Forged In Desire

Now she was back in Charlottesville and focusing on doing the things that made her happy. And she was determined never to forget the lessons she’d learned from both Brock and Scott. They were different but life-learning lessons just the same. She had dated a few times since returning home. Most of the men she considered nothing more than friends who were her escorts to various charity events for the Connelly Foundation. The last thing she wanted right now in her life was any serious involvement. She refused to ever get tangled up with a man who wanted her money or thought she wanted his. Until she met someone who truly knew the meaning of love and commitment, she’d rather not bother. If Claudine thought her Stan was such a man, then Margo was happy for her.

“I need to run,” Claudine said, interrupting Margo’s thoughts as she stood. “I’m meeting Stan for lunch and I don’t want to be late. That’s the one thing he’s a stickler about—timeliness.”

“Okay, I’ll see you out,” Margo said, standing as well.

“How long will it take to make my gown?”

“If everything goes as planned, your dress will be ready in twelve weeks. Maybe sooner. I only take on one client at a time, so your gown will get my full attention.”

“That’s great. I’ve hired this photographer who wants to take a ton of photographs of me before the wedding. I’m glad my dress will be ready for him to do so.”

When they opened the door, Striker was standing right there. Margo frowned up at him. “Yes, Lamar?”

“I started a fire in the fireplace and was about to knock to see if you wanted me to order lunch.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of him. Eating in front of the fireplace is so romantic,” she heard Claudine whisper behind her.

Whatever. “Thanks for getting the fire started and, yes, ordering lunch now is fine. Claudine is leaving and I was about to see her out.”

“I can do that,” he quickly said, offering Claudine his arm. “I’m sure you want to finalize your notes from today’s meeting, Margo.”

Margo tried keeping the glare from her eyes when she said, “Yes, of course, Lamar. Thanks for being so thoughtful.” Turning to Claudine, she said, “You’ll call and let me know if you come across any material you see that you like for your lining?”

“Yes, most definitely.”

Margo then watched as Striker walked Claudine to the door.

* * *

“I’M GOING TO let you introducing me as Lamar slide.”

Margo glanced across the table at him as they ate lunch. “I assume that’s your name since it’s on your driver’s license. If you don’t like it, then change it.”

“Trust me. I would if I could.” He knew Margo was annoyed at him for how he’d handled Claudine. “You do know pouting won’t get you anywhere, don’t you?” he said, before taking a huge bite of his sandwich.

She narrowed her gaze. “You could have compromised my relationship with a client.”

“How?”

“You were wearing a gun.”

He rolled his eyes. “Since I was wearing my jacket, how was she supposed to know what I had underneath it...unless she copped a feel. Were you expecting her to do that?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay, then. You’re getting all worked up for nothing. You need to just chill.”

When she didn’t say anything, he shook his head. Getting up from the table, he stretched his body before tossing the trash into the garbage container. He then leaned a hip against the counter and watched her.

Striker let the silence stretch between them, knowing he wouldn’t have to wait too much longer. She jerked around and glared at him. “Just what are you staring at?”

“So, you can talk? For a minute there I thought that maybe you’d lost your voice.”

She clenched her teeth so hard he swore he could hear her doing so. Instead of their working relationship moving forward, it was going backward, real fast. “Look, Margo. Don’t you think at some point we need to reach an agreement to get along? You can’t keep fighting me at every turn. Whether you like me or not, whether you like the situation you’ve been placed in or not, I’m not going anywhere. My job is to protect you and I intend to do that, regardless of how you feel about it.”

“Fine. And you need to not be so unbending and show flexibility with some things. I’m aware of the danger I’m in, Striker, and I do appreciate you protecting me, but do you have to be so dogmatic?”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Okay, maybe he was. He had given Roland his word to protect her and he took his promises seriously. “Alright, let’s agree on a truce,” he said. “I promise to try to be more flexible if you’ll stop resisting me all the time. Agreed?”

For a long moment their gazes held and then she said, “Yes, I agree. Considering everything, I know I need to be protected, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” He didn’t say anything for a few moments and then added, “Trust me, Margo, I know exactly how it feels to get your freedom taken away.”

She frowned. “No. Don’t compare my situation with yours, Striker. What I’m going through is nothing compared to what you had to endure all those years. I can’t possibly imagine.”

She was right. She couldn’t. But neither would he lessen what she was dealing with. “So, from here on out, we’re good?”

“We’re good,” she said, standing and sliding her chair under the table.

Striker covered the distance separating them. “Let’s shake on it,” he said, offering her his hand.

She looked at his hand. “Shake on what?”

“On our truce.”

“Really? Is that necessary?”

Striker forced a smile to his lips. She was hesitating and a part of him knew why. He wasn’t made of stone and remembered what had happened the last time they shook hands. The moment their hands had touched yesterday, a pang of intense desire had shot through him. He’d felt it and had known she’d felt it as well. “I believe a person’s word is their bond, and we need to shake on it.”

“I said I agreed to a truce, Striker.”

“I know you did. But why are you against sealing the deal with a handshake?” He knew he was playing with fire, but he didn’t care. A part of him enjoyed pushing her buttons.

She lifted her chin. “I am not against it.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Narrowing her gaze at him, she took the hand he offered.

CHAPTER NINE

JUST LIKE IT HAD YESTERDAY, an intense rush of yearning tore through Margo the moment her hand touched Striker’s. But unlike yesterday, now she did not want to snatch her hand back. She needed to know, to understand, why there was this powerful desire whenever they touched. If she was truly honest with herself, she would admit the desire was also there whenever she looked at him.

While she had dated a few times, she hadn’t been intimate with a man since her breakup with Scott; however, she doubted that could be it. Sex between her and Scott hadn’t been all that frequent and it definitely left a lot to be desired. Could it be that Striker was such a dominant male in looks, build and sexuality that all that raw desire oozing from him had an effect on her whether she wanted it to or not?

She wasn’t pulling her hand from his, but why wasn’t he ending the handshake? And was she imagining it or was the air surrounding them suddenly charged with an electric awareness? The man and woman kind? A mere touch from Scott had never affected her like this. Not only was she fully aware of this man, but she was responsive to the intense heat he generated.

She continued to hold his gaze. Call it woman’s intuition, but she had a good idea of what he was feeling. And the look in his eyes was definitely telling her what he was thinking. The gaze roaming over her was blatant, sexual and bold.

Her nipples tightened to hardened buds. When had they ever done that? Definitely not whenever Scott was looking at them the way Striker was doing. He was arousing her as no other man had before.

Margo felt a gentle tug on her hand and realized he was slowly easing her toward him. Now was the time to yank her hand free, but for some reason, she couldn’t. And when he tightened his hold on her hand and continued to stare down at her with a gaze that almost took her breath away, she felt her senses infused with mind-numbing desire.

He shifted his stance to lean closer to her and began lowering his head toward hers. He started nipping lightly at her mouth. She could no longer deny what was taking over her mind and her body. Nor could she dismiss the hungry throb of her lips that wanted to be fully taken by his.

The tiny nips continued. Was he intentionally trying to drive her crazy by playing with her mouth instead of giving her a full, heated kiss? Surely he could hear her tiny moans, the way her breath was being forced from her lungs. Then finally with a confidence that shot arousal through every part of her body, he fully covered her mouth with his.

Margo felt his tongue enter her mouth, glide slowly around before finally touching hers, capturing it and proceeding to suck on it. She’d barely gotten the chance to familiarize herself with Striker’s taste when his phone rang. Muttering a curse, he released her mouth to answer. Margo drew in a deep breath while thinking she should be thankful for the intrusion; it had shocked some sense into her.

She needed to get away from him, escape into her workroom, try to forget all about that short—yet satisfying—kiss and begin work on Claudine’s wedding gown. She wanted to be any place but here when Striker ended the call. But the tenseness in his voice and his glance her way told Margo the call was about her, so she decided for the time being to stay put. He was no longer saying anything. Just nodding every so often while keeping his gaze firmly on her.

The call lasted a few moments longer and then he said, “Okay, keep me posted,” before clicking off the phone.

“What was that about?” she asked, taking the chance he might tell her that it wasn’t any of her business.

He rubbed his face as if he was frustrated about something. “An arrest has been made.”

She threw her hand to her throat. Surprised. Elated. “They got the assassin?”

He shrugged. “The federal agents think so.”

She studied his expression and saw the definite lack of jubilance. “But you don’t?”

“Let’s just say I choose to err on the side of caution. I’m willing to wait it out and see.”

Wait it out? For how long? Did that mean he had no intention of packing up and leaving based on the assumption she was now safe? “So, what do you suggest we do now?”

He rubbed his face again. “The final decision will have to come from your uncle, but I suggest we continue as planned until we know for certain they have the right guy.”

Continue as planned? Margo wanted to ask exactly how long that might be, but she didn’t. Instead she began backing up, needing time by herself to think. And give herself a good scolding for letting him kiss her.

“Fine. I’ll go along with whatever you and my uncle decide. In the meantime, like you suggested, I will err on the side of caution. Now I need to go online and order the materials for Claudine’s wedding gown. And before you remind me, I know to stay away from the window.”

And then she turned and hurried out of the kitchen.

* * *

STRIKER FOLLOWED HER as far as the living room and stood by the sofa. From his position he could see her sit down at her workroom computer. It was only then that he crossed to the fireplace and stared at the flames. What the hell had happened in her kitchen? The desire he’d felt for her had shocked him to the core. And when he’d kissed her, he hadn’t wanted to stop. The kiss had packed a wallop but had been way too short.

When had a woman—a woman he was protecting—made him lose control? What was there about her that whenever he touched her, something inside of him would snap, make him even more aware of her as a woman? A woman he wanted.

With that admission, he drew in a sharp breath, clenched his jaw and tightened his hands into fists at his sides. He needed to start thinking with the right head and not the one that wanted like hell to get inside of her. It wasn’t that kind of party, especially with her. He needed to rope in his horny thoughts and concentrate on what he promised Roland he would do—protect her.

Needing to see her again, he walked back to the sofa and stared into the workroom. She hadn’t moved. And at that moment, as if she felt his gaze on her, she looked up from her computer. Damn. He felt it again. Desire so intense it was like a living element, stirring across his skin, being inhaled through his nose and getting absorbed into his body. That was the last thing he wanted or needed, and he immediately broke eye contact with her and walked into the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

What the hell had happened to bring on this turn of events? They had been at odds until agreeing to a truce. In this case, a cease-fire between them might not have been such a good idea after all. Once their hands had touched to shake on it, some sort of dam had broken and it was on. He didn’t want to think what would have happened had he not gotten that call, and was thankful for the interruption. By rights, he should have known better. But deep down, he knew why he’d done it. He’d needed to see if the desire he’d felt when he touched her yesterday had been real or a figment of his imagination.

It had definitely been real.

He was trying to hold on to his sanity where Margo was concerned. The last thing he needed was to let her become his passion. Something he thought he couldn’t do without. He thought of something else that used to be his passion. Football.

It had been his dream to one day play for the NFL. Chances were he would have done so, but he hadn’t followed his mother’s orders about Wade. She didn’t care how much he loved football, didn’t care how much it had become his passion. She felt that the important thing was for him to look after Wade while she worked nights. Not wanting to miss any football practices, he’d thought that he’d found the best solution. In the end, he’d lost his brother because he had refused to give up something that had become a passion of his. Never again would he let something like that happen. Roland had entrusted Margo to him...just like his mother had entrusted Wade to him. Although his mother never blamed him for anything, he’d always blamed himself.

Striker knew that he and Margo needed to talk. Set things straight. What had happened in her kitchen couldn’t happen again. No touching. No kissing. Yes, definitely no kissing. He was here to protect her, not lust after her. And the last thing he could do was let her get under his skin and start thinking foolish thoughts about her. Hadn’t he promised himself years ago to never get attached to a woman? If he ever fell in love, he’d be risking losing her the same way he’d lost others that he’d loved.

Raising the coffee cup to his lips, he was about to take a sip when his phone rang again. He pulled in another frustrated breath when he saw the call was from Frazier Connelly.

“This is Striker,” he said into the phone.

“Striker, this is Frazier. Not sure if you’ve heard, but the authorities got their guy, which means your services are no longer needed.”

Striker shook his head. He’d been afraid Connelly would think that way. “An arrest means nothing, Frazier. Too early.”

“The FBI just ended a news conference. They seem confident they have the right guy.”

Don’t they always? Striker thought angrily. He could clearly recall men he’d befriended while in the slammer, who were innocent. The situation involving Sheppard Granger quickly came to mind. Shep had been locked up for fifteen years for killing his wife, and the real murderers had still been out there killing others.

“I feel confident the FBI knows what they’re talking about, so I’m relieving you of your services and—”

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