Overall, it seemed that Ross had done the punk a favor.
Fresh alarm filled Grant’s bugging eyes. “The truth would have destroyed us both!”
Again, Ross shrugged. “I could have protected myself without covering for you.” Especially given he hadn’t murdered anyone. “Hell, I probably would’ve gotten a grand plea bargain.”
“That,” Grant warned, “would be more difficult than you think.”
No, Ross knew it’d be near impossible to sink Douglas Grant, given all his old-family connections, which was why he’d gone along with the dual alibi that saved Grant’s ass and in the process, gave him useful leverage. “I went the extra mile for you, Douglas, and now I need you to do the same.”
Grant looked like a cornered rat.
“Stop sweating. All I need is for you to throw a ritzy party, invite a certain special lady and include me on your guest list.”
“You can’t kill a woman at my house.”
That assumption annoyed him. “I’m not going to kill her, damn it. I just want some time with her.” Time to win her over without her feeling threatened.
Skeptical, Grant asked, “Who is she?”
“Sahara Silver.”
“From Body Armor?” Grant shook his head. “She wouldn’t attend. Doesn’t like me, you know.”
“I heard she actively dislikes you.” Didn’t surprise Ross. He knew Grant operated more as an inside man for the wealthy than a defender of justice. His Sahara wasn’t like that. No, she’d go to war to protect an innocent. He admired that about her. Hell, he admired everything about her. “You’ll have to pitch it as a way to patch up the conflicts.”
“A party,” Grant mused. Then he said with enthusiasm, “You know I don’t mind entertaining. You should have said right off that’s all you wanted.”
“Not all.” Pulling a small notebook from his pocket, Ross slid it across the table. “To Ms. Silver and anyone else who asks, I’m an upstanding fellow, someone you know well. I’ve jotted down the details of our association. Learn it. Don’t fuck it up. We’ll go over the more recent dates now to ensure we’re on the same page.” Ross couldn’t make up a story until he knew where Grant had been.
Grant toyed with the notebook. “Mind telling me why you’re doing this?”
Ross gave him his coldest stare. “You know better than to ask.”
Fresh terror pushed Grant back in his seat, but when Ross made no move toward him, he relaxed again. “This doesn’t sound bad at all. Throw a party, and fuck over that bitch, Sahara Silver.” He chuckled. “I call that a win-win.”
The ignorant bastard was too busy laughing to dodge Ross’s fist. And damn it all, he knocked him out. Actually, he knocked him out of his chair, too.
Ross stared down at the crumpled body on the floor, a purpling bruise already spreading over his jaw. He really needed to get a handle on his territorial instincts where Sahara was concerned.
Seeing her at the party would help, having the opportunity to speak with her, just be near her... He couldn’t wait to witness her expression when Douglas spun the carefully created fairy tale about their association. She’d realize that she couldn’t fight him, and then she’d realize the truth.
Eventually, she would be his.
*
EVEN THOUGH HE’D already learned every inch of the suite during his tour with Leese, Brand paced around, going from one room to the other.
He had to keep moving, otherwise he’d dwell on Sahara taking her bath. A “relaxing bubble bath” she’d said. As it was, his overactive libido kept picturing her stepping out of those sexy high heels, unzipping that slim-fitting skirt and slowly pushing it down over her shapely hips, then unbuttoning that silky blouse, one button at a time, until that, too, landed on the glossy tile floor.
Had she left her hair pinned up to keep it dry, or let it down so that it floated around her breasts in the water?
He drew a strained breath and went to stand before the windows overlooking the Ohio River. Lights on barges sent ribbons of colors to dance over the surface of the water.
How long was she going to be in there?
He withdrew his phone and again checked the time on the screen. Hell, wasn’t ninety minutes long enough?
He remembered that his mom, after her injury, would stay in the tub for an hour. But that was to treat her aches and pains, not just to soak.
Thinking that gave him an awful idea: did Sahara have any aches and pains?
She’d finished work a little after seven—late, in his opinion, especially considering how early she started. Instead of retiring to the suite then, she’d insisted on getting restaurant food, which had left him divided. He wanted to get it for her, but that would leave her alone, and taking her out of the agency left her susceptible to an attack.
Luckily, Leese answered when he called. He told Brand to go ahead and take her with him—as if either of them could have stopped her if that’s what she wanted to do. Then Leese spoke with Sahara, who very reasonably agreed that it wouldn’t hurt to have one of the guards from the agency follow behind at a discreet distance.
It didn’t surprise Brand that everyone in her employ appeared to adore her. They wanted to protect her, not because she was the boss but because they cared.
Sahara was that kind of person, the kind who got involved, who listened, who understood. She valued everyone who worked for her, from the maintenance crew to the bodyguards to her personal assistant—and they all knew it.
Leaving the window, Brand strode down the hall, pausing by the bedroom door. She’d left it open, but had closed the door to the connecting bath. On the nightstand next to the bed was the weapon she’d made. She’d replaced the bra around the handle with some other material.
The real surprise was that she hadn’t taken it into the bathroom with her.
Shaking his head, he surveyed the room.
He’d expected her to choose the master bedroom, but instead she’d put her things in the guest bedroom. He assumed the idea of using her brother’s room left her uncomfortable.
Or maybe she figured Scott would return any day now, and she didn’t want to intrude on his space.
It was damned heartbreaking, the way she clung to hope.
He checked the time on his phone again, then went through the bedroom to the bathroom door. “Sahara.”
No answer.
After going out for food and eating it in the suite, combined with her extended bath, it was now past ten o’clock. They were supposed to talk about their relationship...and didn’t he sound just like a chick? Disgusted, he rapped his knuckles against the door. “Sahara?”
Nothing.
She had to be exhausted. It was too late now for an in-depth discussion when most of all she needed sleep.
But her silence bothered him.
He couldn’t think of any injuries she’d had, but what if she hadn’t told the whole story about her kidnapping? What if that bastard had hurt her?
She could be in there quietly crying.
The possibility twisted his guts.
And thinking of possibilities...had someone gotten to her? Was he stupidly waiting for her and she was already—
He tried the doorknob, felt it turn and half opened the door, keeping his gaze averted from the tub.
The large mirror on the opposite wall made the effort useless.
Ah, hell.
Arrested by the sight, Brand went still, barely even breathing.
Lying boneless in the tub, hair pinned up in a soft, messy way, eyes closed and not enough bubbles left in the water to conceal her, Sahara dozed. The waterproof earbuds explained why she hadn’t heard his knock.
One hand rested limply over her belly, the other draped the edge of the tub. She had her right leg stretched out, her left slightly bent. The water, edged with small bubbles, lapped around her shoulders, her pale breasts and the tops of her thighs.
In his mind, he’d pictured her naked many times, but his imagination hadn’t done her justice.
His blood pumping hot and fast, he turned away from the mirror to face the tub.
An erection strained the front of his jeans.