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  I come back inside on a curse.

  Evelyn stares at me. “Should I be afraid?”

  “No. Not while I’m here.” And I mean it. She’s not part of my job, but I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to protect her with my life.

  Our gazes hold for a moment, long enough for me to realize she’s even prettier than I recall from the first time I saw her. Pretty? Fuck. She’s heart-stoppingly gorgeous. Now that I’m looking at her, I’ll be damned if I can stop. My fingers itch to touch her creamy, light-brown skin and the thick, espresso waves that frame the delicate oval of her face. Her eyes are mesmerizing, a green so pale it’s nearly blue, her gaze sharp and intelligent, yet soft beneath the deep black fringe of her lashes.

  I mentally kick myself now that I know who she is. Or, rather, as Beck noted, who she once was. The sleek, glamorous supermodel who’d been making headlines while I was camped out in the armpit of Afghanistan, dust-caked and stinking, hunting for bad guys and trying not to lose life or limb--or my soul--in the process.

  Our lives couldn’t have been more different. Worlds apart, then and now.

  “You need better lighting and surveillance cameras in three key locations out there,” I tell her, my tone clipped because I’ve already counted about a dozen substantial security weaknesses in and around the boutique. And I’ve only been here five minutes. “I’ll write up a full security plan and get the ball rolling on new equipment for you first thing tomorrow.”

  She doesn’t seem pleased with my plan. “This is an upscale boutique. The last thing I want is for it to look like a military base.”

  “Duly noted,” I reply, glancing away from her, unsurprised that this is yet another conversation where she and I are going to clash. I also have to wonder if the military dig was coincidental or something else. When our eyes meet again, hers are lit with challenge. “I respect where you’re coming from on this, Evelyn. But Dominic Baine and your brother have put me in charge of ensuring the security of this building and all the other properties Nick owns. The last thing I want is to let them down.”

  “Always the dutiful Boy Scout, are you?”

  I feel my brow furrow as I fold my arms over my chest. “The what?”

  She shrugs. I’d be tempted to write her off as a gorgeous, stuck-up bitch if I didn’t catch the little smile playing at the edge of her amazing mouth. “I heard all about you from Andrew yesterday,” she says. “The impressive military career. Your stellar marks at Baine International. My brother and Nick obviously think very highly of you.”

  What else did they tell her? I wonder if she knows about my leg or the two-plus years of recovery that followed. Every inch of her is perfection. I’m scar-riddled and disfigured. Then again, none of that should matter since I’m only here in a professional capacity. A prosthetic calf and foot on my left leg won’t prevent me from doing my job. Never has. It’s never prevented me from making love to a woman, either.

  I clear my throat. “After our introduction in the garage, I don’t suppose I have to ask what you think about me.”

  She tilts her head, humor dancing in her eyes. “Was I that transparent?”

  I chuckle, but it’s only an attempt to cover for the sudden, heated jolt of lust that rockets through every cell in my body as I stand in the path of Evelyn Beckham’s knockout smile. “I didn’t think I’d have a job to come back to this morning, if you want to know the truth.”

  “Really?” Now she seems truly amused. “So, if you thought I could get you fired, why did you keep trying to piss me off?”

  I shrug, leaning my shoulder against the wall. “I don’t know. Maybe I like to live dangerously.”

  “Do you?”

  “Sometimes.” Which has never been more obvious to me, given the current direction of my thoughts when it comes to this woman who is completely, dangerously, off-limits. “Then again, maybe I just have a bad habit of getting off on the wrong foot.”

  She laughs. It’s sultry, like her voice. Hearing her laugh makes me wonder what she sounds like at other times when she’s having fun, when those hackles of hers aren’t raised and ready for a fight. What does she sound like when she’s relaxed, when she’s experiencing pleasure?

  What does she sound like when she comes?

  Fuck. Definitely not the direction I can let my thoughts go.

  I clear my throat and gesture over my shoulder with my thumb. “I’ll go take a look at the front of the shop.”

  I pass several spacious dressing rooms on the way, each one outfitted in muted colors and soft furnishings. Evelyn follows me in silence out to the front sales room, turning on soft recessed lights and a glittering crystal chandelier that hangs from the center of the elegant boutique.

  Instead of inserting some much-needed space between my boss’s stunning sister and my unprofessional reaction toward her, I find myself in the middle of a room filled with things designed for seduction. Lacy lingerie drips from silk-wrapped hangers everywhere I look. Here and there, faceless, artfully posed mannequins show off sexy, skimpy bras and corsets tied up with satin ribbons and festooned with beads or pearls or tiny flowers. There are even a few black leather options that offer an interesting contrast to the rest of the frothy confections.

  It only takes my corrupted mind a few seconds to strip Evelyn bare and place her supple curves and graceful limbs into each erotic outfit. A private modeling session that I would give anything to witness in person. I banish the bad idea from my head on a stifled groan. My cock, unfortunately, is going to require more convincing.

  Mirrored alcoves reflect my scowling, uncomfortable image back at me in dozens of replications as I move through the sea of feminine underthings.

  I see Evelyn in the glass too. She’s several paces behind me as I pull out my phone and take a few photos of optimal mount locations for surveillance cameras in the high-ceilinged, window-fronted sales room.

  “So, do you always go out to personally check Baine properties in the middle of the night?”

  “I do now.” I slip my phone back into my jacket pocket and turn to face her. “As of today, I’m corporate security chief. That means I’m managing the teams and overseeing the security systems at all of Baine International’s New York locations.”

  She steps closer. “Sounds like a promotion.”

  I nod. “It’s a hell of an opportunity.”

  “Congratulations, Gabe.” It’s the first time she’s said my name--or, rather, said it without any trace of disdain in her tone. And that knockout smile is back again, this time with a wry twist to it. “So, does this mean you’ll be coming around asking to see my ID at my shop now?”

  I smirk, despite the fact that looking at her like this is making the tightness below my belt strain toward unbearable. “I admit, I wasn’t in my best form yesterday. I had to go do something I wasn’t exactly looking forward to, and you caught the brunt of my bad attitude. I apologize.”

  “Ah,” she says. “That’s right, you were on your way out of the Baine Building as I was going in--trying to go in, that is. What nasty business did you have to do? Some kind of super soldier stuff?”

  “Nope.” I shake my head. “Family thing. One of my brothers just made commander at his precinct.”

  Her lips tilt. “No wonder you act like a cop. Runs in your family, I take it?”

  I chuckle. “You could say that. At least, it did until I came along. The Nobles have all the cops they need. Besides, I never would’ve measured up for the old man, anyway.”

  I’m not sure why I let the admission roll out of my mouth, but it’s out there now. I wait for Evelyn to bust my balls about it, since that seems to come naturally to her and I just gave her an easy target to hit. But she doesn’t make light of the pathetic blurt.

  Instead, those soft green eyes study me in silence--almost longer than I can take.

  “You don’t get along with your dad?”

  “We get along fine. So long as we don’t have to see or speak to each other.”

 
An apology lingers in her gaze, unspoken. And thank fuck for that. Last thing I want or need is someone feeling sorry for me. Especially her.

  “I adore my dad,” she says softly. “Andrew and I had different moms. His mother divorced our father, then Dad married my mom a couple of years later. She died when I was eight. Drunk driver hit her while she was in a crosswalk.”

  “That’s rough,” I murmur, avoiding the apology I’m tempted to give because I’m not sure if she’d welcome my sympathy either.

  She lets out a sigh. “I grew up protected by two strong men. I can’t convince either one to stop worrying about me all the time.”

  “Don’t expect them to. If I had a sister, I’d worry about her too. Knowing your brother, I think it’d kill him if anything happened to you.”

  “I know.” She glances down and goes quiet for a long moment, leaving me to wonder where her thoughts have drifted. Somewhere dark, if the haunted look in her eyes when her gaze returns to mine is any indication. Wherever she went, it clings to her. “Do you, ah . . . do you need to see anything else while you’re here?”

  Her distant tone erases all of my untoward thoughts and impulses. Or most of them. Either way, I chalk it up as a good thing.

  “You want to show me where the electrical equipment is? Can’t hurt to check it out.”

  She nods and starts walking away from me. I fall in line behind her, doing my best to ignore the fluid sway of her hips inside the body-hugging black pencil skirt that ends just above her knees. Her rounded backside and bare legs are firm and strong, but I can practically feel how soft she’d yield under my hands, under my mouth. Under my thrusting hips as I spread her open and push inside.

  She pivots her head to look over her shoulder at me. “The circuit breakers are in here.”

  Shit. Fucking busted. I can’t even hope to lift my gaze in time to pretend I’m not a complete barbarian. So, I glance up slowly and meet her astonished look. “All right. Thanks.”

  She stays outside the small closet of a room that houses the circuit and cable boxes, electrical equipment, and sundry supplies. I get right to work checking things out, basically doing anything to avoid looking at her now that she’s caught me drooling.

  “After the lights went out, I checked the fuses,” she tells me from the relative safety of the open doorway. “I didn’t see anything wrong, but this isn’t really my area.”

  I nod. The fuses look fine. Nothing obviously out of sorts with any of the power panels or other equipment. “I’ll make a few calls, have someone come out and do a thorough system inspection, just to be safe.”

  I feel her watching me as I carefully squat to take a closer look at the tangle of cables and other wires feeding into the boutique’s internet, power, and security systems. The position is made ten times more uncomfortable for the strain it puts on my prosthesis, but it is the weight of Evelyn’s studying gaze that makes me eager to wrap up and put some distance between us.

  “Who’s got access to the equipment in here?”

  “You mean, besides the random service techs from the cable and power companies?” She shrugs. “Everyone in the shop, I guess. Me, Katrina, Megan, a handful of sales clerks who work the floor on weekdays. Occasionally, our seamstress, Jane, comes into the boutique. Baine International also sends a nighttime cleaning crew twice a week. Why?”

  “Just curious.” I stand up and turn to face her. “Probably a good idea to put a panel combo lock on this door too. I’ll add it to my list when I talk with Nick and Beck in the morning.”

  “Okay.”

  “Nothing more to be done here tonight,” I tell her, turning off the light to the electrical room as I exit and close the door behind me. “Come on. If you’re ready to go, I’ll walk out with you.”

  Evelyn’s purse and a leather tote packed with papers and her laptop sit near the back door where she left them when I first came in. She picks them up and we walk out together, she pausing to lock the deadbolts while I wait.

  Her high-heeled sandals click on the dark pavement of the small parking lot. I keep my head on a swivel, surreptitiously checking our surroundings as we move toward her car, one of my hands hovering near her elbow, my other loose at my side, but ready to react at the first sign of trouble.

  As we approach her Volvo, she clicks the locks open with her key fob. I wait a couple of steps away, still searching the gloom and shadows as she opens the back passenger door and places her tote behind the driver’s seat.

  “How many years did you spend in Afghanistan?”

  Her question catches me off-guard. Though not nearly as much as the realization of how close we’re standing to each other in the dark. The vanilla scent of her hair drifts on the night breeze, the heat of her skin radiating in the minuscule space that separates her body from mine. I’m shocked by the amount of control it takes for me to keep my hands at my sides, when all I want to do is reach up and smooth the dark tendril of hair off her cheek as she talks.

  Even more than that, I am seized by the urge to tilt her chin and lower my mouth to hers.

  I curb all those inappropriate impulses, but only barely.

  “I deployed to Kandahar right out of basic,” I tell her, my voice sounding rusty and unused. I’m not used to talking about my military career, let alone talking about it with a beautiful former supermodel at the tail end of a long day and a night that’s doomed to end a lot sooner--and far less naked--than I would prefer. “I completed a couple of combat tours. Would’ve had a third under my belt, but an IED blew me home two months into it.”

  I hear her quiet inhalation, see the look of surprise on her face. So, she doesn’t know the gory details after all. I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed that she assumes I’m whole. All I do know is that her opinion shouldn’t matter to me. Shouldn’t, yet does.

  “An IED.” She swallows, her gaze steady and, thankfully, devoid of pity or fascination. “Andrew told me you came home with a Purple Heart.”

  I acknowledge with a shrug because that medal--and all the other commendations that came with it--don’t mean shit to me. Each one represents a failure. To myself, my country, and, most of all, the soldiers under my command. My friends who came home in flag-draped boxes.

  She reaches out, and before I realize it, her fingers light gently on my cheek. The flesh that’s stretched over the metal plates serving as my cheekbone often seems a bit numb, but not now. I feel everything in that brief, tender touch.

  I move out of it before I am tempted to crave any more. If there had been exterior cameras to watch us now, I never would have let that breach happen in the first place.

  Or so I assure myself.

  “I’ll write up my proposal for new security measures when I get home,” I tell her, acting as if my heart isn’t throbbing like a drum in my chest, and my arousal hasn’t just spiked off the charts.

  It takes everything I have to resist the urge to reach for her. She nods in response to what I’m saying, playing along with my effort to pretend there’s nothing happening between us.

  Because there isn’t. There can’t be. Not when it will mean jeopardizing my job and the trust her brother and Dominic Baine have placed in me.

  But damn. It’s not easy holding on to my resolve when the heat of her fingertips still lingers on my cheek. Or when the promise of her kiss simmers in her wide, expressive eyes.

  I clear my throat. “In addition to motion sensor video monitoring and beefed up exterior lighting, I’m also going to recommend new locks on all doors inside and out, as well as video monitoring for all areas inside the shop.”

  “You really think that’s going to be necessary?” She folds her arms over her breasts and sighs. “I’ve been working here for three years without any issues.”

  “And I plan to make sure that trend continues.”

  A smile lifts the edge of her mouth. “Now you’re starting to sound like my brother.”

  Christ. Far from it. I take a healthy step back. “I’ll be in t
ouch tomorrow. Goodnight, Evelyn.”

  She turns to open the driver’s door but hesitates, looking at me. “Um, Gabe?”

  For one reckless moment, hearing my name spoken so softly on her lips, I imagine she’s going to say something dangerous, something I won’t be able to resist. An invitation. A plea.

  Her forehead furrows. “Can we . . . Can we maybe not tell Andrew about any of this? The power outage. You coming out here and finding me still at work. He worries too much about me as it is. If he hears I was alone at the shop this late and then got spooked for no reason . . .”

  Her words trail off because I’m already shaking my head. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

  “Right.” She shrugs, releasing a heavy sigh. “Boy Scout honor, is that it?”

  “If you say so,” I reply, feeling anything but honorable. “You should get going.”

  For a moment, she neither moves nor speaks. Finally, she gives me a vague nod. “You’re right. It’s getting really late. Thank you for being here tonight.”

  “Anytime.”

  She extends her hand and I take it, even though the contact only makes the lick of heat swirling through me burn hotter. I wrap my fingers around her smaller hand, engulfing her in my grasp. Arousal coils inside me at the contact, but even worse, I can see the glimmer of invitation in her bold green eyes.

  “To think it was only yesterday I worried that you were going to have me arrested.” One of her dark brows arches playfully. “Now, look at us.”

  I’m looking. I’m also keeping her hand gripped in mine, even though I know damn well that looking--and touching--are two things I have no business doing. I grunt, reluctant to let go of either her gaze or her hand. “What a difference a day makes.”

  I want the remark to sound casual, in control. But the gravel scrape of my voice sounds anything but innocuous. I release her hand now, because whatever is smoldering to life between us is a definite no-go.

  It’s a hell no, for a hundred different reasons--including the unspoken promise I made her brother earlier this morning. Evelyn Beckham is not for me.