Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(5)

“I’m glad you’re going along with me about the bodyguard, Margo.”

She frowned as she glanced up at him. Had she really agreed? In a way she guessed she had. The last thing she wanted was for him to worry needlessly about her. “I’ll give one a try...but this bodyguard better be forewarned not to get underfoot. I have a lot of work to do. An order came in while I was sequestered and the woman will be dropping by tomorrow morning for measurements. Although it’s a September wedding, I want to get started right away.”

“Why the rush?”

“I’d like to take this summer off. Possibly visit Apollo and his family in London.”

“That would be nice.”

She wasn’t finished yet. “And another thing, Uncle Frazier,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think you forget sometimes that I’m twenty-six and live on my own and am very independent. Just because I’m going along with you on this, I hope you don’t think you can start bulldozing your way with me.”

He glowered at her. “You’re stubborn like your father.”

She smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dropping her hands, she moved back toward the sofa and sat down, grabbing a magazine off the coffee table to flip through. “So, when do we hire this bodyguard?”

“He’s been hired. In fact, I expect him to arrive in a few minutes.”

Margo’s head jerked up. “What?! You hired him without consulting me?”

“I saw no need. He came highly recommended, Margo. I understand he’s good at what he does and that’s what I want.”

That wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to vet her own bodyguard. The last thing she needed was someone breathing down her neck, watching her every move and telling her what she could and could not do, which was exactly what the sort of man her uncle hired would do.

“And I hope you follow his orders, Margo. His job is to keep you alive.”

She scowled at him. “Since he came so highly recommended, I’m sure that he will.”

Margo drew in a deep breath. She hated being a smart mouth; however, the thought of another man crowding her space for any reason—even to keep her alive—didn’t sit well with her. She and Scott had lived in separate apartments and had tossed around the idea of moving in together. He was more for it than she was. During the weekends he had stayed over at her place, she’d been more than ready for him to leave on Monday morning. He never picked up after himself and depended on her to do practically everything. She’d begun to feel like his personal assistant rather than his lover.

She leaned back against the sofa. Her uncle moved from the window to take the chair across from her. “So what do you know about this person whose presence I have to put up with for no telling how long?” she asked. “Who recommended him, Uncle Frazier?”

There was a long pause. Hadn’t her uncle heard her question? Just in case, she repeated it.

“Someone I know.”

“So this person has used him before?”

“Not sure.”

She lifted a brow. “Yet you’ve taken his word for it?” She could tell her questions were agitating him. She was ready to dig deeper when the doorbell rang.

“I hope that’s him,” her uncle said, standing quickly.

She stood as well. A part of her hoped it wasn’t him. Why did she feel certain her life would be changing? Probably because it would. A madman was on the loose. A killer for hire. Did Murphy Erickson really think he would be set free from prison? If nothing else, these additional deaths were on his hands. Had the man forgotten that Virginia was a death-penalty state? Did he care?

Margo moved toward the door, her uncle right on her heels. She started to say something and decided not to waste her time. What was the point? Her uncle had arranged for her to have a bodyguard regardless of whether she wanted one or not.

Upon reaching the door, she turned to her uncle. “Like I said, I won’t have him underfoot, Uncle Frazier.”

“If it means keeping you alive, I don’t care if he’s underarm,” he responded tersely.

She rolled her eyes before turning back to the door. “Who is it?”

“Striker Jennings.”

Striker? What kind of name was that?

She turned to her uncle, who nodded and said, “That’s him.”

She wanted to see what kind of guy went by the name Striker. She stared through the peephole and, as if he knew what she was doing, he looked directly at her. The moment their gazes connected, something—she wasn’t sure what—made her breath catch.

Her uncle heard it and quickly asked, “What’s wrong?”

Margo drew in a deep breath as she pulled away. “Nothing.” She was lying. Who was this man? Why did just staring into his eyes have such an effect on her? The thought that he would be sharing her space...for who knew how long...was rather unsettling.

“Well, aren’t you going to let him in?”

Instead of answering her uncle’s question, she opened the door. And there he stood. The man named Striker Jennings. Instead of focusing on his eyes like before, she took in the entire man. And what a man he was. He was tall, way over six feet. And he was big. Muscular in a dark business suit and looking totally professional and serious. Why was her gaze intrigued by his broad shoulders, bulging biceps and flat abs? And those heavily lashed, dark eyes, the same ones she had stared into just moments ago, seemed to say, “Go ahead and try me.”