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“Father, no!” I’m appalled. This is what I’d been fearing when I reluctantly told Sergei about the threats. “I promise I’m fine. Sergei hired a personal bodyguard. There’s a whole team keeping me safe, standing guard right outside the room I’m in.”
That might be an exaggeration, but it isn’t exactly a lie.
“I will fire the head of security,” he says adamantly. “It is unacceptable that anyone threatens you. That anyone gets close enough to threaten you at all!”
“Father, don’t make any rash decisions, please. My added security team is more than sufficient. It’s, um, it is Bryce MacElroy’s protection agency.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “Bryce. That boy from Columbus.”
I shake my head. Father always refers to him as “that boy from Columbus,” like Bryce fits a generic category.
“He’s not a boy.” That’s the truth, though only a fraction of it.
Father knows about Bryce; what he did and how he was punished for saving me. Along with Sergei, he would have exerted all his influence and money to keep Bryce out of jail. But for my father, all these years turned the past into a fossilized artifact: people and events are contained and unchangeable. He’s wrong.
That “boy from Columbus” is now an incredibly successful man who wields influence like he was born with it and strength like he fought for it. A man who fascinates me with more potency than ever.
“I will talk to that boy,” Father says of Bryce.
I can’t imagine that conversation going well. Both men will simply feed off each other’s paranoia.
“You will talk to me. Give me some news. How is Nejwa?” I ask about Father’s physician knowing full well she’s more to him than a live-in doctor.
He offers some insight on office matters and so do I. But he is a businessman while I am an engineer. We don’t prioritize the same things.
We want what’s best for the company and its employees. Yet even on that front, we disagree at times. He doesn’t enjoy the politics and the cost of pushing my agenda for an environmentally conscious future. Still, the data are clear: this technology will revolutionize the industry. Developing the best version of its implementation is key. If there’s one thing my father understands, it’s being the best.
When we finish talking, I’m even more determined to get out of the house. I walk upstairs and get dressed for the weather which, at this time of the year in Norfolk, is relentlessly windy. While applying lip gloss to match my shawl, I see Bryce’s reflection.
He fills my doorway and takes my breath away.
“You need to look that hot to shop online?” His tone is lightly teasing. His eyes, however, are laser scanners, surveying my face and body.
“Heading out, actually. It will only take a couple of hours to pick a few gifts. Want to come?”
He closes the door. “You’re not leaving today. From now on, you go to your office and then home. Only those places are secure.”
“Are we doing this again?” I state incredulously. “Kina will come with me like she did when I went for groceries. I hardly think a bookstore is more dangerous than a deli aisle.”
“Someone involved in this case is currently fighting for his life while in a coma. Another person directly connected to you is missing. I don’t believe in coincidences. There’s no way I’m taking chances,” Bryce states sternly.
Then, with a grin and a lifted chin, he says, “Now get over here so I can lick that lipstick off your smart mouth.”
I couldn’t stop my crassness if I tried. Recalling the taste of her arousal snaps the final threads of my restraint. Now that we’re alone again, I’ll keep pushing till she tells me to stop. Which, by the way…
“You were checking out my handcuffs,” I state, noting the flames on her cheeks. “Is that something you like, Ana? It would be very convenient if I could cuff you in place or tie you down. Since you’re so damn stubborn.”
“You’re not a cop. Why do you have handcuffs?” she whispers and then licks her bottom lip. She doesn’t realize she’s strumming her fingers over her collarbone till I clasp her wrist and take over, rubbing my thumb up the side of her neck and along the dip of her clavicle.
“To catch the bad guys,” I rasp, mesmerized by the racing pulse under my fingers. “And to hang on to the good girls.”
She takes a sharp inhale and sways toward me.
“Are you a good girl, Ana?”
“Fuck,” she says, shaking her head like she can’t believe what’s coming out of my mouth.
“That’s it, isn’t it? Not sweetheart or babe or some other nickname.”
