“But he has doubts,” I assume, and despite the fact that it probably kept her alive, I’m really not liking what seems a growing certainty that a kingpin has an attachment to Myla.
“A man like him always has doubts,” Juan replies, “and if they’re valid, it’s your job to find out. That’s what he wants from you. Find out. Use your FBI background and outsider persona to get her to turn on him if you can. And consider this your gateway drug to a lot more work and money.” He stands and so do I. “I’ll leave you with her.” He rounds my chair and heads for the hall, while I turn, following in his footsteps, until he pauses at the door, and looks at me. “Trust is earned. I’ll have several men on your heels at all times.”
“Anyone I don’t know could get shot. Make sure they announce themselves.”
“Of course, they’ll introduce themselves. At least, the ones in your line of sight.”
“Why not have them guard her?”
“I told you. You’re an outsider who can find out where her loyalty lies. And they’d end up dead, like you will if you fuck her.”
He exits the bedroom, disappearing into the hallway. I listen to his footsteps thunder and then soften, the door opening and shutting. I follow in his wake, wasting no time, reaching the lock, and flipping it shut to ensure no introduction takes me by surprise. And Juan was wrong, I think. I won’t end up dead if I fuck Myla. I’ll end up with my balls in my throat, ripped there by one of the Walker clan. And the very fact that I’m even thinking about that as a problem is a problem in and of itself. One that could get me and her killed.
Chapter Three
Kyle
I start down the hallway and I’m almost to the living area when Myla appears in the archway separating me from the living area. “You took the job,” she says softly, standing her ground as I stop in front of her.
“Yes, I took the job, and we’re going to talk about why you wanted that to happen, but just not now. Not until I secure the room.” I step around her, that sweet floral scent of her perfume following me all the way to the desk in the corner of the living area, where I grab the phone receiver and punch in the number to the bell desk.
“I need to speak to Les,” I state, and the very fact that I’m still smelling flowers, and thinking of dark hair and green eyes, tells me how much Myla affects me.
“He’s not available,” the female attendant on the line replies.
“Tell him it’s Kyle,” I reply. “The one in the Mustang.”
“Oh yes, sir.” I hear a complete change of her tone telling me money talks to Les. “He’s expecting you. Wait just one moment.”
I start to turn and check on Myla, but already I hear, “This is Les.”
“I need you to personally bring my bags here to my room,” I instruct. “I assume you can see where I’m calling from.”
“Yes sir. The private wing. I’ll be right up.”
I end the call and turn to find Myla standing in front of me, no more than two steps away. “Secure the room?” she asks, folding her arms protectively in front of her. “What does that mean? Is there a threat of some sort?”
“No active threat,” I assure her, “but considering you’re Michael Alvarez’s woman-”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Are you saying you aren’t his woman?”
“I’m saying you make me sound like a possession.” She doesn’t give me a chance to declare its accuracy, already moving back to her prior worry. “Why do you need to secure the room?”
“From this point forward, I’ll be securing every room you enter, as long as you’re under my protection.”
“Juan’s people checked out the room.”
“Juan’s people aren’t responsible for your safety or mine.” And then because I can’t have her alerting anyone about what comes next, I step closer to her, our legs nearly touching, my voice a mere murmur. “I’m going to sweep for recording devices and get rid of them. Then we’re going to have that talk we mentioned.”
I back away, but she grabs my arm. “No,” she hisses, her fingers gripping my jacket sleeve, our eyes colliding, the spark of some unnamed something I’ve sensed between us spiking hard and fast.
I arch a brow. “No?”
“Don’t cross them.”
Her voice is barely audible, but I respond to the panic I sense in her, my hand settling on her shoulder. “You wanted me to take this job,” I remind her.
“And I want you to consider who you’re working for.”
“I know what I’m doing,” I promise. “And I need you to trust me to protect you.” I pause, our gazes colliding, the air between us heavy. “Trust me.”
“Trust you? I don’t know you.”
“That’s not what you said earlier.”