Hell on Wheels (Black Knights Inc. #1)(7)

Of course, he wouldn’t allow himself the perverse pleasure of thinking of her now…

“No-go on the language skills for the new guy,” he said as he surreptitiously glanced at his titanium wristwatch, remembering what he really brought Ghost in to talk about. “You seen that psychologist I told you about?”

He leaned forward. The body language equivalent of, I’m concerned about you, buddy.

Not that he was necessarily a proponent of the touchy-feely psychoanalysis thing, being of the school of thought that sometimes a man just needed to work through his own shit in his own time, but after what Nate had to do?

Fuck. The guy surely needed to talk to someone.

“We should ask Dan Man and Ozzie who they’d choose for the CS position,” Ghost said, and the small hope Frank had that Ghost might’ve gone to see the good doctor was flushed straight down the crapper.

Ho-kay, talk of psychologists was clearly off the table.

“Well, let’s go find them,” he capitulated, promising himself he’d come back to the question of Ghost’s mental state at a later date.

He pushed up from his desk when Patti, Dan’s wife and Black Knights Inc.’s office manager, walked into his office.

“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” she said. “But Geralt says we’ve got a visitor at the gate. Alisa Morgan. She’s asking to see Ghost.”

And all the black fire that’d been burning in Ghost’s eyes after Frank made that * statement about Ace being a great replacement banked in an instant. The guy’s face once more fell into its usual mask of rigid impassivity.

Well, now, isn’t that interesting?

***

“What’r’ya doin’ here, Ali?”

Ali jumped as she was cut off from her pointless questioning—if Big Red hadn’t told her where to park her car, she might’ve assumed he was mute—by the sound of Nate’s deep voice.

Sheesh! No doubt Nate’d inherited his stealthiness from his Cherokee grandfather along with that blade of a nose, those jet-black eyes, and that raven hair. The man had the most exasperating habit of just suddenly…materializing.

“Nate, I…I’m sorry to b-barge in on you like this.” Her heart and mouth simultaneously proceeded to s-s-stutter just as they always did when he caught her off guard. Somehow he managed to change her from a prepossessed, confident woman into a stammering, hesitant moron. Great way to start, Ali. “Maybe I should’ve called…”

But she’d been afraid calling and hearing his voice would change her mind. And she was certain, really certain this time, she needed his help.

His only response was a resonant grunt that sounded like it came up from the soles of his feet. He and Big Red had obviously taken lessons and been star pupils at the School of Non-Answers and Uncommunicativeness.

Typical. Just the reception she expected.

She had to rein in the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she decided to indulge herself and let them roam over Nate as he stood filling the space between the two halves of the wrought iron gate.

He put on some weight since last she saw him. Not that that was a bad thing. He’d been too thin then. Now all six-plus feet of him was hard, honed muscle and deeply tanned skin. His thick black hair was a bit longer, brushing his collar and curling around his ears invitingly. Well…what some na?ve woman might consider invitingly. Give that woman ten minutes in his presence and she’d soon realize there was absolutely nothing inviting about Nathan Weller except for his ridiculously handsome face.

And it was ridiculously handsome.

Too bad he had all the manners and personality of a skunk.

“Are you going to invite me in?” she asked grudgingly when it became clear he was perfectly happy to simply stand there in the sweltering summer sun and eye her like she was something smelly that’d stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

He cocked his head and crossed his arms over his chest, causing his impressive biceps to bunch into hard balls, straining the sleeves of his gray T-shirt. She shivered despite the heat when she remembered what it was like to be held in those desperately strong arms…

Sheesh, Ali, just forget it.

Trouble was, she’d been unable to forget it for even one night. In the last three months, she’d been plagued by dreams that—

“What’r’ya doin’ here?” he asked again. The man had the strangest way of making contractions out of multiple words. As if he couldn’t be bothered with those pesky, extra syllables.

“I need to talk to you.”

He shrugged. “S’talk.”

“Not here,” she gave him her patented, what are you, an eeediot? look. “Somewhere private. You live here on this property, don’t you? Just like Grigg did? Why don’t you take me back to your place, maybe offer me a drink?”

He narrowed his eyes and waited.

Lifting her chin, she firmed her shoulders and her resolve. “I thought you might feel that way.” Another reason why she hadn’t called and alerted him to her imminent arrival. She hadn’t wanted to give him time to come up with an excuse not to see her.

She spun on her heel and marched back to her car. Popping the trunk, she mentally called him every dirty name she could think of and cursed both him and the relentless blast of the sun beating down on her shoulders as she hauled out a suitcase. Setting the wheeled carrier on the ground, she popped up the telescoping handle, hoisted her purse higher on her shoulder and marched back toward him as a trickle of sweat slid between her shoulder blades.