Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(26)
“Oh, that,” she said, hoping to make light of what he was referring to and dismiss it. “It was nothing.”
Striker looked at her. “It was something. And we need to agree that whatever it was has no place here. My job is to protect you and nothing more.”
“That’s fine because you won’t get anything more,” she snapped. “You keep your hands and lips to yourself and I’ll do the same. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do.”
A part of Margo was angry, but another part knew she should appreciate his directness and his willingness to not dismiss what had happened like she’d tried to do.
When he didn’t walk off, she looked up at him.
“Is there anything else, Striker?” she asked curtly.
“No, I guess not. However, I’d like to hear your thoughts on what happened in your kitchen. Our kiss.”
She shrugged. Why did he care about her thoughts, since he’d already decreed how it would be between them? But he was standing there, undoubtedly waiting on a response, so she said, “I prefer not to talk about or think about it. In fact, I want to forget that anything happened. You’ve told me your position and I agree. What happened should not have happened. To be honest with you, I don’t even know why it did.”
He looked at her strangely. “You don’t know why it happened?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not dim-witted, Striker. I knew yesterday that we were attracted to each other. But I also know that we’re both adults and I honestly didn’t expect...”
When she didn’t finish, he asked, “Didn’t expect what?”
“I didn’t expect the attraction to almost get the best of us. I don’t understand that. I guess we should be glad we were saved by your phone before things got too far out of hand.”
“Yes, I guess we should be glad about that.”
He then turned and walked out of her workroom, leaving her to believe that, deep down, he wasn’t glad about it any more than she was.
CHAPTER TEN
UPON HEARING MARGO moving around in her bedroom, Striker swung his feet over the side of the bed to sit up. After talking with Roland, Frazier had agreed for Striker to stay on with a firm understanding that if there weren’t any more killings they would assume—like everyone else—that the authorities had arrested the right man.
It had been four days since the arrest was made and so far there hadn’t been another murder. That could be good news or it could be that Erickson was just fucking around with everyone and had deliberately framed an innocent man.
According to the media, the murder weapon was found in the man’s car with his prints all over it. But the suspect, who had a prior criminal record, was claiming his innocence, saying he’d bought the gun from someone on the streets, not knowing it had been used in five murders. So far the man hadn’t been able to provide any alibis for where he was at the time of each killing. The feds were so convinced they had their man they weren’t trying to look elsewhere. And at the most recent press conference they’d pretty much told everyone they felt it was safe to resume living their lives normally.
For some reason, Striker had a gut feeling something wasn’t right with how things were going down, but it was nothing he could put a definite finger on. He’d constantly reminded himself that protecting Margo was just another job. No big deal. Whenever he got the word from Roland that it was okay for him to move on, then he would. Without looking back.
Without looking back...
Could he really do that? He would admit that lately his mind had entertained thoughts of how things might be once this ordeal was over and she no longer needed his protection. He could ask her out on a date. Take her to a nice restaurant. Enjoy a glass of wine as he got to know her better. Striker rubbed a hand down his face, knowing he was losing his mind if he thought any of that was possible. He and Margo weren’t even in the same league. She was an heiress and he was an ex-con. But what was that saying about opposites attracting? And although he wasn’t a rich man by any means, he wasn’t a broke Joe either. He worked hard and over the years had made good investments. However, that wasn’t the point. The real deal here—one he couldn’t lose sight of—was that when this assignment was over, he would go back to his world and leave Margo in hers. He knew that and accepted that. Then why was the kiss—which had been way too short—constantly on his mind? And why had he gone to bed each night since that day wishing that instead of playing around her mouth, nibbling around her lips, he had just gone for the gusto and crushed her mouth with his in a full-contact, hot and heavy, wet-tongue, tonsil-touching kiss? One that would have lasted longer, and had her groaning, purring and shuddering in his arms? He had a feeling that moment was now a lost opportunity.
All he had to do was close his eyes to imagine them standing there, body to body, mouth to mouth, with his hands plunged in her hair while his mouth seduced hers. Thoroughly. Possessively. The Striker Jennings way.
It was apparent that short, unfinished kiss had created a tense environment for them. Definitely for him. Being around Margo was pure hell. They ate breakfast, lunch and dinner together, but other than that they pretty much ignored each other. Or they tried. She seemed content to disappear into her office to work on that wedding gown. He, on the other hand, had kept busy by playing games on his cell phone, doing exercises and reading.