FULLY DRESSED IN jeans and a pullover sweater, Margo took a moment to collect herself before opening her bedroom door, knowing what she would find on the other side. As usual, Striker would be there, leaning against the wall, waiting on her. And like always, she would fight to ignore the surge of desire that consumed her upon seeing him first thing in the morning. Why did he have to look so good and why did seeing him continually bring on flickers of longing and need?
And why couldn’t she forget about that kiss? It wasn’t like it had been her first, and she doubted seriously it would be her last. Why was she thinking that Striker’s short kiss ran rings around Scott’s long ones? Whoever thought all kisses were the same hadn’t kissed Striker. She didn’t want to compare him to Scott but couldn’t help it. Scott was a chauvinist and would never apologize for being one, especially when he saw it as a quality a woman should admire.
Margo had a feeling Striker didn’t have a chauvinistic bone in his body. A woman was his equal and he would protect her with his life and not try to deliberately play on her fears like Scott had done. But, on the other hand, the one thing Striker and Scott did have in common was their stubbornness. Today she was prepared for a fight after telling him she needed to leave the house. The thread that had been delivered for Claudine’s gown wasn’t the exact color she wanted and she knew of one local craft store that had what she needed. She would use the truce they’d shaken on a few days ago in her favor. He had agreed to be flexible, hadn’t he?
She would break the news to him over breakfast. Regardless of how he chose to handle things, she intended to go to that store, with or without him. As far as she was concerned, she’d been locked inside this house long enough and needed to breathe in clean, fresh air. The forecasters predicted a hard freeze at the end of the week, and she wanted to at least spend a few hours outdoors while the weather was halfway decent.
Opening the door, Margo saw Striker standing there as always. How did he always time it to exactly when she would be walking out of her bedroom? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he had ultrasonic hearing or something.
His body looked hard and muscular leaning against the wall. Feminine awareness invaded every part of her and she couldn’t help the primal reaction of her body kicking in right then. She was well aware of the exercises he did each day. She knew he was putting her treadmill and stationary bike to good use every night before he went to bed. He also jumped rope a lot. More than once she had glanced out of her workroom and seen him doing so in her kitchen, which afforded him a lot of room.
The moment their gazes met, acute recognition passed between them, stirring something hot and carnal in the pit of her belly. She couldn’t help but admire the way he filled out a pair of jeans, and that T-shirt looked real nice on his chest. And those tattoos that ran up the length of his arms were interesting and made him look so formidable but in such an appealing way. For a minute her breath wobbled in her throat. She should still be upset with him because of the way he’d all but terrified the delivery guy yesterday when he’d dropped the packages off at the back door as usual. Not only had Striker almost shoved a gun up the man’s nose, but he had searched through all the boxes before letting her accept them.
“Good morning, Striker.”
“Good morning, Margo.”
Their usual greetings were exchanged before she moved toward the stairs. Desire clawed at her as he followed. Just knowing he was a few steps behind her had more heat curling in her stomach. When they made it downstairs, she turned to him and said, “We need to talk.”
“Before or after breakfast arrives?” he asked.
Before she could answer, a text came over Striker’s phone. He checked it. “Our breakfast is on the way. We’ll talk while we eat,” he said.
“Alright.”
Walking into the kitchen, she headed straight for the refrigerator to get the orange juice while Striker moved toward the counter to put on the coffee. She thought about how they’d gotten into a comfortable routine in the mornings over the last few days.
While getting glasses out the cabinets, she looked over at him. His powerfully built body seemed to fill her kitchen. The muscular definition of his abs and biceps were so well outlined she couldn’t help but stare for a second.
Not taking the chance he might notice her ogling him, she quickly got the glasses, filled them with orange juice and headed for the table.
*
STRIKER LEANED FORWARD against the kitchen counter, trying to hide the physical evidence of his desire for Margo. Having a hard-on was a bitch but couldn’t be helped. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans, a pullover sweater and flat shoes. The woman looked good this morning like she did every morning. And if that wasn’t bad enough, then there was her scent—the scent of a woman—that was arousing him like crazy.
Moments later, after getting his body under control, he poured their cups of coffee and carried them over to the table. There was a knock at the back door. Automatically, he pulled his gun as he moved toward it. Although he was expecting the delivery of their breakfast, he never took any chances.
“Is that necessary, Striker?” he heard Margo ask behind him.
He wasn’t in the mood today. Sexual tension was eating at him, and it was taking all he had to contain it.
He glanced over his shoulder. “What does it matter when I pull out my gun as long as it’s to protect your sweet ass?” he snapped.
Refusing to engage in a verbal sparring match with Striker, especially when it was quite obvious he was in a foul mood, Margo drew in a deep, controlled breath and then stared beyond him to the sliding glass door.
Moments later she watched a man enter carrying bags. From the aroma she knew it was their breakfast. But the man who entered her kitchen was not Cisco.
“Good morning,” the man said, flashing a huge smile.
“You’re not Cisco,” she said, studying the man who was just as tall and muscular as Striker. His straight black hair that fell to his shoulders and chestnut-colored skin gave his handsome features an exotic look.
“Cisco is on another assignment. I’m Quasar Patterson. I’ll be the one delivering breakfast from here on out.”
“Thanks for bringing our breakfast, Quay, but it’s time for you to leave,” Striker said, noticing the way Margo was checking out his friend and getting annoyed by it.
Quasar broke eye contact with Margo and glanced over at Striker. “Kind of touchy this morning, aren’t you, Striker?”
“Go to hell.”
Quasar laughed. “Sounds like you might already be there.” And then he opened the door and left.
“Honestly, Striker, did you have to be so rude?”
Striker stared at her. If she knew how he, Quasar and Stonewall spoke to each other at times, often using more profanity than not, she wouldn’t make that accusation.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said, unloading the contents of the bags. “He can handle it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“And just what is the point, Margo? At least the one you’re trying to make?”
“That you were rude.”
“You said that already. In my line of work, it doesn’t pay to be nice. And has it occurred to you that I’m not a nice person?”
“If you’re trying to convince me of that, then you’re doing a good job.”
No, he wasn’t trying to convince her of that, but for some reason, today he couldn’t help it. But then, like he’d told her, he wasn’t there to be nice. He was there to keep her safe. His mood came with the territory, especially when she was a woman playing havoc with his damn libido. And that wasn’t good. After placing all the containers and utensils out on the table, he sat down, ready to dig in. “So what do we need to discuss?”
“I need to go to the store.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Excuse me?”
Already digging into his meal, he said, “Tell me what you need and I’ll have Quasar pick it up.”
Margo scowled. “What I need is not anything that Quasar can pick up for me, Striker.”
“He can pick up anything, even feminine hygiene products, if that’s what you’re alluding to.”