Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(32)

“Well?” I ask.

She sets the cup down and rests her hands back on the counter, head low. “What are we doing, Kyle?”

I mimic her position, my shoulder touching hers. “Let’s talk about that.”

She faces me and explodes the minute I do the same. “Talking won’t solve this. I can’t share coffee with you and you can’t touch me or call me sweetheart. No more. No more.”

“That won’t be enough.”

“It will. It has to be enough.” She hesitates, and frowns. “Wait. What does that mean? That won’t be enough?”

“The danger isn’t in what we say or do. The fire between us wasn’t created by me or you. It simply is. It’s a living, breathing, life of its own that radiates energy, and it’s that energy we have to control.”

I expect denial, but she gives me acceptance. “How?” she asks, folding her arms in front of her.

“I’m going to take on a persona of being cold and withdrawn when I’m with you. There won’t be conversation between us. There won’t be laughter or friendship. No matter what happens, I can’t react like the man I am, but only the man they expect me to be with you.”

“So I’ll hate you like I do Juan.”

“Don’t act like you hate me. Don’t act like I’m anything but that bodyguard who is there, and won’t go away.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be seducing me or something?”

“They want me to prove or disprove your loyalty to Alvarez. I’m going to tell them you’re reserved and keeping to yourself, and eager for his phone calls.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It will be for you, because I’ll set the tone, and sweetheart, that doesn’t mean I watch Juan or anyone else treat you like shit. I won’t. You’re mine to protect, and I will protect you.” I glance at the zipper on the front of her dress and then back at her. “Are you wearing the gun?”

“Yes. That’s why I picked this dress.”

“Good choice. If you need to use it, you use it and let me deal with ensuring there are no consequences.”

“I have no idea how you would do that.”

“I’ve been undercover inside operations just as nasty as this one. I know how to manipulate events and come out on top. You’re in good hands and not just mine. I have a team that works for me. They’ve already cleared the facility where you’re working and they’ll have our backs, but that’s absolutely between you and I.”

“Of course. Who are they?”

“People I trust. People who you can trust. People I don’t want on Alvarez’s radar. That’s all you need to know.”

“And you trust me to not tell him?”

“Quid pro quo on trust, too, Myla. I simply went first. You now have one of my secrets.”

“I’m not sure you really went first. I mean, right now, if you wanted to, you could tell Juan anything about me, and he’d believe you. I’m trusting you not to do that.”

“You hope I won’t do that. That isn’t trust.” My cellphone rings, and I reach for it, glancing at the screen. “That’s Juan,” I say. “Grab your things and let’s get out of here.” I answer the call. “Good morning, sunshine,” I say. “Good to know you get up before noon.”

“Shouldn’t you be leaving by now?” he asks, while Myla stands in front of me, waiting for the bombshell she always seems to believe is coming.

“I wasn’t aware I needed to control her schedule,” I reply. “Is there an agenda here? Because if there is, it would be nice if I got a f*cking copy of it.”

“She has a meeting in thirty minutes.”

“Isn’t she the boss?” I ask, while Myla walks out of the room, as if she can’t take the exchange anymore.

“When the f*ck are you leaving?” he asks.

“Is she a prisoner I’m supposed to be guarding, or am I protecting her while she leads her normal life? Because if she’s a prisoner, the concept of testing her loyalty is void and what the hell am I doing here?”

“When the f*ck are you leaving?”

“When she picks a pair of shoes that she doesn’t want to change.” He hangs up.

I shake my head and shove my phone in my pocket, and make my way to the hallway where Myla meets me with her purse and briefcase on her shoulder. “If I shoot him, you can clean it up?”

“Easily, though I’d be disappointed I didn’t get to do it. Let me get that.” I reach for her briefcase, taking it from her and glancing at the label. “A Louis Vuitton,” I say. “An expensive piece of Marc Jacob inspiration.”

“Yes,” she says, responding to the question I’ve left in the air. “Michael bought it for me. And yes. It’s a five-thousand dollar bag, but I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t even tell him I liked the brand. It was his pitch for me to be his Marc Jacobs.”

“I didn’t ask any of that.”

“I saw it in your face.”

“No one sees anything in my face I don’t want them to see,” I tell her.

“Then you wanted me to see it and you wanted my answer.”