Why was he enjoying her so much? He’d never gotten personally involved with a client he’d vowed to protect before. Even when the women had come on to him and wanted to blur the line, he’d been firm and wasn’t having it. Then why was he having all of this and then some from Margo Connelly? How could any woman’s kiss make him feel like he was in one hell of a sensuous daze? A daze that was quickly headed toward something he needed to put a stop to right now? The red-hot passion was all too quickly igniting flames of desire. He was feeling it with every stroke of his tongue and with every countering stroke of hers.
The ringing of a phone intruded, and he inwardly muttered a curse. However, this time it wasn’t his phone responsible for the untimely interruption but hers. He broke off the kiss. Who would be calling her at this hour? And why? She’d spoken to her uncle earlier, so who else would be calling? Was it a suspicious call like the one she’d gotten last week?
As if she remembered that particular call as well, she nervously licked her lips before pulling the phone from her jeans pocket. From the expression on her face, he had a pretty good idea who the caller was, even before he’d made the connection with his phone.
“Scott? Why are you calling me?”
“I’ve been listening to the news. Are you okay?”
Striker frowned. Had he known Margo had been part of the jury and was in danger? From the look in her eyes, she was wondering the same thing.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“Because of that crazy man going around killing folks in your town. It’s all over the news. I heard his intended targets are people who were in the courtroom of some trial, but I think you should leave Charlottesville just to be on the safe side. He might get trigger-happy and start shooting innocent bystanders.”
So he didn’t know she’d been part of the jury but had called out of concern. Maybe Scott Dylan wasn’t as big of an asshole as Striker had thought. He quickly dismissed that assumption upon hearing the man’s next statement.
“I’d be glad to send you money for a flight but only if you make your destination my doorstep. I miss you, Margo. I need to see you. It’s been a year. You can’t be making too much money designing those gowns. I got another promotion recently and—”
“I don’t need your money, Scott.”
Striker shook his head. So the asshole still didn’t know how wealthy Margo was. Striker knew he should hang up the phone and let them talk privately. After all, Scotty was her concern, not his. But something made him hang on. He refused to think it had anything to do with jealousy.
“Of course you need my money,” Scott said. “Granted, you’ve never asked me for anything, but you’ve always known it was there if you needed it.”
With a price tag on it, no doubt, Striker thought as he leaned against the desk in the room. What a wuss. Didn’t he know most women didn’t appreciate a man making them feel dependent?
Margo shot him a dark frown before saying to him, “This is a private call. Do you mind?”
Instead of answering her, he merely gave her an even darker frown.
“Margo?” Scott interrupted, reclaiming their attention. “Who are you talking to? Is someone there with you?”
“That’s not any of your business, Scott,” she snapped. “You aren’t supposed to call me anyway.”
“I have every right to call you. I didn’t break things off with you. You broke things off with me.”
Striker shook his head, wondering if the man had actually heard what he’d just said. Was Dylan such a simpleton that he didn’t realize that when a woman broke off with a man, it meant the man no longer had a right to call? Shit, it meant he’d lost any rights.
“And I broke things off for a reason, or have you forgotten that?” Margo said angrily.
Instead of answering her question, Scott said, “I want to know who is there with you, Margo.”
“That’s none of your business, Scott.”
“You are my business. You need me.”
Striker thought he should go ahead and release the line before he was tempted to tell the prick a few not-so-nice things. Dylan was Margo’s problem, and by rights, Striker knew that he should stay out of it and let her handle her business. Scott Dylan wasn’t a threat. Not a real one. Striker decided there was no reason he should be listening in on her call. He was about to get off the line when Dylan’s next words stopped him.
“You just won’t forgive me for what I did, will you, Margo?”
Now, that piqued Striker’s interest. What had he done? Whatever the deed, it was obvious from the daggers Margo was shooting over at Striker that she didn’t want him to know. Too bad. There was no way he would release the call now.
“I don’t want to discuss it,” Margo snapped at Dylan. “Stop talking about it, will you?”
Probably because she doesn’t want me to hear it, Striker thought.
Too bad Dylan didn’t do as she asked. “I was wrong for getting that guy to scare you like that. I hoped you would get rattled enough to move in with me. He was just supposed to make you afraid of living there alone. How was I to know he would take it to that level?”
WTF? Striker straightened from leaning against the desk. What exactly had the man done to scare her?
He glanced back at Margo, and she deliberately looked away. “Look, Scott, I have to go.”
“Why? And who’s there with you? Why won’t you tell me?”
Striker couldn’t hold his anger anymore. “Because she doesn’t want to tell you, so fuck off.”
There was silence on the other end, and then in an incensed voice Dylan asked, “Who the hell are you?”
“If Margo wanted you to know, she would have told you. Now, don’t call back disturbing us tonight or any other night. Forget you have this number.”
Striker clicked off his phone and then, to make sure Margo didn’t say anything else to the man, used his phone to remotely end her call to Dylan as well.
She stood there, glaring at him, obviously furious. “You had no right to say anything.”
Maybe not, but he would deal with the consequences later. What he wanted now were answers. “Just what in the hell did that person Dylan hired do?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MARGO CROSSED HER arms over her chest, angry with Scott for talking too much and totally upset with Striker for having the audacity to listen. How dare he invade her privacy like that? Did he think those kisses they’d shared had given him some rights? Well, she had news for him. No man had rights where she was concerned. “I’m not telling you anything, Striker. You had no right to—”
“At the moment I don’t give a damn about any rights,” he snapped. “What did he do? You either tell me or I’ll report him to Roland and let him explain that bit of information to your uncle.”
She dropped her hands. “That call has nothing to do with the reason you’re protecting me.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Frazier would love to know what Dylan did to you. Once your uncle finds out, I doubt he’ll last in that cushy, six-figure-salary job that he thinks so much of.”
“What Scott did is not my uncle’s business. Nor is it yours. I handled it.”
“How? By running back here to Charlottesville?”
Margo crossed her arms over her chest again, livid. “That is not why I moved home.”
“Then why did you? Can you explain that?”
“I don’t have to explain anything.”
Striker was about to tell her just how wrong she was about that when his phone went off. He recognized the ringtone. For Stonewall to call this time of night meant something was up. “What’s going on?”
“The lights are still on there. Why haven’t you and Margo gone to bed?”
“Why are you interested?” Now was not the time for his friend to get nosy.
Stonewall laughed. “Quasar said he’s been picking up on a lot of sexual tension over there. If things are getting too hot for you, let me know and I’ll send in a replacement.”
Striker rolled his eyes. “You can kiss it, Stonewall. And tell Quasar to mind his own damn business.” He rubbed his face and saw Margo head toward the door, but he eased over to block her from leaving.
“I need to go upstairs, Striker,” Margo snapped.
“Not until I go up there with you. You know the rules, Margo.”
“Can the two of you argue some other time?” Stonewall cut in to say. “There’s a reason for my call.”
“You mean it wasn’t to harass me?”