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She wasn’t saying anything more.
Her arms were crossed beneath her breasts in a classic defensive posture as he almost gave in to the urge to sigh wearily.
Standing, Jed picked up an ink pen from the table next to him before moving to her once again.
She always carried her date book, with a small sketch pad in it, with her. At the moment, it was tucked in the side of the cleaning carryall she’d placed on the floor when she entered the room.
Bending, he pulled the five-by-seven leather-bound journal from the side pocket, flipped it open, then quickly scrawled his cell phone number in the back. The sketch pad enclosed with it was filled with colorful sketches of clothing designs and scrawled with notes. He would have loved to flip through the new designs he only glimpsed, but knew from experience she’d become immediately defensive.
“What’s that for?” she questioned warily as he finished.
Tucking the book back in place, Jed straightened and stared down at her with a sense of heavy disappointment.
“When you decide you can give me a chance to prove that I have no intention of tying you down, Piper, then give me a call.” Yeah, he knew at least part of her problem.
Strong men, men born with the same arrogant determination her Mackay brother and cousins possessed.
Capping the pen, he tossed it to the bureau close to the bed, then turned and moved back to the clothing he’d abandoned moments before.
He was aware of her watching him as he pulled on his jeans, secured the belt he’d already pushed through the belt loops, then pushed his arms into the white, long-sleeved dress shirt he’d chosen to wear.
White was for meetings; dark colors were for on the job. And all of it was bullshit, despite the sense of fulfillment he was getting from it. Far more fulfillment than the daily lies and undercover crap he was forced to practice.
“Why would I be afraid you could even come close to tying me down, Jed?” she finally asked, her lips curling into an amused little smile of disbelief. “Really? Do you think I’m attaching more to this”—she waved her arm toward the bed—“than what you intend?”
Using the chair once again, he sat down, pulled on his boots, and never took his eyes from her.
“Let’s hope you were,” he told her as he finished and rose to his feet once again. “Because, trust me, Piper, I have more intentions than you could ever imagine.”
There was the fear.
It flashed in the bright green of her eyes and tightened her expression as she fought to hold back the response. Hell, she was fighting to hide that fear from him, and he hated it.
“Good Lord,” she muttered, suddenly reaching down for her bag. “I’m out of here. Remind me to make damned sure you’ve left before I come in to clean your room again.”
“I wouldn’t put chains on you, Piper.”
She paused, her hand on the doorknob, her face turned from him as her head lowered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The edge of anger in her voice wasn’t nearly as well hidden as he was certain she would have liked.
“Yeah, you do, Piper.” He rejected the instant denial she gave the moment she turned her back on him. “You think if you take me as a lover then you’ll be exchanging your brother’s protectiveness for one far more permanent.”
“My brother’s protectiveness? Is that what you call it?” She turned back to him then. “Trust me: They named my brother well when they nicknamed him Dawg. He’s tenacious, and guards his territory like a junkyard dog. And he sees every damned one of his sisters, as well as our mother, as his territory. It wouldn’t matter who we took as lovers, he’d still be hovering over us like a damned pit bull.”
There was no anger or heat in the words, only a sense of regret and uncertainty. In the past year, her life hadn’t exactly been her own, as her brother did everything in his power to ensure the danger that had threatened her older sister didn’t touch the younger ones.
“Nevertheless,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t put ties on you. I wouldn’t treat you as though you didn’t have the good sense to understand whether your life was in danger or not, and the intelligence to know whether you can live life as usual, sit tight, or just plain hide.”
She watched him warily. “You’re the same type of male Dawg, Rowdy, and Natches are.” She finally informed him, and it was clear she believed it to the bottom of her soul. “Having you for a lover would be like sleeping with human handcuffs.”
God help him, he swore he could see the pai
n and disillusionment filling her very soul. It was in the weariness of her voice and the soul-deep certainty that filled it.
“I would defend you with my life,” he admitted. “But I would also defend your right to a life, Piper. When you decide you’re tired of being a frightened little girl rather than the independent woman I know you are, then let me know. Perhaps once you’ve figured out which you are, then we can resume all the pleasure we were interrupted in this morning.”
Her shoulders tightened, defiance and denial immediately flashing in her gaze.
