“I told you I handled it.”
“And just how did you handle it, Margo?” he asked in a voice she could tell had reached its boiling point. “You just said you didn’t press charges.”
“No—instead both Scott and Freddie Siskin agreed to give a specified amount to my favorite charity.”
“And what charity is that?”
“The Foster Child Foundation. When I lost both my parents I was lucky to have Uncle Frazier. Other kids aren’t that fortunate. This particular foundation provides college scholarships for kids in foster care.”
“How much did they have to pay up?”
“One hundred thousand dollars each. And they had only thirty days to get the funds together. It was either that or acquire records as felons.”
As far as Striker was concerned, she still had let them off too damn easy. What man would do something like that to a woman he claimed to care about? Like he told her, he hoped his path never crossed with Dylan’s. He’d meant what he’d said about what he would do. And the crazy thing of it was that the man expected her to take him back after all that bullshit. How would Dylan handle it if he ever found out Margo was loaded and hadn’t really needed his six-figure salary anyway?
Margo shifted on the sofa, and Striker’s gaze moved over her. She was now sitting cross-legged on the love seat. “How much longer do we have to just sit here?” she asked.
He glanced at his watch. It was close to two in the morning. They’d been sitting down here for almost an hour now. “It shouldn’t be too much longer. They want to see if that same car drives by again.”
“Is that what assassins do? Scope out where the person lives before making a hit?”
“I wouldn’t know.” He was lying because in a way he did know. While in the slammer, one of his fellow inmates had been an assassin for a drug lord. The man claimed his method of elimination was dependent on the target. Of course, Striker wouldn’t tell Margo that. She had enough to be stressed out about already. Although he agreed they needed to take precautionary measures, he was hoping the car was a false alarm.
At that moment his cell phone went off. It was Stonewall. “Yes, Stonewall?”
“It’s been an hour and nothing has happened. Go on to bed and we’ll continue to keep an eye on things over the monitors here. If anything develops, we’ll let you know.”
“Okay.” He then clicked off the line.
“Did Stonewall say we can go to bed now?”
Why did she have to make it sound as if they were sharing a bed and not sleeping in separate rooms? “Yes.”
“Good.”
He moved across the room to turn on the lights and then glanced back over at Margo. She had eased from the sofa and was stretching her body again. He stood there, almost spellbound, and watched her. He couldn’t breathe. Could barely swallow. At that moment he almost forgot his name. He couldn’t help it and was all but shivering at the sensations racing through him. Evidently she didn’t know how good she looked stretching her limbs like that or she wouldn’t be calling attention to herself. Or maybe she did know and was being coy about it.
Striker dismissed that notion immediately. The one thing he did know about Margo was that she didn’t have a coy bone in her body. A few nosy ones and a couple of flippant ones that went along with that luscious mouth, but there was nothing coy about her.
His nostrils flared when he picked up her scent, the same one he’d been inhaling all day. How could she still smell so good at this hour?
“I thought we had to keep the lights out.”
“That car probably won’t return tonight, so it’s okay. But if you prefer, we can keep them off,” he said, flipping the switch and throwing them into darkness again. And then he began moving toward her.
When he came to a stop in front of her, she tilted her head to look up at him. “What’s going on, Striker?”
When he didn’t answer but reached for her hand, she asked in a strained voice, “What do you think you’re doing?”
He felt it just like she did—sexual attraction that had the ability to overpower them, send spikes of heat through their bodies even when they didn’t want it to. When they couldn’t fight it. This time it was more intense than ever. Hell, even his balls were on fire.
He eased in a little closer, so close their bodies touched. Their hands were still joined, their fingers entwined, and what felt like electrical shock waves were traveling all through their limbs. He felt a deep thumping in his chest from the forceful acceleration of his heart.
“Striker, what are you doing?”
She posed the question again. He figured Margo needed to pay better attention since she should know by now what usually followed the hand-holding. “I’m about to kiss you, Margo.”
Pulling her even closer into his arms, he lowered his mouth to hers.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PROTECTOR OR SEDUCER? Which one was the real Striker Jennings? Margo wondered. She had a feeling the answer was both, although it was the seducer who was winning her over right now. He’d already demonstrated just what an experienced kisser he was. Now he was taking all that skill to a whole other level.
Her knees had nearly buckled the moment his tongue had entered her mouth. Then, without wasting any time, he’d begun mating his mouth sensuously with hers. She closed her eyes, feeling whatever strength she had left drain from her body. Resisting him was clearly not an option at this point.
She had come to know his taste that first time and had savored it with each kiss since. But now she wanted to do more than just savor. She wanted to consume it in a way that would be downright scandalous. When had Margo Connelly ever done anything shocking? Disreputable? Outrageous?
Never. Until now.
The instant his mouth had come down on hers, he had captured her tongue and held it hostage while he sucked on it. And he was doing so in a way that had her heart pounding and the juncture of her thighs throbbing. How in the world were they supposed to hold off the bad guys when they couldn’t hold off each other?
And then there was the way he was embracing her, deliberately letting her feel his long, hard erection pressing against her belly. The feel of that swollen shaft sharpened every sense she had, and little by little she was caught up in a wave of desire so thick she was becoming disoriented. They were wearing clothes, but they might as well be wearing nothing at all. Heat was consuming her, and she knew it had to be consuming him as well.
Instead of completely ending the kiss, Striker released her tongue to begin nibbling around her mouth, corner to corner. Then he took the tip of his tongue and licked where he’d nibbled, causing a drugging rush of need to swamp her.
“Striker?”
“Hmm?”
“Where will this lead?” She wanted to know. Had to know. Especially when she was standing here and letting him touch and taste her in a way no other man had done before.
Margo was well aware how his hands had been working her backside. When had a man kneaded her butt cheeks like dough? Pressed them closer to the fit of him. Included them in this process, and this was a process. If his intent was to drive her insane, make her lose her senses, then he was doing a real good job at it.
Then she noticed they were moving. He was leading her backward toward the sofa. When the backs of her legs brushed against the sofa, he released her mouth only to begin gently sucking on her lower lip. She could hear herself moan. He had quite a knack for making her do that.
When he finally pulled back, it was to stare down at her, his lips still wet from their kiss. “You want to know where this will lead, Margo?” he asked in a deep, husky voice, as he removed his holster carrying the Beretta and placed both on the table.
He was looking at her in a way that was so incredibly hot, she could barely breathe. The best she could do was nod in answer.
“It leads here.” And then he lowered her to the sofa.