Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(36)

He watched as Margo continued to pace, and for a minute he considered telling her not to wear out the kitchen floor. But he figured she wouldn’t appreciate his brand of teasing right now. And, frankly, given the situation, he didn’t feel like giving it. He didn’t need to rattle her any more than she already was. Besides, he enjoyed seeing her pace. Definitely appreciated the sway of her hips, as well as the bounce of her breasts. He shouldn’t notice such things at a time like this, but what man wouldn’t? She was a beautiful woman with a great body that he craved more each and every day. But hadn’t he just decided to do away with the personal? Hell, some things couldn’t be helped, and a man’s ingrained ability to desire a woman was one of them. As long as he didn’t act on that desire, he was okay.

Suddenly, she stopped pacing and turned to him. Striker froze when he saw something in her eyes that he hadn’t expected. “Talk to me, Margo. Get it out. Tell me what you’re feeling,” he encouraged, while fighting the urge to go to her and kiss those tears away.

*

STRIKER’S WORDS BROKE through Margo’s anguish and she drew in a deep breath. Maybe getting out what she was feeling wasn’t a bad idea. She could remember all too well the perky blue-eyed blonde, who’d been married less than a year.

Nancy Snyder didn’t mind letting everyone know how much the separation from her husband bothered her. In fact, one of the last things Nancy had said to Margo was “I have a man waiting at home, who I haven’t seen in six weeks, and I can’t wait to get to him.” And now Nancy was gone. Shot down in cold blood.

She stopped pacing to stare down at the floor. And then there was Horace Amos, one of the prosecuting attorneys. She’d seen him in the courtroom, heard him, admired how he and his team had expertly and audaciously proved without a shadow of a doubt just what a heartless, cold-blooded killer Murphy Erickson was. Now Horace Amos was dead. She couldn’t help but wonder who would be next. Her?

“Don’t even think it, Margo.”

Striker’s sharp words made her jump. She saw in his features a startling intuitiveness of what she’d been thinking. How had he known? “How can I not think it, Striker?”

She watched him push his chair back to stand. “Because I’m here and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Margo sensed the truth in his words. She wasn’t sure how he would manage it if an assassin was hell-bent on killing her, but a part of her believed he would. Over the past week, she’d had moments where the reality of what was happening had hit her hard, and this was one of those times. And, for whatever reason when one of those moments intruded, caught her off guard, it was always Striker’s presence that would bring calm to her turbulent world...even if he had to go so far as to incite her anger to do so.

He’d also incited her desire for something that was as forbidden as it was yearned for. Okay, she would admit it. And whether he knew it or not, she could read him as well. Kind of. Enough. In the week they’d spent together, she’d tried her best to figure out what made Lamar “Striker” Jennings the person he was. Much still remained a mystery. He was intentionally keeping foggy certain aspects of himself and his life. But what she was seeing clearer with each passing day was that he was fighting the same longings, the same desires that she battled. Margo knew he kept his distance, took great pains never to come close to her. And he definitely went out of his way not to touch her again.

Yet today, while sitting in a parked car and sharing a hamburger, they had talked. Although at times it had seemed more like an interrogation than a conversation, at least they’d communicated. She’d learned a little more about him and he’d certainly gotten to know more about her. Typically she was fairly easy to get along with unless someone tried getting into her business. She was overly protective of her privacy, but more than once she had let her guard down with Striker.

As she watched, he moved around the table with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. For such a tall and built man, he had the ability to move with an ease that could take a woman’s breath away. He had shaved that morning, she was sure of it. Yet she could see the dark stubble covering his entire jaw. Why did such a thing not only make him look dangerously serious as well as dangerously sexy? But nothing detracted from that sensual look, not even the holstered gun strapped to his shoulder.

He stood there watching her, not saying anything. He really didn’t have to. The look in his eyes said it all. He was fighting this pull between them just like she was. For some reason, she felt the need to speak. To address what he’d said. “I know you won’t let anything happen to me, Striker.”

He nodded, as if satisfied by her response. Then he asked her, “Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

She actually got shivers at the question. “Heavens, no. Apollo tried teaching me and I couldn’t even hold one in my hand. The thought that such an object is capable of taking a human life petrified me. If given a gun, I’d probably end up shooting myself. Pepper spray works just fine.”

He shook his head. “Glad you told me that. I won’t ever give you a gun for any reason.”

It wouldn’t bother her in the least if he didn’t. She would leave the burden of protecting her solely on his shoulders, and roaming her eyes over him, she thought, Those shoulders are massive. He was standing there, staring at her, blatantly allowing all that manly heat to penetrate her space. Causing her heart rate to increase, shivers to ripple up her spine and quivers of need to infiltrate her very being.