She scowled at him. “Since he came so highly recommended, I’m sure that he will.”
Margo drew in a deep breath. She hated being a smart mouth; however, the thought of another man crowding her space for any reason—even to keep her alive—didn’t sit well with her. She and Scott had lived in separate apartments and had tossed around the idea of moving in together. He was more for it than she was. During the weekends he had stayed over at her place, she’d been more than ready for him to leave on Monday morning. He never picked up after himself and depended on her to do practically everything. She’d begun to feel like his personal assistant rather than his lover.
She leaned back against the sofa. Her uncle moved from the window to take the chair across from her. “So what do you know about this person whose presence I have to put up with for no telling how long?” she asked. “Who recommended him, Uncle Frazier?”
There was a long pause. Hadn’t her uncle heard her question? Just in case, she repeated it.
“Someone I know.”
“So this person has used him before?”
“Not sure.”
She lifted a brow. “Yet you’ve taken his word for it?” She could tell her questions were agitating him. She was ready to dig deeper when the doorbell rang.
“I hope that’s him,” her uncle said, standing quickly.
She stood as well. A part of her hoped it wasn’t him. Why did she feel certain her life would be changing? Probably because it would. A madman was on the loose. A killer for hire. Did Murphy Erickson really think he would be set free from prison? If nothing else, these additional deaths were on his hands. Had the man forgotten that Virginia was a death-penalty state? Did he care?
Margo moved toward the door, her uncle right on her heels. She started to say something and decided not to waste her time. What was the point? Her uncle had arranged for her to have a bodyguard regardless of whether she wanted one or not.
Upon reaching the door, she turned to her uncle. “Like I said, I won’t have him underfoot, Uncle Frazier.”
“If it means keeping you alive, I don’t care if he’s underarm,” he responded tersely.
She rolled her eyes before turning back to the door. “Who is it?”
“Striker Jennings.”
Striker? What kind of name was that?
She turned to her uncle, who nodded and said, “That’s him.”
She wanted to see what kind of guy went by the name Striker. She stared through the peephole and, as if he knew what she was doing, he looked directly at her. The moment their gazes connected, something—she wasn’t sure what—made her breath catch.
Her uncle heard it and quickly asked, “What’s wrong?”
Margo drew in a deep breath as she pulled away. “Nothing.” She was lying. Who was this man? Why did just staring into his eyes have such an effect on her? The thought that he would be sharing her space...for who knew how long...was rather unsettling.
“Well, aren’t you going to let him in?”
Instead of answering her uncle’s question, she opened the door. And there he stood. The man named Striker Jennings. Instead of focusing on his eyes like before, she took in the entire man. And what a man he was. He was tall, way over six feet. And he was big. Muscular in a dark business suit and looking totally professional and serious. Why was her gaze intrigued by his broad shoulders, bulging biceps and flat abs? And those heavily lashed, dark eyes, the same ones she had stared into just moments ago, seemed to say, “Go ahead and try me.”
Try him? Margo swallowed deeply while thinking, How? With what? And for how long? She snapped back to her senses when her uncle came around to verify the man’s identity and said, “Show me credentials.”
Although the man gave her uncle a look that all but told him what he could do with the credentials he’d asked for, the man shifted his duffel bag into the other hand before pulling an identification card from his jacket pocket. She and her uncle looked at it. Lamar Jennings. So Striker wasn’t his real name. And he worked for a Summers Security Firm. There was a nice picture of him, but the real thing standing in front of her was so much better. Almost too much. Far too pleasing on any woman’s eyes. His nutmeg-colored facial features were way too mesmerizing. Way too captivating to even be considered merely handsome. Definitely riveting. She noted there was nothing soft about him and detected a hardness that would kick ass first and ask questions later.
Her uncle handed the ID card back to him. “Come on in, Jennings.”
“Striker,” he corrected him, not moving an inch. It was as if he needed to establish a few things up front and what he wanted to be called was one of them.
Her uncle didn’t say anything, and she wondered if he would. Although he often accused her of being stubborn, Frazier Connelly could be just as stubborn. Even more so. The two men stared hard at each other, and then, as if her uncle had decided it would be in his best interest to be the one to concede, he said, “Okay. Come in, Striker.”
She stepped aside when he walked past her and she closed the door behind him.
“You come highly recommended,” her uncle was saying, extending his hand out to the man.
“Do I?” Striker replied, accepting her uncle’s handshake.
“Yes, and this is my niece, Margo Connelly. The woman I’m depending on you to keep safe.”
He turned his dark, penetrating eyes on her. She could feel a deep stirring in the pit of her stomach when he extended his hand out to her. “Ms. Connelly.”
Margo accepted his hand and suddenly an intense rush of desire tore into her. It took everything she had not to snatch her hand back. She’d never met this man before. Didn’t know a thing about him other than that he’d been hired by her uncle. Yet she was attracted to him. She’d heard of sudden attraction but had never been the recipient of it, until now.
Even though he was impeccably dressed in a business suit, she detected a rough edge. And she suspected if the need arose, he could be lethal. As far as she was concerned, lethal and good-looking was one hell of a combination. She was a woman and there was nothing wrong with appreciating a well-muscled, nicely built man when she saw one.
“Mr. Jennings,” she said, pulling her hand from his.
“Striker,” he corrected her.
Instead of acknowledging his correction, Margo didn’t say anything, not sure she could find her voice even if she’d wanted to. At that moment a semblance of heated desire fanned low in her stomach. On top of that, her mind was still reeling from the sensations caused from their handshake. She felt irritated wondering what in the world was going on here. Putting the appreciation thing aside, it was totally unlike her to be this affected by any man. Although she relished eye candy like any other female might, she’d never let a man bring out the lustful side of her. In fact, to be totally honest, she hadn’t been aware she had one until now. She hadn’t been involved with a man since Scott. And that had been her choice. Her passion was her work and it superseded any intimate feminine needs. She’d learned not to place any man at the top of her pedestal.
That decision had come about after her last two serious relationships had left a bad taste in her mouth. Her attitude was that she didn’t need a man to be happy since all they seemed to do was disappoint her anyway. She liked her life just the way it was. Uninvolved, unattached and drama-free. At least it had been drama-free before the Erickson trial.
As Margo continued to study the man who’d entered her home, she had a feeling she was in a heap of trouble that had nothing to do with any assassin’s attempt on her life.
CHAPTER TWO