Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(31)

Probably because they were here and for the time being they had called a truce. And there was the possibility that if the right guy was in police custody, then his days with Margo were numbered. More than anything, even if it was for just a short while, he wanted to get to know whatever he could about her. He wasn’t sure why that was important to him; he just knew it was.

Striker had a feeling that if he didn’t take advantage of the time now, he would one day see it as a missed opportunity. One he would regret.

With that thought in mind, he decided to get the conversation going by asking, “How did you find out about this place?”

She looked at him. “Uncle Frazier. Once in a while he loses the shirt, tie and Armani suits and replaces them with regular duds and lives like the rest of us.”

Like the rest of us? Had she forgotten she was practically an heiress? “So the two of you come here often?”

“A few times but not often. We haven’t done anything together since he hooked up with Liz.”

Striker recalled the woman’s name from when it had come up before. It had been during a conversation she’d had with her uncle that first day. He’d picked up then the same thing he was picking up now, that Margo and this Liz person didn’t get along. The dislike in Margo’s voice was obvious. “I gather Liz isn’t one of your favorite people.”

“Hardly. She sees me as a threat.”

“A threat?”

“Yes.” And then as if she’d realized she might have said too much, Margo quickly asked, “What do you think about the fries? Aren’t they delicious?”

“Yes, they’re good,” he said, popping one into his mouth. He had watched her eat and, as usual, had gotten turned on from merely seeing her chew her food. There was something about her mouth that he found so damn desirable.

“It was nice to get out. I almost hate going back.”

He looked over at her. “What happened to you wanting to jump into working on Claudine Bernard’s wedding gown?”

“I’m sure that even you would admit getting out of the house for a while is a relief.”

He would have to agree it was nice. Cabin fever was the pits, especially when his mind was centered on lust.

“So, Striker, what do you enjoy doing in your spare time when you’re not working? Any hobbies?”

“No hobbies, although I love taking my bike out.”

“Bike as in motorcycle?”

“Yes. I have a Harley.”

“Ride it often?”

“Every chance I get.” No need to tell her that on a day like this he would have ridden it on a long stretch of highway, loving the feel of the wind whipping his face.

Margo removed her sweater, and the blouse she was wearing showed a lot of her cleavage. He could tell she had firm breasts. The kind he would just love to press his face in the middle of before swiping his tongue across the nipples.

Once he had agreed to take her to that craft store, she had raced upstairs and changed her shoes to a pair of boots. They complemented her outfit. They complemented her. She complemented them. He doubted there was an outfit that she didn’t look good in.

“Why don’t you like the name Lamar?”

He shifted his gaze from her chest to her face. There was nothing in her expression to denote she had noticed his interest in her breasts. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“You said so. Were you lying when you said it?”

“No.” He then took a sip of his iced tea.

“Well then, why don’t you like it? I think it’s a nice name.”

Striker watched while she sipped more of her milk shake and had to shift in his seat to relieve the pressure of his erection against his zipper.

“Well?” she asked, licking her lips as if she was enjoying her milk shake and was oblivious to all that lust torpedoing through his body.

“Well, what?”

“What’s wrong with the name?”

Wasn’t it his plan to be the one asking the questions? To appease his curiosity and use this opportunity to find out more about her? Then how had she turned things around on him and asked him about his hobbies and now about his name? Was there ever a time she thought that perhaps she asked too many questions? Apparently not.

“I don’t like the name because Lamar was also my father’s name,” he finally said.

She blinked, confused. “You had a problem being named after your father?”

If only she knew just how big a problem he had with it. “Yes. My mother named me after him for spite.” Gathering up their trash to put into a bag, he continued, “He refused to marry her when she told him about her pregnancy. And on top of that, he refused to give me his last name. So she thought she would get even by giving me his first name.”

“Oh. You and Wade didn’t have the same father?”

“No. Five years later Mom met and married Ray Jennings. He adopted me and gave me his last name. He was also the one to nickname me Striker. For obvious reasons, he didn’t like the name Lamar any more than I did. And before you ask, the reason he decided on Striker was because as a kid I was good at football but lousy at baseball. The pitcher would strike me out nearly every time.”

She chuckled. “I can tell from the sound of your voice that you and your stepfather are close.”