, to maintain an equal advantage. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

His steely gaze darted around the room before finally coming to rest on Erin. “It’s about this new shelter you’re planning. The grapevine says it’s a house for cops’ wives.”

Erin had suspected word would get out sooner or later. She’d hoped for later. “If that situation arises. Is there a problem?”

“The problem is some of us don’t like it. Makes the department look bad, you know what I mean? Bad PR for police.”

Erin gripped the back of her chair. “Actually, Detective, the proposed shelter is not targeted solely at the partners of those in law enforcement. There is a need for a safe house for women abused by anyone that would know the existing shelter’s whereabouts, in Langdon and in the surrounding suburbs, including the larger cities. Our intent is not to belittle police departments. In fact, we rely heavily on their services at our existing shelter.”

His laugh was abrupt, humorless. “No kidding. Our guys risk their necks getting involved in domestic fights. Can’t even tell you how many times when I was still working the streets I had a jealous husband threaten me. We go in there and break up their lovers’ quarrel only to have the woman bail him out the next day. People need to learn to settle their problems on their own. It’s an ever-lovin’ pain in the butt.”

No matter how much time the center had devoted to education, a select few still didn’t understand the dynamics of abuse. This man was a prime example.

Erin’s patience left the building. “No kidding,” she said, throwing his words back at him. “For the women it’s a big pain in the butt. And sometimes, the arms, the nose and so forth.”

He balled his fists at his side, his round face flushing an unnatural shade of red. “Why don’t you leave well enough alone? You’ve got one place for them, why do you need another?”

She straightened up to her full height, refusing to be intimidated by a man with questionable motives, even if he did wear a badge. “Because some men don’t understand that it’s against the law to hit their wives or girlfriends. Those wives and girlfriends need a place where no one can get to them.”

“Cops can go anywhere they want.”

“Not if they’re stopped.”

He gave her a sickening once-over, then smirked. “And who’s going to stop them? You?”

Erin opened her mouth to respond but was stopped short by a deep, controlled voice. A voice full of hatred. A voice belonging to Zach Miller.

“I will.”

Tension as thick as a winter fog settled over the small office. Neither man moved, as if facing off for a duel.

Zach tightened his grasp on the rolled blueprint he clutched in one hand. “What do you want, Andrews?”

The sour apple look on the detective’s face repulsed Erin. “This is business, Miller. And it’s none of yours.”

Zach took another step forward. “Yeah, well I don’t intend to involve myself in your business. Unless I have to.”

“Good. At least you’ve learned your place.”

“But I doubt you have.”

Erin watched Zach’s features harden as if the last vestiges of his control were slipping away. She couldn’t let that happen, so she moved from behind the desk and said, “Detective Andrews, Mr. Miller is my next appointment, so if you’re through now—” she headed to the door and held it open “—I’ll see you out.”

“Don’t bother,” Andrews retorted. “I can find my way.”

The detective strode past Zach with an acid glare. Erin closed the door behind him and leaned back against it.

Zach stood in the middle of the room with a choke hold on the blueprint as he stared at some focal point above her head.

Erin pushed off the door. “Old friend?”

He finally met her gaze, fury flashing in his dark eyes. “Old acquaintance. Not a friend.”

Zach strolled around the room. Erin didn’t speak, deciding to give him a moment to cool down.

He lifted a slat on the lone window’s dusty miniblind and peered outside into the parking lot. “Why was he here?”

“He’s curious about the new shelter.”

Zach turned away from the window, his anger almost palpable. “How does he know about it?”

“Just because we keep the proposed site’s whereabouts a secret doesn’t mean we can keep its existence from the community. The surrounding police departments know about it. So does Langdon’s police chief. We’ve always had a good rapport. I consider many of the men and women on the force good friends. In fact, almost all of them understand the need. Unfortunately, your acquaintance doesn’t.”

“That sure as hell isn’t surprising.”

Erin wanted to know why and exactly what Zach was hiding. What was his relationship with Andrews? More important, would it affect the new shelter? She walked to her desk and fumbled for a pencil and notebook. “What do you know about the detective?”

“Enough to know the bastard’s trouble.”

“I gather you two have a history.”

Zach tapped the end of the desk with the blueprint. “Yeah, one I’m not willing to go into.”

The intensity of his deep voice warned Erin not to press, even though she dearly wanted to. Eventually she would have to find an opportune time. But not now. Not while he was in such an agitated state. “Are you ready to get to work now?”

“Sure.” He sent her a brief smile. “I left the food at the front desk. Where to?”

“The conference room.”

Zach sat across from Erin at the mile-long table and stared at his food. Today Ron Andrews had ruined his appetite. Three years ago he’d ruined Zach’s career. Every time he came in contact with Andrews, Zach was reminded of another ruthless man who also had been respected in his field. His own father.

As a successful physician, Vernon Miller should have been Zach’s mentor. Instead he’d been his shame. Something Zach would have to live with for the rest of his life. Something that had colored his judgment during a time when he’d needed clear thinking the most. But he hadn’t realized the error of his ways until it had been too late. Until he had failed another woman, just like he’d failed his mother.

“This is great.”

Erin’s comment drew Zach’s attention back to her. He noticed she had no trouble eating. She wrapped her pretty mouth around an egg roll, waking another kind of hunger in his gut, bringing to mind all sorts of possibilities.

At least she served as a nice diversion from the earlier encounter. He wondered what she really thought about the confrontation, and then decided he didn’t want to know. His past was his, and he didn’t want to share it with anyone.

Zach pushed the recollections and food away, then stacked his hands behind his neck and leaned back in the chair. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Umm-hmm,” she said around a bite of Szechwan chicken. “I didn’t have time for lunch.” She sipped from a foam cup of iced tea. “You didn’t eat much.”

“I’m not that hungry.” At least not for food.

He expected her to make some comment about Andrews but instead she said, “I’m all done, so let’s get to work.”

A code of honor among police officers prevented him from revealing too much to her. To anyone. He appreciated the fact she didn’t prod him for information. He appreciated a lot of things about Erin Brailey.

They cleared the red-and-white cartons away so Zach could roll the shelter’s floor plan out onto the table. Erin anchored the blueprint at the corners with her beige briefcase, a spiral notebook and two stacks of Rainbow Center’s trifold pamphlets.

Hands braced wide on the table, she leaned forward to study the plan. Zach stood behind her, the smell of her perfume drifting into his nostrils. The scent was pleasant, erotic. So was the dress she wore—sleeveless, high-necked, soft blue material that clung to every curve. A man-killing outfit. He should know. He was about to die right there on the spot.

After a good internal scolding, he leaned around her and pointed to the plan. “I’ll set up two sensors here in the living room, wires on every window.” He indicated the front door. “Key pad here. You can arm the system from this point, or in the back room where the resident manager stays.”

“What about outside?” she asked.

“Motion lights.” Despite his caution, he moved closer. Now almost flush against her back, his body paid the price. When he gestured at the plan again, their arms brushed, sending a rush of fire through him. If that’s all it took, one simple touch, then he wondered if he’d survive kissing her. Why the hell he was considering that, he couldn’t say. His thoughts had crossed into dangerous territory. Right now kissing her was foremost on his mind. Something to rid him of anger over the confrontation. Something to make him forget. But he needed to step back, proceed with caution.

“If there’s a security breach and the guard needs backup, who will answer the call?” she asked.

“I will.”

She straightened and looked over her shoulder, bringing their bodies into closer proximity and their faces only inches apart. She was so close. Too close for his comfort. He wasn’t giving her much space. He didn’t want to.

“What if you’re busy?” she asked, challenge in her tone.

Zach found it harder and harder to concentrate on business. Strong desire stirred down south, and he cautioned himself to maintain control. “I carry a cell phone at all times. If I’m out of reach, one of my other men can handle it. But I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.”

The comment echoed in the room, suspending the moment. He inched back a step, giving his body some much-needed relief.

Erin turned her attention back to the plan. “Upstairs?”

“The same. Sensors above and on the windows. And more motion-sensitive lights.”

“That’s good. Night is a vulnerable time. But it’s my favorite time.”

He found himself moving closer again, her sultry voice drawing him like a magnet. “You’re a night person, too?”

“If I could I’d stay up all night and sleep all day.”

“So would I.”

Electricity coursed through him and settled directly below his belt. He needed to get away from her soon, or he just might give in to some damned sinful ideas. But his feet seemed stapled to the floor, and he continued to lose himself in the sound of her sexy voice, at his body’s expense.

“How do you spend your nighttime hours?” she asked, but still didn’t turn around.

“TV, reading. Sometimes I pop open a beer and listen to my favorite jazz. And sometimes I cook.” He’d never spoken so freely about his personal life with a woman. He’d learned not to reveal even that much of himself. But Erin Brailey was no ordinary woman.

Her laugh was full of surprise, not judgment. “You cook? That’s great. I can’t operate the microwave.” She glanced back at him again. “Are you good?”

The way she said it made him wonder if the question had more to do with his performance in bed than his culinary talents. Probably just wishful thinking on his part. Either way, the answer was the same. “I’d like to think so.”

She studied the plan again. “I’m sure you are.”

Her whisper-soft words made him think of her in his arms, naked beneath him. “What do you do at night?” he asked.

“Nothing much. A cup of tea and a hot bath.”

The image of Erin soaking in a tub did nothing to squelch his lust. “Alone?” Careful, Miller.

“I believe we’ve already established that.”

“No one to scrub your back?”

“I have a brush. It does the trick.”

The last thread of his control was badly frayed and ready to snap. Yet he didn’t have the will to stop. “But it sure isn’t as much fun as the real thing, is it?”

“That depends on what you mean by the ‘real thing.’”

With every syllable she uttered, Zach’s objectivity took another step toward the door, the excuse he needed to forget his responsibility. Forget why they were here and why he needed to steer clear. “Don’t you get lonely, Erin?”