When even Gretchen retreated and took cover, Tom knew he was in a truly foul mood. He managed to hold it together through his first afternoon meeting with a doddering old fool from a tiny Baltic bank with visions of grandeur. Tom barely resisted an urge to remind the guy sharply that his little blip on the map was no longer part of a mighty, and long defunct, Soviet empire and nobody gave a damn about his bank.
But when the fellow tottered out of the hotel suite, leaving Tom blessedly alone, an urge to pick up something heavy and breakable and heave it through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows persisted.
She’d really had him going there, for a while. That whole roaring to his defense business, and her sassy mouth and combat moves…he’d thought he might have found a one-of-a-kind woman.
And then she had to go and accuse him of killing Ando. Of all the nerve.
Him? He had a whole lot more medals for valor and honor and service to his country than she’d ever dream of pinning on. And she questioned his ethics? His morals? Hell, his basic integrity?
His jaw clenched so hard it ached until he loosed it enough to mutter a few choice words for Miss High-and-Mighty. Who the hell was she to take some morally superior stand with him? She was the one who stuffed Ando in her refrigerator and called neither the police nor her news network! Sure, he understood the security reasons behind her decision, and they were sound. But it wasn’t like her hands were entirely clean here, either. They were both in the business of doing the right thing, not necessarily the legal thing or the socially acceptable thing.
His mental tirade screeched to a halt when a quiet knock sounded on the door to his suite. Gretchen would get that—oh, wait, he’d chased Gretchen out of here, snarling over nothing at her earlier.
He swore under his breath and headed for the door. Wasn’t the concierge supposed to ring the room and announce anyone before they came up here? Must be housekeeping.
He flung the door open for the maid—
—and stopped in his tracks, staring. “What are you doing here?” he burst out, throwing his hands up in disgust.
Paige had the strangest look on her face. Strange enough that he did a double take. He expected contrition. Preparedness, maybe even determination, to beg. But what he saw was…reluctance? What the hell was that about?
“We…I…need to speak with you,” she said.
“Well, I don’t need to speak with you. How’d you get a key card to get up here, anyway?”
“Gretchen.”
“Ahh.”
He started to close the door, but she stuck her hand out and stopped the panel from slamming shut in her face. “I’m sorry, Tom. But it’s business.”
Dammit! He swore long and hard under his breath. He hadn’t for a second missed the implication of how she’d said that word. Business. Not journalism and economic summits or financial transactions. Nope, she meant another business. The secret one they both were involved in. That business.
It was a dirty, rotten trick to invoke it. She knew darned well that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—say no to that.
He spun away from the gaping door and stormed across the room. “Make it fast.”
The door clicked shut quietly behind him. “I got a call from my boss a little while ago. It seems that the President of the United States has decided that you need a bodyguard. And, uh, well—”
Tom frowned and looked up at her. “Spit it out, woman.”
Her spine stiffened. “He’s appointed me to the job.” What the—
She continued in a rush, “Well, not me exactly, but the Medusas, and they can’t get here for a couple of days. So, Viper has assigned me to the job until the rest of them arrive.”
“Son of—” he exploded. Paige was supposed to be his bodyguard? No. Way.
Paige smiled weakly. “I thought you might feel that way. I did my best to talk her out of it, but no go. I was hoping you might call your, uh, contacts to see if you have any better luck talking them out of this plan.”
He jammed a hand through his hair. “Hell, I’d have to call the President himself to get this one overturned.”
Paige’s eyes widened. “Can you do that?”
He replied grimly, “Only one way to find out.”
He picked up the telephone receiver on the desk in the corner and punched a button. “Gretchen, get me the White House. Tell the operator I’d like to speak to the President.”
“Directly to him or to one of his aides?” Gretchen replied. How she managed not to sound surprised, he had no idea. The woman was made of steel.
“To the man himself. As soon as possible.”
“I’ll get to work on it, sir.”
Tom put down the receiver with more force than was strictly necessary. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? Twiddle his thumbs while he waited for the President to call back and unground him like some contrite teenager who’d done his time without the car keys?
Paige, across the room, was drawing thin gauze blinds over the windows.
“What are you doing?” he snapped irritably. “I happen to like the view.”
“Until you pull your fancy strings, I’m your bodyguard, and you and I both know these giant windows are a sniper’s dream.”
“This is such a load of bull,” he burst out. “How many favors did you have to call in to arrange this farce? I have to give you credit, I didn’t see this one coming.”
Paige whirled and stared at him in shock that quickly morphed to fury. “You think I want to spend time with you? That I’d volunteer to spend a single second more than absolutely necessary in the same room with you?”
He arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Don’t you?”
“Hell, no!” she all but shouted.
His own fury spiraled upward in response to hers. He was the injured party, here. Why were her knickers in such an all-fired twist?
She spoke more calmly. “Look, Tom. Neither of us is happy about this situation. But we don’t have any choice in the matter. The guy who shot at you last night was a member of the summit security team, as we originally suspected. Which means the conference’s security is breached. We have no way of knowing if any more infiltrators have managed to get hired on for the conference. The American delegation has its own security guys, but they already have their hands full and you’re a private citizen. For better or worse, the President determined that you are a national asset in need of protection.”
“Hence, you.”
“Hence, the Medusas,” she retorted. “And I happen to be the only one here at the moment. When my teammates arrive, I’ll be happy to go as far away as possible from you and never darken your doorstep again.”
And for some reason, that statement sent him over the edge. She’d be happy never to see him again? He stalked toward her in a towering rage. “Happy?” he ground out. “Never to see me again?”
She took an alarmed step backward. Another. But he kept on moving forward. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”
He grabbed her by both shoulders and shoved her against the wall at her back none too gently. “I swear, if you ever lie to me again, I’ll rip your head off.”
Lightning all but shot from her blazing blue eyes. “What do you want me to say, Tom? That it’ll kill me to leave you? That I’m going to regret driving you away from me for the rest of my life? That it makes me sick to my stomach to think about what we might have had if I hadn’t had to accuse you of killing Ando to see how you reacted?”
He stared. She’d accused him to see how he—what the hell? She’d played him? He wasn’t some random civilian she could manipulate and use like that. He was a soldier, dammit. His honor had no business being brought into question. How dare she?
Belatedly, the other stuff she’d said registered. Kill her to leave him…regret driving him away…what they might have had…
How was he supposed to react to that? At some level, was that what he’d wanted her to say? Was he glad to hear her admit she had feelings for him? Or did it just piss him off that she would admit to manipulating him in one breath and claim to like him in the next? He was so jumbled up inside he didn’t know what to feel.
“Well, you can forget hearing any of that out of me, Tom Rowe. I’m not going to say any of it to you. You want the truth? Here’s a little truth for you. You’re arrogant. And spoiled. And you treat women like dirt. And you think because you’re so good-looking and so smart and so rich that you’re better than everyone else. Well, you’re not. You’re no better than anyone else.”
He snorted. Nothing she was telling him was news to him. But the fact that she was glaring up at him and spitting out the damning words like she was passing some sort of judgment on him did it. He cracked.
He took another step forward and swept her into his arms, crushing her against him and kissing her with all the pent-up anger in his gut. Her fists pounded on his chest until they grasped at the lapels of his suit coat, dragging him closer.
Their bodies vibrated against one another, out of sync, jangling his nerves until all he could think about was throwing her down, tearing off her clothes and making love to her until she shut up and admitted she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
She sucked at his lower lip, biting it, drawing it into her mouth and laving it with her tongue at the very same time her hands shoved at his chest and she struggled against the power of his arms. Which was it? Did she want him or hate him?
Maybe it was both.
He knew the feeling.
Finally unleashed, his passion was shocking. Every civilized rule of behavior flew right out of his head. He tore the top of her shirt open, exposing her creamy shoulder. He bit his way down her neck, burying his hand in her hair to pull her head back and expose more of her entirely edible flesh to him.
She made a sound of distress like he was hurting her, but frankly, he didn’t much care. She was a soldier. A Special Forces operator. If she wanted to play with fire, then she could damn well put up with getting a little bit burned. But he did ease up the pressure of his teeth slightly.
That earned him another sound, though, and this time a raw groan of pleasure and need ripped from her throat. Better. He released her hair, his hand sliding down the sexy inward curve of her back to her buttocks. Through the scratchy wool of her skirt he gripped her pert, firm behind and dragged her up against him. She arched eagerly, not needing the encouragement to plaster herself tighter to him. And then she had him by the tie, dragging his mouth to hers. Her hands plunged into his hair and she hung on like she was never going to let him go. The thought galvanized him.
He wanted this woman like a fire craved oxygen. He fed on her. Inhaled her. Burned alive wherever she touched him. And that was pretty much everywhere.
Her right leg came up to wrap around his waist, and her skirt slid up her thighs until—holy Mother of God, the vixen was wearing thigh-high stockings and garters.
With deft fingers he flicked the fasteners loose, relishing the juicy little popping sound of each one giving way. He swept his hand around behind her and encountered bare, silky flesh.
And a thong?
Who’d have guessed that beneath her gray suit the commando was such a wanton hussy? Fire and ice, she was. All cool and calm and poised on the outside, and a born-again hellion wearing naughty lingerie on the inside. Lord, this was a woman he’d enjoy plundering. So many layers to strip away. No telling how many more surprises she had in store for him. And he’d find and reveal every last one of them before he was done with her. Oh, yes. This woman was going to make for a most enjoyable conference.
He reached for the zipper of her skirt. The damned thing was snug enough he wouldn’t get it off her any other way. Her white silk blouse slithered free of the skirt, spilling out all over his hands, as warm and sensuous as the woman beneath.
He encountered a push-up bra so sheer it barely felt like she had one on. Of course. What else? Her flesh molded beneath his fingers, firm and throbbing at his touch.
His belt buckle rattled and his shirt melted away from his chest. And then her mouth was on his belly and rational thought deserted him. His hips rocked forward, seeking her heat, his erection so hard it was painful. Now. He would have her now.
The phone rang once loudly and they both started violently. Paige straightened abruptly and broke free of his arms. She leaped in front of him, placing her body between him and the door protectively. The sight was comical. A five-foot-five, half-naked mama bear, her hackles up and claws at the ready to protect her six-foot-two cub made of solid muscle, towering behind her.
He laughed. “You better hope they shoot at my knees and not my head, pip-squeak, because that’s about all of me you can cover. And chill out. That was just the phone.”
She spun and glared at him. He had to hand it to her. What she lacked for in size, she made up for in speed. “Height isn’t the only requirement for a good bodyguard, you know.”
He snorted as he walked across the room toward the phone on the desk, his unbuttoned shirt flapping. “Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt. Maybe I should just be your bodyguard until your friends get here.” He picked up the phone before she could reply. “Hello. Oh, hi, Gretchen.”
“The President sends his regrets that he is too busy to speak with you today. However he sent a brief message.”
“And that is?”
“You’re welcome.”
Tom scowled at the phone and slammed it down without bothering to say any more. He hadn’t been calling to thank him, dammit! He spun away from the desk and caught sight of Paige, her hair disheveled, her lips red and swollen from their violent kiss, staring at him hopefully.
“Sorry, babe. The President can’t talk to me today. Looks like we’re stuck together until I can convince him to take my call.”
“How long’s that going to take?” she asked in dismay.
He grimaced. “At least a day.”
She sank down onto the edge of the couch. “Great,” she mumbled. “Just great.”
He knew the feeling. Oh, how he knew the feeling. How was he ever going to explain having a beautiful, hot journalist tagging around with him everywhere he went? Nobody on the planet would buy the idea of him allowing a reporter to cover his entire day. He put up a fuss when one of them took his picture, let alone actually talked to him. There was no help for it. He was going to have to convince everyone at the conference that he was sleeping with Paige Ellis.
He eyed her speculatively. He could do a whole lot worse. She was definitely enough of a sexpot to pass for the sort of casual arm fluff he was known to wear from time to time. But for some reason, casting her in that light didn’t sit right with him. No help for it, though.
“We’ve got to get you cleaned up,” he announced.
“Why’s that?” She eyed him in deep suspicion. Smart girl. Looked like she was getting to know him a little, after all.
“Because if you’re going to be my girlfriend, you will have to look the part.”