Bedded by Her Bodyguard(21)

“Can you remember anything else about the ring?” he asked.

“Jade.” She startled herself with the announcement but the memory just popped into her head of the murky green oval stone embedded in gold. The same color as the Chinese dragon bookends her father used to prop up a row of books in his office at the university. She could almost smell the comforting scent of pipe smoke, sweet and earthy, her father’s one and only vice; besides his unconditional love for his wife who’d barely acknowledged his existence for years before their divorce. “The gold ring held an oval jade stone,” she whispered.

Isaac snapped his fingers. “Now there’s a possible connection.”

“There is?”

“The Markovs deal with precious metals and precious stones. You know, I had the thought last night, maybe the attempted robbery was an inside job.”

Unnerved, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“As far as we know, the only people in this country—hell, in this hemisphere—who knew about the SOS technology are us and the Markovs.”

She twisted her fingers together. “That sounds ominous.”

His expression darkened. “It may be.” Then he resumed pacing. “Did you notice all the Markovs wore gold rings? The only one who wore a ring with a stone in it was Marcus.”

Good grief, the guy had sat beside her half the night. How had she not noticed? “I guess I wasn’t paying attention to their jewelry.”

Maybe she needed to stop comparing places to scenes in Indiana Jones movies and focus more on the immediate details of her surroundings. Then again, she’d been more than distracted by her continuous blunders. Marcus was the only one who’d laughed them off. Because he’d had a secret agenda?

“I’m usually better at picking up on people’s quirks and responses,” she said, bemused.

Walking over to her, Isaac tilted her chin up, his touch firm yet gentle. “You were busy trying to hold your own in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language and don’t know the customs.” His thumb grazed her cheek and her heart thumped hard. “Understandable. It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

“Still.” She licked her lips.

His eyes widened then narrowed as he focused on the darting movement of her tongue. Eventually his gaze met hers. “I want to do something with you today before our second dinner meeting.”

The suggestion made her pulse thrum. “You do?”

“Get dressed while I grab a quick shower. Wear the dark red skirt suit.” He stroked her cheek again. “It’s stunning on you.”

His fingers slid along her jaw before he dropped his hand to his side. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a distinct outline in his boxer briefs.

Isaac touching her had affected him—down there?

How about that. She gave an inner squeal of delight. “Okay, I’ll be ready by the time you finish your shower.”





Chapter 5


After a night of torture lying next to the woman of his dreams, watching her run half-naked to the bathroom, seeing her nipples poke through her towel, catching her checking him out when he’d been pacing, then sliding his hand along the satiny texture of her face…Isaac teetered on a knife’s edge of exploding.

He wanted to haul her against him. Plunge his tongue into her mouth. Throw her on the bed. Thrust inside her and claim her.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, mingling with the water coasting down his neck. He knew exactly what he’d like coasting down him right now, and it wasn’t soap suds. Unless she was in the shower with him.

He slapped his hand against the tile with a wet smack, running his other hand down his face. He considered relieving himself while he fantasized about her lips wrapped around his cock. But he didn’t want the fantasy anymore, desperately craving the reality.

Nothing compared to the feel of her small fragile form in his arms. Last night had been purgatory. Restless, hot and aching for her, he’d finally fallen asleep to the soft hypnotic sound of her breathing. Only to wake up and find her wedged against him, her cheek buried in his chest, his arm around her, her hand between his thighs, his erection screaming for her.

But, like the night before, he would slap himself with the label World’s Biggest Asshole if he’d taken advantage of her vulnerability. It nearly destroyed him to see the fear frozen on her face at breakfast when she endured a PTSD moment from her attack. He’d wanted to go back in time so he could rip the guy’s throat out.

And he could have. He’d gone through training, some self-taught, some natural instinct, plus a few years of martial arts. The break-ins at his junkyard had forced him to learn real self-defense techniques. He’d discovered most of the scrappers who’d tried to help themselves to his property carried a knife. So he’d hired a pro to teach him how to use a knife and defend himself against one.