Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(28)

“Alright.”

Walking into the kitchen, she headed straight for the refrigerator to get the orange juice while Striker moved toward the counter to put on the coffee. She thought about how they’d gotten into a comfortable routine in the mornings over the last few days.

While getting glasses out the cabinets, she looked over at him. His powerfully built body seemed to fill her kitchen. The muscular definition of his abs and biceps were so well outlined she couldn’t help but stare for a second.

Not taking the chance he might notice her ogling him, she quickly got the glasses, filled them with orange juice and headed for the table.

*

STRIKER LEANED FORWARD against the kitchen counter, trying to hide the physical evidence of his desire for Margo. Having a hard-on was a bitch but couldn’t be helped. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans, a pullover sweater and flat shoes. The woman looked good this morning like she did every morning. And if that wasn’t bad enough, then there was her scent—the scent of a woman—that was arousing him like crazy.

Moments later, after getting his body under control, he poured their cups of coffee and carried them over to the table. There was a knock at the back door. Automatically, he pulled his gun as he moved toward it. Although he was expecting the delivery of their breakfast, he never took any chances.

“Is that necessary, Striker?” he heard Margo ask behind him.

He wasn’t in the mood today. Sexual tension was eating at him, and it was taking all he had to contain it.

He glanced over his shoulder. “What does it matter when I pull out my gun as long as it’s to protect your sweet ass?” he snapped.

Refusing to engage in a verbal sparring match with Striker, especially when it was quite obvious he was in a foul mood, Margo drew in a deep, controlled breath and then stared beyond him to the sliding glass door.

Moments later she watched a man enter carrying bags. From the aroma she knew it was their breakfast. But the man who entered her kitchen was not Cisco.

“Good morning,” the man said, flashing a huge smile.

“You’re not Cisco,” she said, studying the man who was just as tall and muscular as Striker. His straight black hair that fell to his shoulders and chestnut-colored skin gave his handsome features an exotic look.

“Cisco is on another assignment. I’m Quasar Patterson. I’ll be the one delivering breakfast from here on out.”

“Thanks for bringing our breakfast, Quay, but it’s time for you to leave,” Striker said, noticing the way Margo was checking out his friend and getting annoyed by it.

Quasar broke eye contact with Margo and glanced over at Striker. “Kind of touchy this morning, aren’t you, Striker?”

“Go to hell.”

Quasar laughed. “Sounds like you might already be there.” And then he opened the door and left.

“Honestly, Striker, did you have to be so rude?”

Striker stared at her. If she knew how he, Quasar and Stonewall spoke to each other at times, often using more profanity than not, she wouldn’t make that accusation.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said, unloading the contents of the bags. “He can handle it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“And just what is the point, Margo? At least the one you’re trying to make?”

“That you were rude.”

“You said that already. In my line of work, it doesn’t pay to be nice. And has it occurred to you that I’m not a nice person?”

“If you’re trying to convince me of that, then you’re doing a good job.”

No, he wasn’t trying to convince her of that, but for some reason, today he couldn’t help it. But then, like he’d told her, he wasn’t there to be nice. He was there to keep her safe. His mood came with the territory, especially when she was a woman playing havoc with his damn libido. And that wasn’t good. After placing all the containers and utensils out on the table, he sat down, ready to dig in. “So what do we need to discuss?”

“I need to go to the store.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

Already digging into his meal, he said, “Tell me what you need and I’ll have Quasar pick it up.”

Margo scowled. “What I need is not anything that Quasar can pick up for me, Striker.”

“He can pick up anything, even feminine hygiene products, if that’s what you’re alluding to.”

Margo nearly choked on her orange juice and she felt her face redden. She couldn’t believe what he’d just said. “For your information, that isn’t it. I need to pick up a different shade of thread for Claudine’s gown. The one I ordered doesn’t match the way I thought it would.”

“Then order some more.”

“If I do that, I wouldn’t get it until Monday. There aren’t any deliveries over the weekend, and I refuse to lose two days of work waiting on thread. I’m going to the craft store after breakfast with or without you.”

He didn’t say anything, and Margo saw the way his jaw ticked as he stared across the table at her. He was mad, but she didn’t care. She needed that thread, and like she’d told him, she would leave to go get it with or without him.

Striker was about to open his mouth and tell her that hell would freeze over before he let her go anywhere without him, and that her pretty little ass wasn’t going anywhere. But then he quickly decided getting out of her house for a short excursion might not be such a bad idea. It would relieve some of their stir-craziness.